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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35920-8.txt b/35920-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d51b63f --- /dev/null +++ b/35920-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6011 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sea Lady, by Herbert George Wells + +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 Sea Lady + +Author: Herbert George Wells + +Illustrator: Lewis Baumer + +Release Date: April 20, 2011 [EBook #35920] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE SEA LADY + + + + [Illustration: "Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady. + (See page 150.)] + + + + THE SEA LADY + + BY + H. G. WELLS + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + 1902 + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1902 + BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + + _Published September, 1902_ + + Copyright 1901 by H. G. Wells + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I.--THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY 1 + + II.--SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS 30 + + III.--THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS JOURNALISTS 71 + + IV.--THE QUALITY OF PARKER 90 + + V.--THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF MR. HARRY CHATTERIS 101 + + VI.--SYMPTOMATIC 133 + + VII.--THE CRISIS 204 + + VIII.--MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT 285 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + FACING + PAGE + + "Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady _Frontispiece_ + + "Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts" 81 + + She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings 90 + + A little group about the Sea Lady's bath chair 134 + + "Why not?" 160 + + The waiter retires amazed 170 + + They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and + rustle papers 180 + + Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity 216 + + + + +THE SEA LADY + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY + + +I + +Such previous landings of mermaids as have left a record, have all a +flavour of doubt. Even the very circumstantial account of that Bruges +Sea Lady, who was so clever at fancy work, gives occasion to the +sceptic. I must confess that I was absolutely incredulous of such things +until a year ago. But now, face to face with indisputable facts in my +own immediate neighbourhood, and with my own second cousin Melville (of +Seaton Carew) as the chief witness to the story, I see these old legends +in a very different light. Yet so many people concerned themselves with +the hushing up of this affair, that, but for my sedulous enquiries, I am +certain it would have become as doubtful as those older legends in a +couple of score of years. Even now to many minds---- + +The difficulties in the way of the hushing-up process were no doubt +exceptionally great in this case, and that they did contrive to do so +much, seems to show just how strong are the motives for secrecy in all +such cases. There is certainly no remoteness nor obscurity about the +scene of these events. They began upon the beach just east of Sandgate +Castle, towards Folkestone, and they ended on the beach near Folkestone +pier not two miles away. The beginning was in broad daylight on a bright +blue day in August and in full sight of the windows of half a dozen +houses. At first sight this alone is sufficient to make the popular want +of information almost incredible. But of that you may think differently +later. + +Mrs. Randolph Bunting's two charming daughters were bathing at the time +in company with their guest, Miss Mabel Glendower. It is from the latter +lady chiefly, and from Mrs. Bunting, that I have pieced together the +precise circumstances of the Sea Lady's arrival. From Miss Glendower, +the elder of two Glendower girls, for all that she is a principal in +almost all that follows, I have obtained, and have sought to obtain, no +information whatever. There is the question of the lady's feelings--and +in this case I gather they are of a peculiarly complex sort. Quite +naturally they would be. At any rate, the natural ruthlessness of the +literary calling has failed me. I have not ventured to touch them.... + +The villa residences to the east of Sandgate Castle, you must +understand, are particularly lucky in having gardens that run right +down to the beach. There is no intervening esplanade or road or path +such as cuts off ninety-nine out of the hundred of houses that face the +sea. As you look down on them from the western end of the Leas, you see +them crowding the very margin. And as a great number of high groins +stand out from the shore along this piece of coast, the beach is +practically cut off and made private except at very low water, when +people can get around the ends of the groins. These houses are +consequently highly desirable during the bathing season, and it is the +custom of many of their occupiers to let them furnished during the +summer to persons of fashion and affluence. + +The Randolph Buntings were such persons--indisputably. It is true of +course that they were not Aristocrats, or indeed what an unpaid herald +would freely call "gentle." They had no right to any sort of arms. But +then, as Mrs. Bunting would sometimes remark, they made no pretence of +that sort; they were quite free (as indeed everybody is nowadays) from +snobbery. They were simple homely Buntings--Randolph Buntings--"good +people" as the saying is--of a widely diffused Hampshire stock addicted +to brewing, and whether a suitably remunerated herald could or could not +have proved them "gentle" there can be no doubt that Mrs. Bunting was +quite justified in taking in the _Gentlewoman_, and that Mr. Bunting and +Fred were sedulous gentlemen, and that all their ways and thoughts were +delicate and nice. And they had staying with them the two Miss +Glendowers, to whom Mrs. Bunting had been something of a mother, ever +since Mrs. Glendower's death. + +The two Miss Glendowers were half sisters, and gentle beyond dispute, a +county family race that had only for a generation stooped to trade, and +risen at once Antæus-like, refreshed and enriched. The elder, Adeline, +was the rich one--the heiress, with the commercial blood in her veins. +She was really very rich, and she had dark hair and grey eyes and +serious views, and when her father died, which he did a little before +her step-mother, she had only the later portion of her later youth left +to her. She was nearly seven-and-twenty. She had sacrificed her earlier +youth to her father's infirmity of temper in a way that had always +reminded her of the girlhood of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. But after +his departure for a sphere where his temper has no doubt a wider +scope--for what is this world for if it is not for the Formation of +Character?--she had come out strongly. It became evident she had always +had a mind, and a very active and capable one, an accumulated fund of +energy and much ambition. She had bloomed into a clear and critical +socialism, and she had blossomed at public meetings; and now she was +engaged to that really very brilliant and promising but rather +extravagant and romantic person, Harry Chatteris, the nephew of an earl +and the hero of a scandal, and quite a possible Liberal candidate for +the Hythe division of Kent. At least this last matter was under +discussion and he was about, and Miss Glendower liked to feel she was +supporting him by being about too, and that was chiefly why the Buntings +had taken a house in Sandgate for the summer. Sometimes he would come +and stay a night or so with them, sometimes he would be off upon +affairs, for he was known to be a very versatile, brilliant, first-class +political young man--and Hythe very lucky to have a bid for him, all +things considered. And Fred Bunting was engaged to Miss Glendower's less +distinguished, much less wealthy, seventeen-year old and possibly +altogether more ordinary half-sister, Mabel Glendower, who had discerned +long since when they were at school together that it wasn't any good +trying to be clear when Adeline was about. + +The Buntings did not bathe "mixed," a thing indeed that was still only +very doubtfully decent in 1898, but Mr. Randolph Bunting and his son +Fred came down to the beach with them frankly instead of hiding away or +going for a walk according to the older fashion. (This, notwithstanding +that Miss Mabel Glendower, Fred's _fiancée_ to boot, was of the bathing +party.) They formed a little procession down under the evergreen oaks in +the garden and down the ladder and so to the sea's margin. + +Mrs. Bunting went first, looking as it were for Peeping Tom with her +glasses, and Miss Glendower, who never bathed because it made her feel +undignified, went with her--wearing one of those simple, costly "art" +morning costumes Socialists affect. Behind this protecting van came, one +by one, the three girls, in their beautiful Parisian bathing dresses and +headdresses--though these were of course completely muffled up in huge +hooded gowns of towelling--and wearing of course stockings and +shoes--they bathed in stockings and shoes. Then came Mrs. Bunting's maid +and the second housemaid and the maid the Glendower girls had brought, +carrying towels, and then at a little interval the two men carrying +ropes and things. (Mrs. Bunting always put a rope around each of her +daughters before ever they put a foot in the water and held it until +they were safely out again. But Mabel Glendower would not have a rope.) + +Where the garden ends and the beach begins Miss Glendower turned aside +and sat down on the green iron seat under the evergreen oak, and having +found her place in "Sir George Tressady"--a book of which she was +naturally enough at that time inordinately fond--sat watching the others +go on down the beach. There they were a very bright and very pleasant +group of prosperous animated people upon the sunlit beach, and beyond +them in streaks of grey and purple, and altogether calm save for a +pattern of dainty little wavelets, was that ancient mother of surprises, +the Sea. + +As soon as they reached the high-water mark where it is no longer +indecent to be clad merely in a bathing dress, each of the young ladies +handed her attendant her wrap, and after a little fun and laughter Mrs. +Bunting looked carefully to see if there were any jelly fish, and then +they went in. And after a minute or so, it seems Betty, the elder Miss +Bunting, stopped splashing and looked, and then they all looked, and +there, about thirty yards away was the Sea Lady's head, as if she were +swimming back to land. + +Naturally they concluded that she must be a neighbour from one of the +adjacent houses. They were a little surprised not to have noticed her +going down into the water, but beyond that her apparition had no shadow +of wonder for them. They made the furtive penetrating observations usual +in such cases. They could see that she was swimming very gracefully and +that she had a lovely face and very beautiful arms, but they could not +see her wonderful golden hair because all that was hidden in a +fashionable Phrygian bathing cap, picked up--as she afterwards admitted +to my second cousin--some nights before upon a Norman _plage_. Nor could +they see her lovely shoulders because of the red costume she wore. + +They were just on the point of feeling their inspection had reached the +limit of really nice manners and Mabel was pretending to go on splashing +again and saying to Betty, "She's wearing a red dress. I wish I could +see--" when something very terrible happened. + +The swimmer gave a queer sort of flop in the water, threw up her arms +and--vanished! + +It was the sort of thing that seems for an instant to freeze everybody, +just one of those things that everyone has read of and imagined and very +few people have seen. + +For a space no one did anything. One, two, three seconds passed and then +for an instant a bare arm flashed in the air and vanished again. + +Mabel tells me she was quite paralysed with horror, she did nothing all +the time, but the two Miss Buntings, recovering a little, screamed out, +"Oh, she's drowning!" and hastened to get out of the sea at once, a +proceeding accelerated by Mrs. Bunting, who with great presence of mind +pulled at the ropes with all her weight and turned about and continued +to pull long after they were many yards from the water's edge and indeed +cowering in a heap at the foot of the sea wall. Miss Glendower became +aware of a crisis and descended the steps, "Sir George Tressady" in one +hand and the other shading her eyes, crying in her clear resolute voice, +"She must be saved!" The maids of course were screaming--as became +them--but the two men appear to have acted with the greatest presence of +mind. "Fred, Nexdoors ledder!" said Mr. Randolph Bunting--for the +next-door neighbour instead of having convenient stone steps had a high +wall and a long wooden ladder, and it had often been pointed out by Mr. +Bunting if ever an accident should happen to anyone there was _that_! In +a moment it seems they had both flung off jacket and vest, collar, tie +and shoes, and were running the neighbour's ladder out into the water. + +"Where did she go, Ded?" said Fred. + +"Right out hea!" said Mr. Bunting, and to confirm his word there flashed +again an arm and "something dark"--something which in the light of all +that subsequently happened I am inclined to suppose was an unintentional +exposure of the Lady's tail. + +Neither of the two gentlemen are expert swimmers--indeed so far as I can +gather, Mr. Bunting in the excitement of the occasion forgot almost +everything he had ever known of swimming--but they waded out valiantly +one on each side of the ladder, thrust it out before them and committed +themselves to the deep, in a manner casting no discredit upon our nation +and race. + +Yet on the whole I think it is a matter for general congratulation that +they were not engaged in the rescue of a genuinely drowning person. At +the time of my enquiries whatever soreness of argument that may once +have obtained between them had passed, and it is fairly clear that while +Fred Bunting was engaged in swimming hard against the long side of the +ladder and so causing it to rotate slowly on its axis, Mr. Bunting had +already swallowed a very considerable amount of sea-water and was +kicking Fred in the chest with aimless vigour. This he did, as he +explains, "to get my legs down, you know. Something about that ladder, +you know, and they _would_ go up!" + +And then quite unexpectedly the Sea Lady appeared beside them. One +lovely arm supported Mr. Bunting about the waist and the other was over +the ladder. She did not appear at all pale or frightened or out of +breath, Fred told me when I cross-examined him, though at the time he +was too violently excited to note a detail of that sort. Indeed she +smiled and spoke in an easy pleasant voice. + +"Cramp," she said, "I have cramp." Both the men were convinced of that. + +Mr. Bunting was on the point of telling her to hold tight and she would +be quite safe, when a little wave went almost entirely into his mouth +and reduced him to wild splutterings. + +"_We'll_ get you in," said Fred, or something of that sort, and so they +all hung, bobbing in the water to the tune of Mr. Bunting's trouble. + +They seem to have rocked so for some time. Fred says the Sea Lady +looked calm but a little puzzled and that she seemed to measure the +distance shoreward. "You _mean_ to save me?" she asked him. + +He was trying to think what could be done before his father drowned. +"We're saving you now," he said. + +"You'll take me ashore?" + +As she seemed so cool he thought he would explain his plan of +operations, "Trying to get--end of ladder--kick with my legs. Only a few +yards out of our depth--if we could only----" + +"Minute--get my breath--moufu' sea-water," said Mr. Bunting. _Splash!_ +wuff!... + +And then it seemed to Fred that a little miracle happened. There was a +swirl of the water like the swirl about a screw propeller, and he +gripped the Sea Lady and the ladder just in time, as it seemed to him, +to prevent his being washed far out into the Channel. His father +vanished from his sight with an expression of astonishment just forming +on his face and reappeared beside him, so far as back and legs are +concerned, holding on to the ladder with a sort of death grip. And then +behold! They had shifted a dozen yards inshore, and they were in less +than five feet of water and Fred could feel the ground. + +At its touch his amazement and dismay immediately gave way to the purest +heroism. He thrust ladder and Sea Lady before him, abandoned the ladder +and his now quite disordered parent, caught her tightly in his arms, and +bore her up out of the water. The young ladies cried "Saved!" the maids +cried "Saved!" Distant voices echoed "Saved, Hooray!" Everybody in fact +cried "Saved!" except Mrs. Bunting, who was, she says, under the +impression that Mr. Bunting was in a fit, and Mr. Bunting, who seems to +have been under an impression that all those laws of nature by which, +under Providence, we are permitted to float and swim, were in suspense +and that the best thing to do was to kick very hard and fast until the +end should come. But in a dozen seconds or so his head was up again and +his feet were on the ground and he was making whale and walrus noises, +and noises like a horse and like an angry cat and like sawing, and was +wiping the water from his eyes; and Mrs. Bunting (except that now and +then she really _had_ to turn and say "_Ran_dolph!") could give her +attention to the beautiful burthen that clung about her son. + +And it is a curious thing that the Sea Lady was at least a minute out of +the water before anyone discovered that she was in any way different +from--other ladies. I suppose they were all crowding close to her and +looking at her beautiful face, or perhaps they imagined that she was +wearing some indiscreet but novel form of dark riding habit or something +of that sort. Anyhow not one of them noticed it, although it must have +been before their eyes as plain as day. Certainly it must have blended +with the costume. And there they stood, imagining that Fred had rescued +a lovely lady of indisputable fashion, who had been bathing from some +neighbouring house, and wondering why on earth there was nobody on the +beach to claim her. And she clung to Fred and, as Miss Mabel Glendower +subsequently remarked in the course of conversation with him, Fred clung +to her. + +"I had cramp," said the Sea Lady, with her lips against Fred's cheek and +one eye on Mrs. Bunting. "I am sure it was cramp.... I've got it still." + +"I don't see anybody--" began Mrs. Bunting. + +"Please carry me in," said the Sea Lady, closing her eyes as if she were +ill--though her cheek was flushed and warm. "Carry me in." + +"Where?" gasped Fred. + +"Carry me into the house," she whispered to him. + +"Which house?" + +Mrs. Bunting came nearer. + +"_Your_ house," said the Sea Lady, and shut her eyes for good and became +oblivious to all further remarks. + +"She-- But I don't understand--" said Mrs. Bunting, addressing +everybody.... + +And then it was they saw it. Nettie, the younger Miss Bunting, saw it +first. She pointed, she says, before she could find words to speak. Then +they all saw it! Miss Glendower, I believe, was the person who was last +to see it. At any rate it would have been like her if she had been. + +"Mother," said Nettie, giving words to the general horror. "_Mother!_ +She has a _tail_!" + +And then the three maids and Mabel Glendower screamed one after the +other. "Look!" they cried. "A tail!" + +"Of all--" said Mrs. Bunting, and words failed her. + +"_Oh!_" said Miss Glendower, and put her hand to her heart. + +And then one of the maids gave it a name. "It's a mermaid!" screamed the +maid, and then everyone screamed, "It's a mermaid." + +Except the mermaid herself; she remained quite passive, pretending to be +insensible partly on Fred's shoulder and altogether in his arms. + + +II + +That, you know, is the tableau so far as I have been able to piece it +together again. You must imagine this little knot of people upon the +beach, and Mr. Bunting, I figure, a little apart, just wading out of the +water and very wet and incredulous and half drowned. And the neighbour's +ladder was drifting quietly out to sea. + +Of course it was one of those positions that have an air of being +conspicuous. + +Indeed it was conspicuous. It was some way below high water and the +group stood out perhaps thirty yards down the beach. Nobody, as Mrs. +Bunting told my cousin Melville, knew a bit _what_ to do and they all +had even an exaggerated share of the national hatred of being seen in a +puzzle. The mermaid seemed content to remain a beautiful problem +clinging to Fred, and by all accounts she was a reasonable burthen for +a man. It seems that the very large family of people who were stopping +at the house called Koot Hoomi had appeared in force, and they were all +staring and gesticulating. They were just the sort of people the +Buntings did not want to know--tradespeople very probably. Presently one +of the men--the particularly vulgar man who used to shoot at the +gulls--began putting down their ladder as if he intended to offer +advice, and Mrs. Bunting also became aware of the black glare of the +field glasses of a still more horrid man to the west. + +Moreover the popular author who lived next door, an irascible dark +square-headed little man in spectacles, suddenly turned up and began +bawling from his inaccessible wall top something foolish about his +ladder. Nobody thought of his silly ladder or took any trouble about it, +naturally. He was quite stupidly excited. To judge by his tone and +gestures he was using dreadful language and seemed disposed every moment +to jump down to the beach and come to them. + +And then to crown the situation, over the westward groin appeared Low +Excursionists! + +First of all their heads came, and then their remarks. Then they began +to clamber the breakwater with joyful shouts. + +"Pip, Pip," said the Low Excursionists as they climbed--it was the year +of "pip, pip"--and, "What HO she bumps!" and then less generally, +"What's up _'ere_?" + +And the voices of other Low Excursionists still invisible answered, +"Pip, Pip." + +It was evidently a large party. + +"Anything wrong?" shouted one of the Low Excursionists at a venture. + +"My _dear_!" said Mrs. Bunting to Mabel, "what _are_ we to do?" And in +her description of the affair to my cousin Melville she used always to +make that the _clou_ of the story. "My DEAR! What ARE we to do?" + +I believe that in her desperation she even glanced at the water. But of +course to have put the mermaid back then would have involved the most +terrible explanations.... + +It was evident there was only one thing to be done. Mrs. Bunting said as +much. "The only thing," said she, "is to carry her indoors." + +And carry her indoors they did!... + +One can figure the little procession. In front Fred, wet and astonished +but still clinging and clung to, and altogether too out of breath for +words. And in his arms the Sea Lady. She had a beautiful figure, I +understand, until that horrible tail began (and the fin of it, Mrs. +Bunting told my cousin in a whispered confidence, went up and down and +with pointed corners for all the world like a mackerel's). It flopped +and dripped along the path--I imagine. She was wearing a very nice and +very long-skirted dress of red material trimmed with coarse white lace, +and she had, Mabel told me, a _gilet_, though that would scarcely show +as they went up the garden. And that Phrygian cap hid all her golden +hair and showed the white, low, level forehead over her sea-blue eyes. +From all that followed, I imagine her at the moment scanning the veranda +and windows of the house with a certain eagerness of scrutiny. + +Behind this staggering group of two I believe Mrs. Bunting came. Then +Mr. Bunting. Dreadfully wet and broken down Mr. Bunting must have been +by then, and from one or two things I have noticed since, I can't help +imagining him as pursuing his wife with, "Of course, my dear, _I_ +couldn't tell, you know!" + +And then, in a dismayed yet curious bunch, the girls in their wraps of +towelling and the maids carrying the ropes and things and, as if +inadvertently, as became them, most of Mr. and Fred Bunting's clothes. + +And then Miss Glendower, for once at least in no sort of pose whatever, +clutching "Sir George Tressady" and perplexed and disturbed beyond +measure. + +And then, as it were pursuing them all, "Pip, pip," and the hat and +raised eyebrows of a Low Excursionist still anxious to know "What's up?" +from the garden end. + +So it was, or at least in some such way, and to the accompaniment of the +wildest ravings about some ladder or other heard all too distinctly over +the garden wall--("Overdressed Snobbs take my _rare old English +adjective_ ladder...!")--that they carried the Sea Lady (who appeared +serenely insensible to everything) up through the house and laid her +down upon the couch in Mrs. Bunting's room. + +And just as Miss Glendower was suggesting that the very best thing they +could do would be to send for a doctor, the Sea Lady with a beautiful +naturalness sighed and came to. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND + +SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS + + +I + +There with as much verisimilitude as I can give it, is how the +Folkestone mermaid really came to land. There can be no doubt that the +whole affair was a deliberately planned intrusion upon her part. She +never had cramp, she couldn't have cramp, and as for drowning, nobody +was near drowning for a moment except Mr. Bunting, whose valuable life +she very nearly sacrificed at the outset of her adventure. And her next +proceeding was to demand an interview with Mrs. Bunting and to presume +upon her youthful and glowing appearance to gain the support, sympathy +and assistance of that good-hearted lady (who as a matter of fact was a +thing of yesterday, a mere chicken in comparison with her own immemorial +years) in her extraordinary raid upon Humanity. + +Her treatment of Mrs. Bunting would be incredible if we did not know +that, in spite of many disadvantages, the Sea Lady was an extremely well +read person. She admitted as much in several later conversations with my +cousin Melville. For a time there was a friendly intimacy--so Melville +always preferred to present it--between these two, and my cousin, who +has a fairly considerable amount of curiosity, learnt many very +interesting details about the life "out there" or "down there"--for the +Sea Lady used either expression. At first the Sea Lady was exceedingly +reticent under the gentle insistence of his curiosity, but after a time, +I gather, she gave way to bursts of cheerful confidence. "It is clear," +says my cousin, "that the old ideas of the submarine life as a sort of +perpetual game of 'who-hoop' through groves of coral, diversified by +moonlight hair-combings on rocky strands, need very extensive +modification." In this matter of literature, for example, they have +practically all that we have, and unlimited leisure to read it in. +Melville is very insistent upon and rather envious of that unlimited +leisure. A picture of a mermaid swinging in a hammock of woven seaweed, +with what bishops call a "latter-day" novel in one hand and a sixteen +candle-power phosphorescent fish in the other, may jar upon one's +preconceptions, but it is certainly far more in accordance with the +picture of the abyss she printed on his mind. Everywhere Change works +her will on things. Everywhere, and even among the immortals, Modernity +spreads. Even on Olympus I suppose there is a Progressive party and a +new Phaeton agitating to supersede the horses of his father by some +solar motor of his own. I suggested as much to Melville and he said +"Horrible! Horrible!" and stared hard at my study fire. Dear old +Melville! She gave him no end of facts about Deep Sea Reading. + +Of course they do not print books "out there," for the printer's ink +under water would not so much run as fly--she made that very plain; but +in one way or another nearly the whole of terrestrial literature, says +Melville, has come to them. "We know," she said. They form indeed a +distinct reading public, and additions to their vast submerged library +that circulates forever with the tides, are now pretty systematically +sought. The sources are various and in some cases a little odd. Many +books have been found in sunken ships. "Indeed!" said Melville. There is +always a dropping and blowing overboard of novels and magazines from +most passenger-carrying vessels--sometimes, but these are not as a rule +valuable additions--a deliberate shying overboard. But sometimes books +of an exceptional sort are thrown over when they are quite finished. +(Melville is a dainty irritable reader and no doubt he understood that.) +From the sea beaches of holiday resorts, moreover, the lighter sorts of +literature are occasionally getting blown out to sea. And so soon as the +Booms of our great Popular Novelists are over, Melville assured me, the +libraries find it convenient to cast such surplus copies of their +current works as the hospitals and prisons cannot take, below high-water +mark. + +"That's not generally known," said I. + +"_They_ know it," said Melville. + +In other ways the beaches yield. Young couples who "begin to sit +heapy," the Sea Lady told my cousin, as often as not will leave +excellent modern fiction behind them, when at last they return to their +proper place. There is a particularly fine collection of English work, +it seems, in the deep water of the English Channel; practically the +whole of the Tauchnitz Library is there, thrown overboard at the last +moment by conscientious or timid travellers returning from the +continent, and there was for a time a similar source of supply of +American reprints in the Mersey, but that has fallen off in recent +years. And the Deep Sea Mission for Fishermen has now for some years +been raining down tracts and giving a particularly elevated tone of +thought to the extensive shallows of the North Sea. The Sea Lady was +very precise on these points. + +When one considers the conditions of its accumulation, one is not +surprised to hear that the element of fiction is as dominant in this +Deep Sea Library as it is upon the counters of Messrs. Mudie; but my +cousin learnt that the various illustrated magazines, and particularly +the fashion papers, are valued even more highly than novels, are looked +for far more eagerly and perused with envious emotion. Indeed on that +point my cousin got a sudden glimpse of one of the motives that had +brought this daring young lady into the air. He made some sort of +suggestion. "We should have taken to dressing long ago," she said, and +added, with a vague quality of laughter in her tone, "it isn't that +we're unfeminine, Mr. Melville. Only--as I was explaining to Mrs. +Bunting, one must consider one's circumstances--how _can_ one _hope_ to +keep anything nice under water? Imagine lace!" + +"Soaked!" said my cousin Melville. + +"Drenched!" said the Sea Lady. + +"Ruined!" said my cousin Melville. + +"And then you know," said the Sea Lady very gravely, "one's hair!" + +"Of course," said Melville. "Why!--you can never get it _dry_!" + +"That's precisely it," said she. + +My cousin Melville had a new light on an old topic. "And that's why--in +the old time----?" + +"Exactly!" she cried, "exactly! Before there were so many Excursionists +and sailors and Low People about, one came out, one sat and brushed it +in the sun. And then of course it really _was_ possible to do it up. But +now----" + +She made a petulant gesture and looked gravely at Melville, biting her +lip the while. My cousin made a sympathetic noise. "The horrid modern +spirit," he said--almost automatically.... + +But though fiction and fashion appear to be so regrettably dominant in +the nourishment of the mer-mind, it must not be supposed that the most +serious side of our reading never reaches the bottom of the sea. There +was, for example, a case quite recently, the Sea Lady said, of the +captain of a sailing ship whose mind had become unhinged by the +huckstering uproar of the _Times_ and _Daily Mail_, and who had not only +bought a second-hand copy of the _Times_ reprint of the Encyclopædia +Britannica, but also that dense collection of literary snacks and +samples, that All-Literature Sausage which has been compressed under the +weighty editing of Doctor Richard Garnett. It has long been notorious +that even the greatest minds of the past were far too copious and +confusing in their--as the word goes--lubrications. Doctor Garnett, it +is alleged, has seized the gist and presented it so compactly that +almost any business man now may take hold of it without hindrance to his +more serious occupations. The unfortunate and misguided seaman seems to +have carried the entire collection aboard with him, with the pretty +evident intention of coming to land in Sydney the wisest man alive--a +Hindoo-minded thing to do. The result might have been anticipated. The +mass shifted in the night, threw the whole weight of the science of the +middle nineteenth century and the literature of all time, in a +virulently concentrated state, on one side of his little vessel and +capsized it instantly.... + +The ship, the Sea Lady said, dropped into the abyss as if it were loaded +with lead, and its crew and other movables did not follow it down until +much later in the day. The captain was the first to arrive, said the Sea +Lady, and it is a curious fact, due probably to some preliminary +dippings into his purchase, that he came head first, instead of feet +down and limbs expanded in the customary way.... + +However, such exceptional windfalls avail little against the rain of +light literature that is constantly going on. The novel and the +newspaper remain the world's reading even at the bottom of the sea. As +subsequent events would seem to show, it must have been from the common +latter-day novel and the newspaper that the Sea Lady derived her ideas +of human life and sentiment and the inspiration of her visit. And if at +times she seemed to underestimate the nobler tendencies of the human +spirit, if at times she seemed disposed to treat Adeline Glendower and +many of the deeper things of life with a certain sceptical levity, if +she did at last indisputably subordinate reason and right feeling to +passion, it is only just to her, and to those deeper issues, that we +should ascribe her aberrations to their proper cause.... + + +II + +My cousin Melville, I was saying, did at one time or another get a +vague, a very vague conception of what that deep-sea world was like. But +whether his conception has any quality of truth in it is more than I +dare say. He gives me an impression of a very strange world indeed, a +green luminous fluidity in which these beings float, a world lit by +great shining monsters that drift athwart it, and by waving forests of +nebulous luminosity amidst which the little fishes drift like netted +stars. It is a world with neither sitting, nor standing, nor going, nor +coming, through which its inhabitants float and drift as one floats and +drifts in dreams. And the way they live there! "My dear man!" said +Melville, "it must be like a painted ceiling!..." + +I do not even feel certain that it is in the sea particularly that this +world of the Sea Lady is to be found. But about those saturated books +and drowned scraps of paper, you say? Things are not always what they +seem, and she told him all of that, we must reflect, one laughing +afternoon. + +She could appear, at times, he says, as real as you or I, and again came +mystery all about her. There were times when it seemed to him you might +have hurt her or killed her as you can hurt and kill anyone--with a +penknife for example--and there were times when it seemed to him you +could have destroyed the whole material universe and left her smiling +still. But of this ambiguous element in the lady, more is to be told +later. There are wider seas than ever keel sailed upon, and deeps that +no lead of human casting will ever plumb. When it is all summed up, I +have to admit, I do not know, I cannot tell. I fall back upon Melville +and my poor array of collected facts. At first there was amazingly +little strangeness about her for any who had to deal with her. There she +was, palpably solid and material, a lady out of the sea. + +This modern world is a world where the wonderful is utterly commonplace. +We are bred to show a quiet freedom from amazement, and why should we +boggle at material Mermaids, with Dewars solidifying all sorts of +impalpable things and Marconi waves spreading everywhere? To the +Buntings she was as matter of fact, as much a matter of authentic and +reasonable motives and of sound solid sentimentality, as everything else +in the Bunting world. So she was for them in the beginning, and so up to +this day with them her memory remains. + + +III + +The way in which the Sea Lady talked to Mrs. Bunting on that memorable +morning, when she lay all wet and still visibly fishy on the couch in +Mrs. Bunting's dressing-room, I am also able to give with some little +fulness, because Mrs. Bunting repeated it all several times, acting the +more dramatic speeches in it, to my cousin Melville in several of those +good long talks that both of them in those happy days--and particularly +Mrs. Bunting--always enjoyed so much. And with her very first speech, it +seems, the Sea Lady took her line straight to Mrs. Bunting's generous +managing heart. She sat up on the couch, drew the antimacassar modestly +over her deformity, and sometimes looking sweetly down and sometimes +openly and trustfully into Mrs. Bunting's face, and speaking in a soft +clear grammatical manner that stamped her at once as no mere mermaid +but a finished fine Sea Lady, she "made a clean breast of it," as Mrs. +Bunting said, and "fully and frankly" placed herself in Mrs. Bunting's +hands. + +"Mrs. Bunting," said Mrs. Bunting to my cousin Melville, in a dramatic +rendering of the Sea Lady's manner, "do permit me to apologise for this +intrusion, for I know it _is_ an intrusion. But indeed it has almost +been _forced_ upon me, and if you will only listen to my story, Mrs. +Bunting, I think you will find--well, if not a complete excuse for +me--for I can understand how exacting your standards must be--at any +rate _some_ excuse for what I have done--for what I _must_ call, Mrs. +Bunting, my deceitful conduct towards you. Deceitful it was, Mrs. +Bunting, for I never had cramp-- But then, Mrs. Bunting"--and here Mrs. +Bunting would insert a long impressive pause--"I never had a mother!" + +"And then and there," said Mrs. Bunting, when she told the story to my +cousin Melville, "the poor child burst into tears and confessed she had +been born ages and ages ago in some dreadful miraculous way in some +terrible place near Cyprus, and had no more right to a surname-- Well, +_there_--!" said Mrs. Bunting, telling the story to my cousin Melville +and making the characteristic gesture with which she always passed over +and disowned any indelicacy to which her thoughts might have tended. +"And all the while speaking with such a nice accent and moving in such a +ladylike way!" + +"Of course," said my cousin Melville, "there are classes of people in +whom one excuses-- One must weigh----" + +"Precisely," said Mrs. Bunting. "And you see it seems she deliberately +chose _me_ as the very sort of person she had always wanted to appeal +to. It wasn't as if she came to us haphazard--she picked us out. She had +been swimming round the coast watching people day after day, she said, +for quite a long time, and she said when she saw my face, watching the +girls bathe--you know how funny girls are," said Mrs. Bunting, with a +little deprecatory laugh, and all the while with a moisture of emotion +in her kindly eyes. "She took quite a violent fancy to me from the very +first." + +"I can _quite_ believe _that_, at any rate," said my cousin Melville +with unction. I know he did, although he always leaves it out of the +story when he tells it to me. But then he forgets that I have had the +occasional privilege of making a third party in these good long talks. + +"You know it's most extraordinary and exactly like the German story," +said Mrs. Bunting. "Oom--what is it?" + +"Undine?" + +"Exactly--yes. And it really seems these poor creatures are Immortal, +Mr. Melville--at least within limits--creatures born of the elements and +resolved into the elements again--and just as it is in the story--there's +always a something--they have no Souls! No Souls at all! Nothing! And +the poor child feels it. She feels it dreadfully. But in order to _get_ +souls, Mr. Melville, you know they have to come into the world of men. +At least so they believe down there. And so she has come to Folkestone. +To get a soul. Of course that's her great object, Mr. Melville, but +she's not at all fanatical or silly about it. Any more than _we_ are. Of +course _we_--people who feel deeply----" + +"Of course," said my cousin Melville, with, I know, a momentary +expression of profound gravity, drooping eyelids and a hushed voice. For +my cousin does a good deal with his soul, one way and another. + +"And she feels that if she comes to earth at all," said Mrs. Bunting, +"she _must_ come among _nice_ people and in a nice way. One can +understand her feeling like that. But imagine her difficulties! To be a +mere cause of public excitement, and silly paragraphs in the silly +season, to be made a sort of show of, in fact--she doesn't want _any_ of +it," added Mrs. Bunting, with the emphasis of both hands. + +"What _does_ she want?" asked my cousin Melville. + +"She wants to be treated exactly like a human being, to _be_ a human +being, just like you or me. And she asks to stay with us, to be one of +our family, and to learn how we live. She has asked me to advise her +what books to read that are really nice, and where she can get a +dress-maker, and how she can find a clergyman to sit under who would +really be likely to understand her case, and everything. She wants me to +advise her about it all. She wants to put herself altogether in my +hands. And she asked it all so nicely and sweetly. She wants me to +advise her about it all." + +"Um," said my cousin Melville. + +"You should have heard her!" cried Mrs. Bunting. + +"Practically it's another daughter," he reflected. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bunting, "and even that did not frighten me. She +admitted as much." + +"Still----" + +He took a step. + +"She has means?" he inquired abruptly. + +"Ample. She told me there was a box. She said it was moored at the end +of a groin, and accordingly dear Randolph watched all through luncheon, +and afterwards, when they could wade out and reach the end of the rope +that tied it, he and Fred pulled it in and helped Fitch and the +coachman carry it up. It's a curious little box for a lady to have, +well made, of course, but of wood, with a ship painted on the top and +the name of 'Tom' cut in it roughly with a knife; but, as she says, +leather simply will _not_ last down there, and one has to put up with +what one can get; and the great thing is it's _full_, perfectly full, +of gold coins and things. Yes, gold--and diamonds, Mr. Melville. You +know Randolph understands something-- Yes, well he says that box--oh! +I couldn't tell you _how_ much it isn't worth! And all the gold things +with just a sort of faint reddy touch.... But anyhow, she is rich, as +well as charming and beautiful. And really you know, Mr. Melville, +altogether-- Well, I'm going to help her, just as much as ever I can. +Practically, she's to be our paying guest. As you know--it's no great +secret between _us_--Adeline-- Yes.... She'll be the same. And I shall +bring her out and introduce her to people and so forth. It will be a +great help. And for everyone except just a few intimate friends, she is +to be just a human being who happens to be an invalid--temporarily an +invalid--and we are going to engage a good, trustworthy woman--the sort +of woman who isn't astonished at anything, you know--they're a little +expensive but they're to be got even nowadays--who will be her +maid--and make her dresses, her skirts at any rate--and we shall dress +her in long skirts--and throw something over It, you know----" + +"Over----?" + +"The tail, you know." + +My cousin Melville said "Precisely!" with his head and eyebrows. But +that was the point that hadn't been clear to him so far, and it took his +breath away. Positively--a tail! All sorts of incorrect theories went by +the board. Somehow he felt this was a topic not to be too urgently +pursued. But he and Mrs. Bunting were old friends. + +"And she really has ... a tail?" he asked. + +"Like the tail of a big mackerel," said Mrs. Bunting, and he asked no +more. + +"It's a most extraordinary situation," he said. + +"But what else _could_ I do?" asked Mrs. Bunting. + +"Of course the thing's a tremendous experiment," said my cousin +Melville, and repeated quite inadvertently, "_a tail!_" + +Clear and vivid before his eyes, obstructing absolutely the advance of +his thoughts, were the shiny clear lines, the oily black, the green and +purple and silver, and the easy expansiveness of a mackerel's +termination. + +"But really, you know," said my cousin Melville, protesting in the name +of reason and the nineteenth century--"a tail!" + +"I patted it," said Mrs. Bunting. + + +IV + +Certain supplementary aspects of the Sea Lady's first conversation with +Mrs. Bunting I got from that lady herself afterwards. + +The Sea Lady had made one queer mistake. "Your four charming daughters," +she said, "and your two sons." + +"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting--they had got through their preliminaries +by then--"I've only two daughters and one son!" + +"The young man who carried--who rescued me?" + +"Yes. And the other two girls are friends, you know, visitors who are +staying with me. On land one has visitors----" + +"I know. So I made a mistake?" + +"Oh yes." + +"And the other young man?" + +"You don't mean Mr. Bunting." + +"Who is Mr. Bunting?" + +"The other gentleman who----" + +"_No!_" + +"There was no one----" + +"But several mornings ago?" + +"Could it have been Mr. Melville?... _I_ know! You mean Mr. Chatteris! I +remember, he came down with us one morning. A tall young man with +fair--rather curlyish you might say--hair, wasn't it? And a rather +thoughtful face. He was dressed all in white linen and he sat on the +beach." + +"I fancy he did," said the Sea Lady. + +"He's not my son. He's--he's a friend. He's engaged to Adeline, to the +elder Miss Glendower. He was stopping here for a night or so. I daresay +he'll come again on his way back from Paris. Dear me! Fancy _my_ having +a son like that!" + +The Sea Lady was not quite prompt in replying. + +"What a stupid mistake for me to make!" she said slowly; and then with +more animation, "Of course, now I think, he's much too old to be your +son!" + +"Well, he's thirty-two!" said Mrs. Bunting with a smile. + +"It's preposterous." + +"I won't say _that_." + +"But I saw him only at a distance, you know," said the Sea Lady; and +then, "And so he is engaged to Miss Glendower? And Miss Glendower----?" + +"Is the young lady in the purple robe who----" + +"Who carried a book?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bunting, "that's the one. They've been engaged three +months." + +"Dear me!" said the Sea Lady. "She seemed-- And is he very much in love +with her?" + +"Of course," said Mrs. Bunting. + +"_Very_ much?" + +"Oh--of _course_. If he wasn't, he wouldn't----" + +"Of course," said the Sea Lady thoughtfully. + +"And it's such an excellent match in every way. Adeline's just in the +very position to help him----" + +And Mrs. Bunting it would seem briefly but clearly supplied an +indication of the precise position of Mr. Chatteris, not omitting even +that he was the nephew of an earl, as indeed why should she omit +it?--and the splendid prospects of his alliance with Miss Glendower's +plebeian but extensive wealth. The Sea Lady listened gravely. "He is +young, he is able, he may still be anything--anything. And she is so +earnest, so clever herself--always reading. She even reads Blue +Books--government Blue Books I mean--dreadful statistical schedulely +things. And the condition of the poor and all those things. She knows +more about the condition of the poor than any one I've ever met; what +they earn and what they eat, and how many of them live in a room. So +dreadfully crowded, you know--perfectly shocking.... She is just the +helper he needs. So dignified--so capable of giving political parties +and influencing people, so earnest! And you know she can talk to workmen +and take an interest in trades unions, and in quite astonishing things. +_I_ always think she's just _Marcella_ come to life." + +And from that the good lady embarked upon an illustrative but involved +anecdote of Miss Glendower's marvellous blue-bookishness.... + +"He'll come here again soon?" the Sea Lady asked quite carelessly in the +midst of it. + +The query was carried away and lost in the anecdote, so that later the +Sea Lady repeated her question even more carelessly. + +But Mrs. Bunting did not know whether the Sea Lady sighed at all or not. +She thinks not. She was so busy telling her all about everything that I +don't think she troubled very much to see how her information was +received. + +What mind she had left over from her own discourse was probably centred +on the tail. + + +V + +Even to Mrs. Bunting's senses--she is one of those persons who take +everything (except of course impertinence or impropriety) quite +calmly--it must, I think, have been a little astonishing to find herself +sitting in her boudoir, politely taking tea with a real live legendary +creature. They were having tea in the boudoir, because of callers, and +quite quietly because, in spite of the Sea Lady's smiling assurances, +Mrs. Bunting would have it she _must_ be tired and unequal to the +exertions of social intercourse. "After _such_ a journey," said Mrs. +Bunting. There were just the three, Adeline Glendower being the third; +and Fred and the three other girls, I understand, hung about in a +general sort of way up and down the staircase (to the great annoyance of +the servants who were thus kept out of it altogether) confirming one +another's views of the tail, arguing on the theory of mermaids, +revisiting the garden and beach and trying to invent an excuse for +seeing the invalid again. They were forbidden to intrude and pledged to +secrecy by Mrs. Bunting, and they must have been as altogether unsettled +and miserable as young people can be. For a time they played croquet in +a half-hearted way, each no doubt with an eye on the boudoir window. + +(And as for Mr. Bunting, he was in bed.) + +I gather that the three ladies sat and talked as any three ladies all +quite resolved to be pleasant to one another would talk. Mrs. Bunting +and Miss Glendower were far too well trained in the observances of good +society (which is as every one knows, even the best of it now, extremely +mixed) to make too searching enquiries into the Sea Lady's status and +way of life or precisely where she lived when she was at home, or whom +she knew or didn't know. Though in their several ways they wanted to +know badly enough. The Sea Lady volunteered no information, contenting +herself with an entertaining superficiality of touch and go, in the most +ladylike way. She professed herself greatly delighted with the sensation +of being in air and superficially quite dry, and was particularly +charmed with tea. + +"And don't you have _tea_?" cried Miss Glendower, startled. + +"How can we?" + +"But do you really mean----?" + +"I've never tasted tea before. How do you think we can boil a kettle?" + +"What a strange--what a wonderful world it must be!" cried Adeline. And +Mrs. Bunting said: "I can hardly _imagine_ it without tea. It's worse +than-- I mean it reminds me--of abroad." + +Mrs. Bunting was in the act of refilling the Sea Lady's cup. "I +suppose," she said suddenly, "as you're not used to it-- It won't affect +your diges--" She glanced at Adeline and hesitated. "But it's China +tea." + +And she filled the cup. + +"It's an inconceivable world to me," said Adeline. "Quite." + +Her dark eyes rested thoughtfully on the Sea Lady for a space. +"Inconceivable," she repeated, for, in that unaccountable way in which a +whisper will attract attention that a turmoil fails to arouse, the tea +had opened her eyes far more than the tail. + +The Sea Lady looked at her with sudden frankness. "And think how +wonderful all this must seem to _me_!" she remarked. + +But Adeline's imagination was aroused for the moment and she was not to +be put aside by the Sea Lady's terrestrial impressions. She pierced--for +a moment or so--the ladylike serenity, the assumption of a terrestrial +fashion of mind that was imposing so successfully upon Mrs. Bunting. "It +must be," she said, "the strangest world." And she stopped invitingly.... + +She could not go beyond that and the Sea Lady would not help her. + +There was a pause, a silent eager search for topics. Apropos of the +Niphetos roses on the table they talked of flowers and Miss Glendower +ventured: "You have your anemones too! How beautiful they must be amidst +the rocks!" + +And the Sea Lady said they were very pretty--especially the cultivated +sorts.... + +"And the fishes," said Mrs. Bunting. "How wonderful it must be to see +the fishes!" + +"Some of them," volunteered the Sea Lady, "will come and feed out of +one's hand." + +Mrs. Bunting made a little coo of approval. She was reminded of +chrysanthemum shows and the outside of the Royal Academy exhibition and +she was one of those people to whom only the familiar is really +satisfying. She had a momentary vision of the abyss as a sort of +diverticulum of Piccadilly and the Temple, a place unexpectedly rational +and comfortable. There was a kink for a time about a little matter of +illumination, but it recurred to Mrs. Bunting only long after. The Sea +Lady had turned from Miss Glendower's interrogative gravity of +expression to the sunlight. + +"The sunlight seems so golden here," said the Sea Lady. "Is it always +golden?" + +"You have that beautiful greenery-blue shimmer I suppose," said Miss +Glendower, "that one catches sometimes ever so faintly in aquaria----" + +"One lives deeper than that," said the Sea Lady. "Everything is +phosphorescent, you know, a mile or so down, and it's like--I hardly +know. As towns look at night--only brighter. Like piers and things like +that." + +"Really!" said Mrs. Bunting, with the Strand after the theatres in her +head. "Quite bright?" + +"Oh, quite," said the Sea Lady. + +"But--" struggled Adeline, "is it never put out?" + +"It's so different," said the Sea Lady. + +"That's why it is so interesting," said Adeline. + +"There are no nights and days, you know. No time nor anything of that +sort." + +"Now that's very queer," said Mrs. Bunting with Miss Glendower's teacup +in her hand--they were both drinking quite a lot of tea absent-mindedly, +in their interest in the Sea Lady. "But how do you tell when it's +Sunday?" + +"We don't--" began the Sea Lady. "At least not exactly--" And then--"Of +course one hears the beautiful hymns that are sung on the passenger +ships." + +"Of course!" said Mrs. Bunting, having sung so in her youth and quite +forgetting something elusive that she had previously seemed to catch. + +But afterwards there came a glimpse of some more serious divergence--a +glimpse merely. Miss Glendower hazarded a supposition that the sea +people also had their Problems, and then it would seem the natural +earnestness of her disposition overcame her proper attitude of ladylike +superficiality and she began to ask questions. There can be no doubt +that the Sea Lady was evasive, and Miss Glendower, perceiving that she +had been a trifle urgent, tried to cover her error by expressing a +general impression. + +"I can't see it," she said, with a gesture that asked for sympathy. "One +wants to see it, one wants to _be_ it. One needs to be born a +mer-child." + +"A mer-child?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Yes-- Don't you call your little ones----?" + +"_What_ little ones?" asked the Sea Lady. + +She regarded them for a moment with a frank wonder, the undying wonder +of the Immortals at that perpetual decay and death and replacement which +is the gist of human life. Then at the expression of their faces she +seemed to recollect. "Of course," she said, and then with a transition +that made pursuit difficult, she agreed with Adeline. "It _is_ +different," she said. "It _is_ wonderful. One feels so alike, you know, +and so different. That's just where it _is_ so wonderful. Do I look--? +And yet you know I have never had my hair up, nor worn a dressing gown +before today." + +"What do you wear?" asked Miss Glendower. "Very charming things, I +suppose." + +"It's a different costume altogether," said the Sea Lady, brushing away +a crumb. + +Just for a moment Mrs. Bunting regarded her visitor fixedly. She had, I +fancy, in that moment, an indistinct, imperfect glimpse of pagan +possibilities. But there, you know, was the Sea Lady in her wrapper, so +palpably a lady, with her pretty hair brought up to date and such a +frank innocence in her eyes, that Mrs. Bunting's suspicions vanished as +they came. + +(But I am not so sure of Adeline.) + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD + +THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS JOURNALISTS + + +I + +The remarkable thing is that the Buntings really carried out the +programme Mrs. Bunting laid down. For a time at least they positively +succeeded in converting the Sea Lady into a credible human invalid, in +spite of the galaxy of witnesses to the lady's landing and in spite of +the severe internal dissensions that presently broke out. In spite, +moreover, of the fact that one of the maids--they found out which only +long after--told the whole story under vows to her very superior young +man who told it next Sunday to a rising journalist who was sitting about +on the Leas maturing a descriptive article. The rising journalist was +incredulous. But he went about enquiring. In the end he thought it good +enough to go upon. He found in several quarters a vague but sufficient +rumour of a something; for the maid's young man was a conversationalist +when he had anything to say. + +Finally the rising journalist went and sounded the people on the two +chief Folkestone papers and found the thing had just got to them. They +were inclined to pretend they hadn't heard of it, after the fashion of +local papers when confronted by the abnormal, but the atmosphere of +enterprise that surrounded the rising journalist woke them up. He +perceived he had done so and that he had no time to lose. So while they +engaged in inventing representatives to enquire, he went off and +telephoned to the _Daily Gunfire_ and the _New Paper_. When they +answered he was positive and earnest. He staked his reputation--the +reputation of a rising journalist! + +"I swear there's something up," he said. "Get in first--that's all." + +He had some reputation, I say--and he had staked it. The _Daily Gunfire_ +was sceptical but precise, and the _New Paper_ sprang a headline "A +Mermaid at last!" + +You might well have thought the thing was out after that, but it wasn't. +There are things one doesn't believe even if they are printed in a +halfpenny paper. To find the reporters hammering at their doors, so to +speak, and fended off only for a time by a proposal that they should +call again; to see their incredible secret glaringly in print, did +indeed for a moment seem a hopeless exposure to both the Buntings and +the Sea Lady. Already they could see the story spreading, could imagine +the imminent rush of intimate enquiries, the tripod strides of a +multitude of cameras, the crowds watching the windows, the horrors of a +great publicity. All the Buntings and Mabel were aghast, simply aghast. +Adeline was not so much aghast as excessively annoyed at this imminent +and, so far as she was concerned, absolutely irrelevant publicity. "They +will never dare--" she said, and "Consider how it affects Harry!" and at +the earliest opportunity she retired to her own room. The others, with a +certain disregard of her offence, sat around the Sea Lady's couch--she +had scarcely touched her breakfast--and canvassed the coming terror. + +"They will put our photographs in the papers," said the elder Miss +Bunting. + +"Well, they won't put mine in," said her sister. "It's horrid. I shall +go right off now and have it taken again." + +"They'll interview the Ded!" + +"No, no," said Mr. Bunting terrified. "Your mother----" + +"It's your place, my dear," said Mrs. Bunting. + +"But the Ded--" said Fred. + +"I couldn't," said Mr. Bunting. + +"Well, some one'll have to tell 'em anyhow," said Mrs. Bunting. "You +know, they will----" + +"But it isn't at all what I wanted," wailed the Sea Lady, with the +_Daily Gunfire_ in her hand. "Can't it be stopped?" + +"You don't know our journalists," said Fred. + +The tact of my cousin Melville saved the situation. He had dabbled in +journalism and talked with literary fellows like myself. And literary +fellows like myself are apt at times to be very free and outspoken about +the press. He heard of the Buntings' shrinking terror of publicity as +soon as he arrived, a perfect clamour--an almost exultant clamour +indeed, of shrinking terror, and he caught the Sea Lady's eye and took +his line there and then. + +"It's not an occasion for sticking at trifles, Mrs. Bunting," he said. +"But I think we can save the situation all the same. You're too +hopeless. We must put our foot down at once; that's all. Let _me_ see +these reporter fellows and write to the London dailies. I think I can +take a line that will settle them." + +"Eh?" said Fred. + +"I can take a line that will stop it, trust me." + +"What, altogether?" + +"Altogether." + +"How?" said Fred and Mrs. Bunting. "You're not going to bribe them!" + +"Bribe!" said Mr. Bunting. "We're not in France. You can't bribe a +British paper." + +(A sort of subdued cheer went around from the assembled Buntings.) + +"You leave it to me," said Melville, in his element. + +And with earnestly expressed but not very confident wishes for his +success, they did. + +He managed the thing admirably. + +"What's this about a mermaid?" he demanded of the local journalists when +they returned. They travelled together for company, being, so to speak, +emergency journalists, compositors in their milder moments, and +unaccustomed to these higher aspects of journalism. "What's this about a +mermaid?" repeated my cousin, while they waived precedence dumbly one to +another. + +"I believe some one's been letting you in," said my cousin Melville. +"Just imagine!--a mermaid!" + +"That's what we thought," said the younger of the two emergency +journalists. "We knew it was some sort of hoax, you know. Only the _New +Paper_ giving it a headline----" + +"I'm amazed even Banghurst--" said my cousin Melville. + +"It's in the _Daily Gunfire_ as well," said the older of the two +emergency journalists. + +"What's one more or less of these ha'penny fever rags?" cried my cousin +with a ringing scorn. "Surely you're not going to take your Folkestone +news from mere London papers." + +"But how did the story come about?" began the older emergency +journalist. + +"That's not my affair." + +The younger emergency journalist had an inspiration. He produced a note +book from his breast pocket. "Perhaps, sir, you wouldn't mind suggesting +to us something we might say----" + +My cousin Melville complied. + + +II + +The rising young journalist who had first got wind of the business--who +must not for a moment be confused with the two emergency journalists +heretofore described--came to Banghurst next night in a state of strange +exultation. "I've been through with it and I've seen her," he panted. "I +waited about outside and saw her taken into the carriage. I've talked to +one of the maids--I got into the house under pretence of being a +telephone man to see their telephone--I spotted the wire--and it's a +fact. A positive fact--she's a mermaid with a tail--a proper mermaid's +tail. I've got here----" + +He displayed sheets. + +"Whaddyer talking about?" said Banghurst from his littered desk, eyeing +the sheets with apprehensive animosity. + +"The mermaid--there really _is_ a mermaid. At Folkestone." + +Banghurst turned away from him and pawed at his pen tray. "Whad if there +is!" he said after a pause. + +"But it's proved. That note you printed----" + +"That note I printed was a mistake if there's anything of that sort +going, young man." Banghurst remained an obstinate expansion of back. + +"How?" + +"We don't deal in mermaids here." + +"But you're not going to let it drop?" + +"I am." + +"But there she is!" + +[Illustration: "Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts."] + +"Let her be." He turned on the rising young journalist, and his massive +face was unusually massive and his voice fine and full and fruity. "Do +you think we're going to make our public believe anything simply because +it's true? They know perfectly well what they are going to believe +and what they aren't going to believe, and they aren't going to believe +anything about mermaids--you bet your hat. I don't care if the whole +damned beach was littered with mermaids--not the whole damned beach! +We've got our reputation to keep up. See?... Look here!--you don't learn +journalism as I hoped you'd do. It was you what brought in all that +stuff about a discovery in chemistry----" + +"It's true." + +"Ugh!" + +"I had it from a Fellow of the Royal Society----" + +"I don't care if you had it from--anybody. Stuff that the public won't +believe aren't facts. Being true only makes 'em worse. They buy our +paper to swallow it and it's got to go down easy. When I printed you +that note and headline I thought you was up to a lark. I thought you +was on to a mixed bathing scandal or something of that sort--with juice +in it. The sort of thing that _all_ understand. You know when you went +down to Folkestone you were going to describe what Salisbury and all the +rest of them wear upon the Leas. And start a discussion on the +acclimatisation of the café. And all that. And then you get on to this +(unprintable epithet) nonsense!" + +"But Lord Salisbury--he doesn't go to Folkestone." + +Banghurst shrugged his shoulders over a hopeless case. "What the deuce," +he said, addressing his inkpot in plaintive tones, "does _that_ matter?" + +The young man reflected. He addressed Banghurst's back after a pause. +His voice had flattened a little. "I might go over this and do it up as +a lark perhaps. Make it a comic dialogue sketch with a man who really +believed in it--or something like that. It's a beastly lot of copy to +get slumped, you know." + +"Nohow," said Banghurst. "Not in any shape. No! Why! They'd think it +clever. They'd think you was making game of them. They hate things they +think are clever!" + +The young man made as if to reply, but Banghurst's back expressed quite +clearly that the interview was at an end. + +"Nohow," repeated Banghurst just when it seemed he had finished +altogether. + +"I may take it to the _Gunfire_ then?" + +Banghurst suggested an alternative. + +"Very well," said the young man, heated, "the _Gunfire_ it is." + +But in that he was reckoning without the editor of the _Gunfire_. + + +III + +It must have been quite soon after that, that I myself heard the first +mention of the mermaid, little recking that at last it would fall to me +to write her history. I was on one of my rare visits to London, and +Micklethwaite was giving me lunch at the Penwiper Club, certainly one of +the best dozen literary clubs in London. I noted the rising young +journalist at a table near the door, lunching alone. All about him +tables were vacant, though the other parts of the room were crowded. He +sat with his face towards the door, and he kept looking up whenever any +one came in, as if he expected some one who never came. Once distinctly +I saw him beckon to a man, but the man did not respond. + +"Look here, Micklethwaite," I said, "why is everybody avoiding that man +over there? I noticed just now in the smoking-room that he seemed to be +trying to get into conversation with some one and that a kind of +taboo----" + +Micklethwaite stared over his fork. "Ra-ther," he said. + +"But what's he done?" + +"He's a fool," said Micklethwaite with his mouth full, evidently +annoyed. "Ugh," he said as soon as he was free to do so. + +I waited a little while. + +"What's he done?" I ventured. + +Micklethwaite did not answer for a moment and crammed things into his +mouth vindictively, bread and all sorts of things. Then leaning towards +me in a confidential manner he made indignant noises which I could not +clearly distinguish as words. + +"Oh!" I said, when he had done. + +"Yes," said Micklethwaite. He swallowed and then poured himself +wine--splashing the tablecloth. + +"He had _me_ for an hour very nearly the other day." + +"Yes?" I said. + +"Silly fool," said Micklethwaite. + +I was afraid it was all over, but luckily he gave me an opening again +after gulping down his wine. + +"He leads you on to argue," he said. + +"That----?" + +"That he can't prove it." + +"Yes?" + +"And then he shows you he can. Just showing off how damned ingenious he +is." + +I was a little confused. "Prove what?" I asked. + +"Haven't I been telling you?" said Micklethwaite, growing very red. +"About this confounded mermaid of his at Folkestone." + +"He says there is one?" + +"Yes, he does," said Micklethwaite, going purple and staring at me very +hard. He seemed to ask mutely whether I of all people proposed to turn +on him and back up this infamous scoundrel. I thought for a moment he +would have apoplexy, but happily he remembered his duty as my host. So +he turned very suddenly on a meditative waiter for not removing our +plates. + +"Had any golf lately?" I said to Micklethwaite, when the plates and the +remains of the waiter had gone away. Golf always does Micklethwaite good +except when he is actually playing. Then, I am told-- If I were Mrs. +Bunting I should break off and raise my eyebrows and both hands at this +point, to indicate how golf acts on Micklethwaite when he is playing. + +I turned my mind to feigning an interest in golf--a game that in truth +I despise and hate as I despise and hate nothing else in this world. +Imagine a great fat creature like Micklethwaite, a creature who ought to +wear a turban and a long black robe to hide his grossness, whacking a +little white ball for miles and miles with a perfect surgery of +instruments, whacking it either with a babyish solemnity or a childish +rage as luck may have decided, whacking away while his country goes to +the devil, and incidentally training an innocent-eyed little boy to +swear and be a tip-hunting loafer. That's golf! However, I controlled my +all too facile sneer and talked of golf and the relative merits of golf +links as I might talk to a child about buns or distract a puppy with the +whisper of "rats," and when at last I could look at the rising young +journalist again our lunch had come to an end. + +I saw that he was talking with a greater air of freedom than it is +usual to display to club waiters, to the man who held his coat. The man +looked incredulous but respectful, and was answering shortly but +politely. + +When we went out this little conversation was still going on. The waiter +was holding the rising young journalist's soft felt hat and the rising +young journalist was fumbling in his coat pocket with a thick mass of +papers. + +"It's tremendous. I've got most of it here," he was saying as we went +by. "I don't know if you'd care----" + +"I get very little time for reading, sir," the waiter was replying. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH + +THE QUALITY OF PARKER + + +I + +So far I have been very full, I know, and verisimilitude has been my +watchword rather than the true affidavit style. But if I have made it +clear to the reader just how the Sea Lady landed and just how it was +possible for her to land and become a member of human society without +any considerable excitement on the part of that society, such poor pains +as I have taken to tint and shadow and embellish the facts at my +disposal will not have been taken in vain. She positively and quietly +settled down with the Buntings. Within a fortnight she had really +settled down so thoroughly that, save for her exceptional beauty and +charm and the occasional faint touches of something a little indefinable +in her smile, she had become a quite passable and credible human being. +She was a cripple, indeed, and her lower limb was most pathetically +swathed and put in a sort of case, but it was quite generally +understood--I am afraid at Mrs. Bunting's initiative--that presently +_they_--Mrs. Bunting said "they," which was certainly almost as far or +even a little farther than legitimate prevarication may go--would be as +well as ever. + +[Illustration: She positively and quietly settled down with the +Buntings.] + +"Of course," said Mrs. Bunting, "she will never be able to _bicycle_ +again----" + +That was the sort of glamour she threw about it. + + +II + +In Parker it is indisputable that the Sea Lady found--or at least had +found for her by Mrs. Bunting--a treasure of the richest sort. Parker +was still fallaciously young, but she had been maid to a lady from +India who had been in a "case" and had experienced and overcome +cross-examination. She had also been deceived by a young man, whom she +had fancied greatly, only to find him walking out with another--contrary +to her inflexible sense of correctness--in the presence of which all +other things are altogether vain. Life she had resolved should have no +further surprises for her. She looked out on its (largely improper) +pageant with an expression of alert impartiality in her hazel eyes, +calm, doing her specific duty, and entirely declining to participate +further. She always kept her elbows down by her side and her hands +always just in contact, and it was impossible for the most powerful +imagination to conceive her under any circumstances as being anything +but absolutely straight and clean and neat. And her voice was always +under all circumstances low and wonderfully distinct--just to an +infinitesimal degree indeed "mincing." + +Mrs. Bunting had been a little nervous when it came to the point. It was +Mrs. Bunting of course who engaged her, because the Sea Lady was so +entirely without experience. But certainly Mrs. Bunting's nervousness +was thrown away. + +"You understand," said Mrs. Bunting, taking a plunge at it, "that--that +she is an invalid." + +"I _didn't_, Mem," replied Parker respectfully, and evidently quite +willing to understand anything as part of her duty in this world. + +"In fact," said Mrs. Bunting, rubbing the edge of the tablecloth +daintily with her gloved finger and watching the operation with +interest, "as a matter of fact, she has a mermaid's tail." + +"Mermaid's tail! Indeed, Mem! And is it painful at all?" + +"Oh, dear, no, it involves no inconvenience--nothing. Except--you +understand, there is a need of--discretion." + +"Of course, Mem," said Parker, as who should say, "there always is." + +"We particularly don't want the servants----" + +"The lower servants-- No, Mem." + +"You understand?" and Mrs. Bunting looked up again and regarded Parker +calmly. + +"Precisely, Mem!" said Parker, with a face unmoved, and so they came to +the question of terms. "It all passed off _most_ satisfactorily," said +Mrs. Bunting, taking a deep breath at the mere memory of that moment. +And it is clear that Parker was quite of her opinion. + +She was not only discreet but really clever and handy. From the very +outset she grasped the situation, unostentatiously but very firmly. It +was Parker who contrived the sort of violin case for It, and who made +the tea gown extension that covered the case's arid contours. It was +Parker who suggested an invalid's chair for use indoors and in the +garden, and a carrying chair for the staircase. Hitherto Fred Bunting +had been on hand, at last even in excessive abundance, whenever the Sea +Lady lay in need of masculine arms. But Parker made it clear at once +that that was not at all in accordance with her ideas, and so earned the +lifelong gratitude of Mabel Glendower. And Parker too spoke out for +drives, and suggested with an air of rightness that left nothing else to +be done, the hire of a carriage and pair for the season--to the equal +delight of the Buntings and the Sea Lady. It was Parker who dictated the +daily drive up to the eastern end of the Leas and the Sea Lady's +transfer, and the manner of the Sea Lady's transfer, to the bath chair +in which she promenaded the Leas. There seemed to be nowhere that it was +pleasant and proper for the Sea Lady to go that Parker did not swiftly +and correctly indicate it and the way to get to it, and there seems to +have been nothing that it was really undesirable the Sea Lady should do +and anywhere that it was really undesirable that she should go, that +Parker did not at once invisibly but effectively interpose a bar. It was +Parker who released the Sea Lady from being a sort of private and +peculiar property in the Bunting household and carried her off to a +becoming position in the world, when the crisis came. In little things +as in great she failed not. It was she who made it luminous that the Sea +Lady's card plate was not yet engraved and printed ("Miss Doris +Thalassia Waters" was the pleasant and appropriate name with which the +Sea Lady came primed), and who replaced the box of the presumably dank +and drowned and dripping "Tom" by a jewel case, a dressing bag and the +first of the Sea Lady's trunks. + +On a thousand little occasions this Parker showed a sense of propriety +that was penetratingly fine. For example, in the shop one day when +"things" of an intimate sort were being purchased, she suddenly +intervened. + +"There are stockings, Mem," she said in a discreet undertone, behind, +but not too vulgarly behind, a fluttering straight hand. + +"_Stockings!_" cried Mrs. Bunting. "But----!" + +"I think, Mem, she should have stockings," said Parker, quietly but very +firmly. + +And come to think of it, why _should_ an unavoidable deficiency in a +lady excuse one that can be avoided? It's there we touch the very +quintessence and central principle of the proper life. + +But Mrs. Bunting, you know, would never have seen it like that. + + +III + +Let me add here, regretfully but with infinite respect, one other thing +about Parker, and then she shall drop into her proper place. + +I must confess, with a slight tinge of humiliation, that I pursued this +young woman to her present situation at Highton Towers--maid she is to +that eminent religious and social propagandist, the Lady Jane Glanville. +There were certain details of which I stood in need, certain scenes and +conversations of which my passion for verisimilitude had scarcely a +crumb to go upon. And from first to last, what she must have seen and +learnt and inferred would amount practically to everything. + +I put this to her frankly. She made no pretence of not understanding me +nor of ignorance of certain hidden things. When I had finished she +regarded me with a level regard. + +"I couldn't think of it, sir," she said. "It wouldn't be at all +according to my ideas." + +"But!--It surely couldn't possibly hurt you now to tell me." + +"I'm afraid I couldn't, sir." + +"It couldn't hurt anyone." + +"It isn't that, sir." + +"I should see you didn't lose by it, you know." + +She looked at me politely, having said what she intended to say. + +And, in spite of what became at last very fine and handsome inducements, +that remained the inflexible Parker's reply. Even after I had come to +an end with my finesse and attempted to bribe her in the grossest +manner, she displayed nothing but a becoming respect for my impregnable +social superiority. + +"I couldn't think of it, sir," she repeated. "It wouldn't be at all +according to my ideas." + +And if in the end you should find this story to any extent vague or +incomplete, I trust you will remember how the inflexible severity of +Parker's ideas stood in my way. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH + +THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF MR. HARRY CHATTERIS + + +I + +These digressions about Parker and the journalists have certainly led me +astray from the story a little. You will, however, understand that while +the rising young journalist was still in pursuit of information, Hope +and Banghurst, and Parker merely a budding perfection, the carriage not +even thought of, things were already developing in that bright little +establishment beneath the evergreen oaks on the Folkestone Riviera. So +soon as the minds of the Buntings ceased to be altogether focused upon +this new and amazing social addition, they--of all people--had most +indisputably discovered, it became at first faintly and then very +clearly evident that their own simple pleasure in the possession of a +guest so beautiful as Miss Waters, so solidly wealthy and--in a +manner--so distinguished, was not entirely shared by the two young +ladies who were to have been their principal guests for the season. + +This little rift was perceptible the very first time Mrs. Bunting had an +opportunity of talking over her new arrangements with Miss Glendower. + +"And is she really going to stay with you all the summer?" said Adeline. + +"Surely, dear, you don't mind?" + +"It takes me a little by surprise." + +"She's asked me, my dear----" + +"I'm thinking of Harry. If the general election comes on in +September--and every one seems to think it will-- You promised you +would let us inundate you with electioneering." + +"But do you think she----" + +"She will be dreadfully in the way." + +She added after an interval, "She stops my working." + +"But, my dear!" + +"She's out of harmony," said Adeline. + +Mrs. Bunting looked out of her window at the tamarisk and the sea. "I'm +sure I wouldn't do anything to hurt Harry's prospects. You know how +enthusiastic we all are. Randolph would do anything. But are you sure +she will be in the way?" + +"What else can she be?" + +"She might help even." + +"Oh, help!" + +"She might canvass. She's very attractive, you know, dear." + +"Not to me," said Miss Glendower. "I don't trust her." + +"But to some people. And as Harry says, at election times every one who +can do anything must be let do it. Cut them--do anything afterwards, +but at the time--you know he talked of it when Mr. Fison and he were +here. If you left electioneering only to the really nice people----" + +"It was Mr. Fison said that, not Harry. And besides, she wouldn't help." + +"I think you misjudge her there, dear. She has been asking----" + +"To help?" + +"Yes, and all about it," said Mrs. Bunting, with a transient pink. "She +keeps asking questions about why we are having the election and what it +is all about, and why Harry is a candidate and all that. She wants to go +into it quite deeply. _I_ can't answer half the things she asks." + +"And that's why she keeps up those long conversations with Mr. Melville, +I suppose, and why Fred goes about neglecting Mabel----" + +"My dear!" said Mrs. Bunting. + +"I wouldn't have her canvassing with us for anything," said Miss +Glendower. "She'd spoil everything. She is frivolous and satirical. She +looks at you with incredulous eyes, she seems to blight all one's +earnestness.... I don't think you quite understand, dear Mrs. Bunting, +what this election and my studies mean to me--and Harry. She comes +across all that--like a contradiction." + +"Surely, my dear! I've never heard her contradict." + +"Oh, she doesn't contradict. But she-- There is something about her-- One +feels that things that are most important and vital are nothing to her. +Don't you feel it? She comes from another world to us." + +Mrs. Bunting remained judicial. Adeline dropped to a lower key again. "I +think," she said, "anyhow, that we're taking her very easily. How do we +know what she is? Down there, out there, she may be anything. She may +have had excellent reasons for coming to land----" + +"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "Is that charity?" + +"How do they live?" + +"If she hadn't lived nicely I'm sure she couldn't behave so nicely." + +"Besides--coming here! She had no invitation----" + +"I've invited her now," said Mrs. Bunting gently. + +"You could hardly help yourself. I only hope your kindness----" + +"It's not a kindness," said Mrs. Bunting, "it's a duty. If she were +only half as charming as she is. You seem to forget"--her voice +dropped--"what it is she comes for." + +"That's what I want to know." + +"I'm sure in these days, with so much materialism about and such +wickedness everywhere, when everybody who has a soul seems trying to +lose it, to find any one who hadn't a soul and who is trying to find +one----" + +"But _is_ she trying to get one?" + +"Mr. Flange comes twice every week. He would come oftener, as you know, +if there wasn't so much confirmation about." + +"And when he comes he sits and touches her hand if he can, and he talks +in his lowest voice, and she sits and smiles--she almost laughs outright +at the things he says." + +"Because he has to win his way with her. Surely Mr. Flange may do what +he can to make religion attractive?" + +"I don't believe she believes she will get a soul. I don't believe she +wants one a bit." + +She turned towards the door as if she had done. + +Mrs. Bunting's pink was now permanent. She had brought up a son and two +daughters, and besides she had brought down a husband to "My dear, how +was _I_ to know?" and when it was necessary to be firm--even with +Adeline Glendower--she knew how to be firm just as well as anybody. + +"My dear," she began in her very firmest quiet manner, "I am positive +you misjudge Miss Waters. Trivial she may be--on the surface at any +rate. Perhaps she laughs and makes fun a little. There are different +ways of looking at things. But I am sure that at bottom she is just as +serious, just as grave, as--any one. You judge her hastily. I am sure if +you knew her better--as I do----" + +Mrs. Bunting left an eloquent pause. + +Miss Glendower had two little pink flushes in her cheeks. She turned +with her hand on the door. + +"At any rate," she said, "I am sure that Harry will agree with me that +she can be no help to our cause. We have our work to do and it is +something more than just vulgar electioneering. We have to develop and +establish ideas. Harry has views that are new and wide-reaching. We want +to put our whole strength into this work. Now especially. And her +presence----" + +She paused for a moment. "It is a digression. She divides things. She +puts it all wrong. She has a way of concentrating attention about +herself. She alters the values of things. She prevents my being +single-minded, she will prevent Harry being single-minded----" + +"I think, my dear, that you might trust my judgment a little," said Mrs. +Bunting and paused. + +Miss Glendower opened her mouth and shut it again, without speaking. It +became evident finality was attained. Nothing remained to be said but +the regrettable. + +The door opened and closed smartly and Mrs. Bunting was alone. + +Within an hour they all met at the luncheon table and Adeline's +behaviour to the Sea Lady and to Mrs. Bunting was as pleasant and alert +as any highly earnest and intellectual young lady's could be. And all +that Mrs. Bunting said and did tended with what people call infinite +tact--which really, you know, means a great deal more tact than is +comfortable--to develop and expose the more serious aspect of the Sea +Lady's mind. Mr. Bunting was unusually talkative and told them all about +a glorious project he had just heard of, to cut out the rather shrubby +and weedy front of the Leas and stick in something between a wine vault +and the Crystal Palace as a Winter Garden--which seemed to him a very +excellent idea indeed. + + +II + +It is time now to give some impression of the imminent Chatteris, who +for all his late appearance is really the chief human being in my cousin +Melville's story. It happens that I met him with some frequency in my +university days and afterwards ever and again I came upon him. He was +rather a brilliant man at the university, smart without being vulgar and +clever for all that. He was remarkably good-looking from the very onset +of his manhood and without being in any way a showy spendthrift, was +quite magnificently extravagant. There was trouble in his last year, +something hushed up about a girl or woman in London, but his family had +it all over with him, and his uncle, the Earl of Beechcroft, settled +some of his bills. Not all--for the family is commendably free from +sentimental excesses--but enough to make him comfortable again. The +family is not a rich one and it further abounds in an extraordinary +quantity of rather frowsy, loose-tongued aunts--I never knew a family +quite so rich in old aunts. But Chatteris was so good-looking, +easy-mannered, and clever, that they seemed to agree almost without +discussion to pull him through. They hunted about for something that +would be really remunerative without being laborious or too commercial; +and meanwhile--after the extraordinary craving of his aunt, Lady +Poynting Mallow, to see him acting had been overcome by the united +efforts of the more religious section of his aunts--Chatteris set +himself seriously to the higher journalism--that is to say, the +journalism that dines anywhere, gets political tips after dinner, and is +always acceptable--if only to avoid thirteen articles--in a half-crown +review. In addition, he wrote some very passable verse and edited Jane +Austen for the only publisher who had not already reprinted the works of +that classic lady. + +His verse, like himself, was shapely and handsome, and, like his +face, it suggested to the penetrating eye certain reservations and +indecisions. There was just that touch of refinement that is weakness +in the public man. But as yet he was not a public man; he was known to +be energetic and his work was gathering attention as always capable and +occasionally brilliant. His aunts declared he was ripening, that any +defect in vigour he displayed was the incompleteness of the process, +and decided he should go to America, where vigour and vigorous +opportunities abound, and there, I gather, he came upon something like +a failure. Something happened, indeed, quite a lot happened. He came +back unmarried--and _viâ_ the South Seas, Australasia and India. And +Lady Poynting Mallow publicly told him he was a fool, when he got back. + +What happened in America, even if one does not consult contemporary +American papers, is still very difficult to determine. There appear to +have been the daughter of a millionaire and something like an engagement +in the story. According to the _New York Yell_, one of the smartest, +crispest, and altogether most representative papers in America, there +was also the daughter of some one else, whom the _Yell_ interviewed, or +professed to interview, under the heading: + + + AN ARISTOCRATIC BRITISHER + + TRIFLES WITH + + A PURE AMERICAN GIRL + + INTERVIEW WITH THE VICTIM + + OF HIS + + HEARTLESS LEVITY + + +But this some one else was, I am inclined to think in spite of her +excellently executed portrait, merely a brilliant stroke of modern +journalism, the _Yell_ having got wind of the sudden retreat of +Chatteris and inventing a reason in preference to discovering one. +Wensleydale tells me the true impetus to bolt was the merest trifle. The +daughter of the millionaire, being a bright and spirited girl, had +undergone interviewing on the subject of her approaching marriage, on +marriage in general, on social questions of various sorts, and on the +relations of the British and American peoples, and he seems to have +found the thing in his morning paper. It took him suddenly and he lost +his head. And once he started, he seems to have lacked the power of mind +to turn about and come back. The affair was a mess, the family paid some +more of his bills and shirked others, and Chatteris turned up in London +again after a time, with somewhat diminished glory and a series of +letters on Imperial Affairs, each headed with the quotation: "What do +they know of England who only England know?" + +Of course people of England learnt nothing of the real circumstances of +the case, but it was fairly obvious that he had gone to America and come +back empty-handed. + +And that was how, in the course of some years, he came to Adeline +Glendower, of whose special gifts as his helper and inspiration you have +already heard from Mrs. Bunting. When he became engaged to her, the +family, which had long craved to forgive him--Lady Poynting Mallow as a +matter of fact had done so--brightened wonderfully. And after +considerable obscure activities he declared himself a philanthropic +Liberal with open spaces in his platform, and in a position, and ready +as a beginning, to try the quality of the conservative South. + +He was away making certain decisive arrangements, in Paris and +elsewhere, at the time of the landing of the Sea Lady. Before the matter +was finally settled it was necessary that something should be said to a +certain great public character, and then he was to return and tell +Adeline. And every one was expecting him daily, including, it is now +indisputable, the Sea Lady. + + +III + +The meeting of Miss Glendower and her affianced lover on his return from +Paris was one of those scenes in this story for which I have scarcely an +inkling of the true details. He came to Folkestone and stopped at the +Métropole, the Bunting house being full and the Métropole being the +nearest hotel to Sandgate; and he walked down in the afternoon and +asked for Adeline, which was pretty rather than correct. I gather that +they met in the drawing-room, and as Chatteris closed the door behind +him, I imagine there was something in the nature of a caress. + +I must confess I envy the freedom of the novelist who can take you +behind such a locked door as this and give you all that such persons +say and do. But with the strongest will in the world to blend the +little scraps of fact I have into a continuous sequence of events, I +falter at this occasion. After all, I never saw Adeline at all until +after all these things were over, and what is she now? A rather tall, a +rather restless and active woman, very keen and obvious in public +affairs--with something gone out of her. Melville once saw a gleam of +that, but for the most part Melville never liked her; she had a wider +grasp of things than he, and he was a little afraid of her; she was in +some inexplicable way neither a pretty woman nor a "dear lady" nor a +_grande dame_ nor totally insignificant, and a heretic therefore in +Melville's scheme of things. He gives me small material for that +earlier Adeline. "She posed," he says; she was "political," and she was +always reading Mrs. Humphry Ward. + +The last Melville regarded as the most heinous offence. It is not the +least of my cousin's weaknesses that he regards this great novelist as +an extremely corrupting influence for intelligent girls. She makes +them good and serious in the wrong way, he says. Adeline, he asserts, +was absolutely built on her. She was always attempting to be the +incarnation of _Marcella_. It was he who had perverted Mrs. Bunting's +mind to adopt this fancy. But I don't believe for a moment in this +idea of girls building themselves on heroines in fiction. These are +matters of elective affinity, and unless some bullying critic or +preacher sends us astray, we take each to our own novelist as the +souls in the Swedenborgian system take to their hells. Adeline took to +the imaginary _Marcella_. There was, Melville says, the strongest +likeness in their mental atmosphere. They had the same defects, a bias +for superiority--to use his expressive phrase--the same disposition +towards arrogant benevolence, that same obtuseness to little shades of +feeling that leads people to speak habitually of the "Lower Classes," +and to think in the vein of that phrase. They certainly had the same +virtues, a conscious and conscientious integrity, a hard nobility +without one touch of magic, an industrious thoroughness. More than in +anything else, Adeline delighted in her novelist's thoroughness, her +freedom from impressionism, the patient resolution with which she +went into the corners and swept under the mat of every incident. And +it would be easy to argue from that, that Adeline behaved as Mrs. +Ward's most characteristic heroine behaved, on an analogous occasion. + +_Marcella_ we know--at least after her heart was changed--would have +clung to him. There would have been a moment of high emotion in which +thoughts--of the highest class--mingled with the natural ambition of two +people in the prime of life and power. Then she would have receded with +a quick movement and listened with her beautiful hand pensive against +her cheek, while Chatteris began to sum up the forces against him--to +speculate on the action of this group and that. Something infinitely +tender and maternal would have spoken in her, pledging her to the utmost +help that love and a woman can give. She would have produced in +Chatteris that exquisite mingled impression of grace, passion, +self-yielding, which in all its infinite variations and repetitions made +up for him the constant poem of her beauty. + +But that is the dream and not the reality. So Adeline might have dreamt +of behaving, but--she was not _Marcella_, and only wanting to be, and +he was not only not Maxwell but he had no intention of being Maxwell +anyhow. If he had had an opportunity of becoming Maxwell he would +probably have rejected it with extreme incivility. So they met like two +unheroic human beings, with shy and clumsy movements and, I suppose, +fairly honest eyes. Something there was in the nature of a caress, I +believe, and then I incline to fancy she said "Well?" and I think +he must have answered, "It's all right." After that, and rather +allusively, with a backward jerk of the head at intervals as it were +towards the great personage, Chatteris must have told her particulars. +He must have told her that he was going to contest Hythe and that the +little difficulty with the Glasgow commission agent who wanted to run +the Radical ticket as a "Man of Kent" had been settled without injury +to the party (such as it is). Assuredly they talked politics, because +soon after, when they came into the garden side by side to where Mrs. +Bunting and the Sea Lady sat watching the girls play croquet, Adeline +was in full possession of all these facts. I fancy that for such a +couple as they were, such intimation of success, such earnest topics, +replaced, to a certain extent at any rate, the vain repetition of +vulgar endearments. + +The Sea Lady appears to have been the first to see them. "Here he is," +she said abruptly. + +"Whom?" said Mrs. Bunting, glancing up at eyes that were suddenly eager, +and then following their glance towards Chatteris. + +"Your other son," said the Sea Lady, jesting unheeded. + +"It's Harry and Adeline!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "Don't they make a +handsome couple?" + +But the Sea Lady made no reply, and leaned back, scrutinising their +advance. Certainly they made a handsome pair. Coming out of the veranda +into the blaze of the sun and across the trim lawn towards the shadow of +the ilex trees, they were lit, as it were, with a more glorious +limelight, and displayed like actors on a stage more spacious than the +stage of any theatre. The figure of Chatteris must have come out tall +and fair and broad, a little sunburnt, and I gather even then a little +preoccupied, as indeed he always seemed to be in those latter days. And +beside him Adeline, glancing now up at him and now towards the audience +under the trees, dark and a little flushed, rather tall--though not so +tall as _Marcella_ seems to have been--and, you know, without any +instructions from any novel-writer in the world, glad. + +Chatteris did not discover that there was any one but Buntings under the +tree until he was close at hand. Then the abrupt discovery of this +stranger seems to have checked whatever he was prepared to say for his +_début_, and Adeline took the centre of the stage. Mrs. Bunting was +standing up, and all the croquet players--except Mabel, who was +winning--converged on Chatteris with cries of welcome. Mabel remained in +the midst of what I understand is called a tea-party, loudly demanding +that they should see her "play it out." No doubt if everything had gone +well she would have given a most edifying exhibition of what croquet can +sometimes be. + +Adeline swam forward to Mrs. Bunting and cried with a note of triumph in +her voice: "It is all settled. Everything is settled. He has won them +all and he is to contest Hythe." + +Quite involuntarily her eyes must have met the Sea Lady's. + +It is of course quite impossible to say what she found there--or indeed +what there was to find there then. For a moment they faced riddles, and +then the Sea Lady turned her eyes with a long deferred scrutiny to the +man's face, which she probably saw now closely for the first time. One +wonders whether it is just possible that there may have been something, +if it were no more than a gleam of surprise and enquiry, in that meeting +of their eyes. Just for a moment she held his regard, and then it +shifted enquiringly to Mrs. Bunting. + +That lady intervened effusively with an "Oh! I forgot," and introduced +them. I think they went through that without another meeting of the +foils of their regard. + +"You back?" said Fred to Chatteris, touching his arm, and Chatteris +confirmed this happy guess. + +The Bunting girls seemed to welcome Adeline's enviable situation rather +than Chatteris as an individual. And Mabel's voice could be heard +approaching. "Oughtn't they to see me play it out, Mr. Chatteris?" + +"Hullo, Harry, my boy!" cried Mr. Bunting, who was cultivating a bluff +manner. "How's Paris?" + +"How's the fishing?" said Harry. + +And so they came into a vague circle about this lively person who had +"won them all"--except Parker, of course, who remained in her own +proper place and was, I am certain, never to be won by anybody. + +There was a handing and shifting of garden chairs. + +No one seemed to take the slightest notice of Adeline's dramatic +announcement. The Buntings were not good at thinking of things to say. +She stood in the midst of the group like a leading lady when the other +actors have forgotten their parts. Then every one woke up to this, as it +were, and they went off in a volley. "So it's really all settled," said +Mrs. Bunting; and Betty Bunting said, "There _is_ to be an election +then!" and Nettie said, "What fun!" Mr. Bunting remarked with a knowing +air, "So you saw him then?" and Fred flung "Hooray!" into the tangle of +sounds. + +The Sea Lady of course said nothing. + +"We'll give 'em a jolly good fight for it, anyhow," said Mr. Bunting. + +"Well, I hope we shall do that," said Chatteris. + +"We shall do more than that," said Adeline. + +"Oh, yes!" said Betty Bunting, "we shall." + +"I knew they would let him," said Adeline. + +"If they had any sense," said Mr. Bunting. + +Then came a pause, and Mr. Bunting was emboldened to lift up his voice +and utter politics. "They are getting sense," he said. "They are +learning that a party must have men, men of birth and training. Money +and the mob--they've tried to keep things going by playing to fads and +class jealousies. And the Irish. And they've had their lesson. How? +Why,--we've stood aside. We've left 'em to faddists and fomenters--and +the Irish. And here they are! It's a revolution in the party. We've let +it down. Now we must pick it up again." + +He made a gesture with his fat little hand, one of those fat pink little +hands that appear to have neither flesh nor bones inside them but only +sawdust or horse-hair. Mrs. Bunting leaned back in her chair and smiled +at him indulgently. + +"It is no common election," said Mr. Bunting. "It is a great issue." + +The Sea Lady had been regarding him thoughtfully. "What is a great +issue?" she asked. "I don't quite understand." + +Mr. Bunting spread himself to explain to her. "This," he said to begin +with. Adeline listened with a mingling of interest and impatience, +attempting ever and again to suppress him and to involve Chatteris by a +tactful interposition. But Chatteris appeared disinclined to be +involved. He seemed indeed quite interested in Mr. Bunting's view of the +case. + +Presently the croquet quartette went back--at Mabel's suggestion--to +their game, and the others continued their political talk. It became +more personal at last, dealing soon quite specifically with all that +Chatteris was doing and more particularly all that Chatteris was to do. +Mrs. Bunting suddenly suppressed Mr. Bunting as he was offering advice, +and Adeline took the burden of the talk again. She indicated vast +purposes. "This election is merely the opening of a door," she said. +When Chatteris made modest disavowals she smiled with a proud and happy +consciousness of what she meant to make of him. + +And Mrs. Bunting supplied footnotes to make it all clear to the Sea +Lady. "He's so modest," she said at one point, and Chatteris pretended +not to hear and went rather pink. Ever and again he attempted to deflect +the talk towards the Sea Lady and away from himself, but he was +hampered by his ignorance of her position. + +And the Sea Lady said scarcely anything but watched Chatteris and +Adeline, and more particularly Chatteris in relation to Adeline. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH + +SYMPTOMATIC + + +I + +My cousin Melville is never very clear about his dates. Now this is +greatly to be regretted, because it would be very illuminating indeed if +one could tell just how many days elapsed before he came upon Chatteris +in intimate conversation with the Sea Lady. He was going along the front +of the Leas with some books from the Public Library that Miss Glendower +had suddenly wished to consult, and which she, with that entire +ignorance of his lack of admiration for her which was part of her want +of charm for him, had bidden him bring her. It was in one of those +sheltered paths just under the brow which give such a pleasant and +characteristic charm to Folkestone, that he came upon a little group +about the Sea Lady's bath chair. Chatteris was seated in one of the +wooden seats that are embedded in the bank, and was leaning forward and +looking into the Sea Lady's face; and she was speaking with a smile that +struck Melville even at the time as being a little special in its +quality--and she seems to have been capable of many charming smiles. +Parker was a little distance away, where a sort of bastion projects and +gives a wide view of the pier and harbour and the coast of France, +regarding it all with a qualified disfavour, and the bath chairman was +crumpled up against the bank lost in that wistful melancholy that the +constant perambulation of broken humanity necessarily engenders. + +[Illustration: A little group about the Sea Lady's bath chair.] + +My cousin slackened his pace a little and came up and joined them. +The conversation hung at his approach. Chatteris sat back a little, but +there seemed no resentment and he sought a topic for the three to +discuss in the books Melville carried. + +"Books?" he said. + +"For Miss Glendower," said Melville. + +"Oh!" said Chatteris. + +"What are they about?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Land tenure," said Melville. + +"That's hardly my subject," said the Sea Lady, and Chatteris joined in +her smile as if he saw a jest. + +There was a little pause. + +"You are contesting Hythe?" said Melville. + +"Fate points that way," said Chatteris. + +"They threaten a dissolution for September." + +"It will come in a month," said Chatteris, with the inimitable tone of +one who knows. + +"In that case we shall soon be busy." + +"And _I_ may canvass," said the Sea Lady. "I never have----" + +"Miss Waters," explained Chatteris, "has been telling me she means to +help us." He met Melville's eye frankly. + +"It's rough work, Miss Waters," said Melville. + +"I don't mind that. It's fun. And I want to help. I really do want to +help--Mr. Chatteris." + +"You know, that's encouraging." + +"I could go around with you in my bath chair?" + +"It would be a picnic," said Chatteris. + +"I mean to help anyhow," said the Sea Lady. + +"You know the case for the plaintiff?" asked Melville. + +She looked at him. + +"You've got your arguments?" + +"I shall ask them to vote for Mr. Chatteris, and afterwards when I see +them I shall remember them and smile and wave my hand. What else is +there?" + +"Nothing," said Chatteris, and shut the lid on Melville. "I wish I had +an argument as good." + +"What sort of people are they here?" asked Melville. "Isn't there a +smuggling interest to conciliate?" + +"I haven't asked that," said Chatteris. "Smuggling is over and past, +you know. Forty years ago. It always has been forty years ago. They +trotted out the last of the smugglers,--interesting old man, full of +reminiscences,--when there was a count of the Saxon Shore. He remembered +smuggling--forty years ago. Really, I doubt if there ever was any +smuggling. The existing coast guard is a sacrifice to a vain +superstition." + +"Why!" cried the Sea Lady. "Only about five weeks ago I saw quite near +here----" + +She stopped abruptly and caught Melville's eye. He grasped her +difficulty. + +"In a paper?" he suggested. + +"Yes, in a paper," she said, seizing the rope he threw her. + +"Well?" asked Chatteris. + +"There is smuggling still," said the Sea Lady, with an air of some one +who decides not to tell an anecdote that is suddenly found to be half +forgotten. + +"There's no doubt it happens," said Chatteris, missing it all. "But it +doesn't appear in the electioneering. I certainly sha'n't agitate for a +faster revenue cutter. However things may be in that respect, I take the +line that they are very well as they are. That's my line, of course." +And he looked out to sea. The eyes of Melville and the Sea Lady had an +intimate moment. + +"There, you know, is just a specimen of the sort of thing we do," said +Chatteris. "Are you prepared to be as intricate as that?" + +"Quite," said the Sea Lady. + +My cousin was reminded of an anecdote. + +The talk degenerated into anecdotes of canvassing, and ran shallow. My +cousin was just gathering that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Bunting had been +with the Sea Lady and had gone into the town to a shop, when they +returned. Chatteris rose to greet them and explained--what had been by +no means apparent before--that he was on his way to Adeline, and after a +few further trivialities he and Melville went on together. + +A brief silence fell between them. + +"Who is that Miss Waters?" asked Chatteris. + +"Friend of Mrs. Bunting," prevaricated Melville. + +"So I gather.... She seems a very charming person." + +"She is." + +"She's interesting. Her illness seems to throw her up. It makes a +passive thing of her, like a picture or something that's--imaginary. +Imagined--anyhow. She sits there and smiles and responds. Her eyes--have +something intimate. And yet----" + +My cousin offered no assistance. + +"Where did Mrs. Bunting find her." + +My cousin had to gather himself together for a second or so. + +"There's something," he said deliberately, "that Mrs. Bunting doesn't +seem disposed----" + +"What can it be?" + +"It's bound to be all right," said Melville rather weakly. + +"It's strange, too. Mrs. Bunting is usually so disposed----" + +Melville left that to itself. + +"That's what one feels," said Chatteris. + +"What?" + +"Mystery." + +My cousin shares with me a profound detestation of that high mystic +method of treating women. He likes women to be finite--and nice. In +fact, he likes everything to be finite--and nice. So he merely grunted. + +But Chatteris was not to be stopped by that. He passed to a critical +note. "No doubt it's all illusion. All women are impressionists, a +patch, a light. You get an effect. And that is all you are meant to get, +I suppose. She gets an effect. But how--that's the mystery. It's not +merely beauty. There's plenty of beauty in the world. But not of these +effects. The eyes, I fancy." + +He dwelt on that for a moment. + +"There's really nothing in eyes, you know, Chatteris," said my cousin +Melville, borrowing an alien argument and a tone of analytical cynicism +from me. "Have you ever looked at eyes through a hole in a sheet?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Chatteris. "I don't mean the mere physical +eye.... Perhaps it's the look of health--and the bath chair. A bold +discord. You don't know what's the matter, Melville?" + +"How?" + +"I gather from Bunting it's a disablement--not a deformity." + +"He ought to know." + +"I'm not so sure of that. You don't happen to know the nature of her +disablement?" + +"I can't tell at all," said Melville in a speculative tone. It struck +him he was getting to prevaricate better. + +The subject seemed exhausted. They spoke of a common friend whom the +sight of the Métropole suggested. Then they did not talk at all for a +time, until the stir and interest of the band stand was passed. Then +Chatteris threw out a thought. + +"Complex business--feminine motives," he remarked. + +"How?" + +"This canvassing. _She_ can't be interested in philanthropic Liberalism." + +"There's a difference in the type. And besides, it's a personal matter." + +"Not necessarily, is it? Surely there's not such an intellectual gap +between the sexes! If _you_ can get interested----" + +"Oh, I know." + +"Besides, it's not a question of principles. It's the fun of +electioneering." + +"Fun!" + +"There's no knowing what won't interest the feminine mind," said +Melville, and added, "or what will." + +Chatteris did not answer. + +"It's the district visiting instinct, I suppose," said Melville. "They +all have it. It's the canvassing. All women like to go into houses that +don't belong to them." + +"Very likely," said Chatteris shortly, and failing a reply from +Melville, he gave way to secret meditations, it would seem still of a +fairly agreeable sort. + +The twelve o'clock gun thudded from Shornecliffe Camp. + +"By Jove!" said Chatteris, and quickened his steps. + + * * * * * + +They found Adeline busy amidst her papers. As they entered she pointed +reproachfully, yet with the protrusion of a certain Marcella-like +undertone of sweetness, at the clock. The apologies of Chatteris were +effusive and winning, and involved no mention of the Sea Lady on the +Leas. + +Melville delivered his books and left them already wading deeply into +the details of the district organisation that the local Liberal +organiser had submitted. + + +II + +A little while after the return of Chatteris, my cousin Melville +and the Sea Lady were under the ilex at the end of the sea garden +and--disregarding Parker (as every one was accustomed to do), who was +in a garden chair doing some afternoon work at a proper distance--there +was nobody with them at all. Fred and the girls were out cycling--Fred +had gone with them at the Sea Lady's request--and Miss Glendower and +Mrs. Bunting were at Hythe calling diplomatically on some rather horrid +local people who might be serviceable to Harry in his electioneering. + +Mr. Bunting was out fishing. He was not fond of fishing, but he was in +many respects an exceptionally resolute little man, and he had taken to +fishing every day in the afternoon after luncheon in order to break +himself of what Mrs. Bunting called his "ridiculous habit" of getting +sea-sick whenever he went out in a boat. He said that if fishing from a +boat with pieces of mussels for bait after luncheon would not break the +habit nothing would, and certainly it seemed at times as if it were +going to break everything that was in him. But the habit escaped. This, +however, is a digression. + +These two, I say, were sitting in the ample shade under the evergreen +oak, and Melville, I imagine, was in those fine faintly patterned +flannels that in the year 1899 combined correctness with ease. He was no +doubt looking at the shaded face of the Sea Lady, framed in a frame of +sunlit yellow-green lawn and black-green ilex leaves--at least so my +impulse for verisimilitude conceives it--and she at first was pensive +and downcast that afternoon and afterwards she was interested and looked +into his eyes. Either she must have suggested that he might smoke or +else he asked. Anyhow, his cigarettes were produced. She looked at them +with an arrested gesture, and he hung for a moment, doubtful, on her +gesture. + +"I suppose _you_--" he said. + +"I never learned." + +He glanced at Parker and then met the Sea Lady's regard. + +"It's one of the things I came for," she said. + +He took the only course. + +She accepted a cigarette and examined it thoughtfully. "Down there," she +said, "it's just one of the things-- You will understand we get nothing +but saturated tobacco. Some of the mermen-- There's something they have +picked up from the sailors. Quids, I think they call it. But that's too +horrid for words!" + +She dismissed the unpleasant topic by a movement, and lapsed into +thought. + +My cousin clicked his match-box. + +She had a momentary doubt and glanced towards the house. "Mrs. Bunting?" +she asked. Several times, I understand, she asked the same thing. + +"She wouldn't mind--" said Melville, and stopped. + +"She won't think it improper," he amplified, "if nobody else thinks it +improper." + +"There's nobody else," said the Sea Lady, glancing at Parker, and my +cousin lit the match. + +My cousin has an indirect habit of mind. With all general and all +personal things his desperation to get at them obliquely amounts almost +to a passion; he could no more go straight to a crisis than a cat could +to a stranger. He came off at a tangent now as he was sitting forward +and scrutinising her first very creditable efforts to draw. "I just +wonder," he said, "exactly what it was you _did_ come for." + +She smiled at him over a little jet of smoke. "Why, this," she said. + +"And hairdressing?" + +"And dressing." + +She smiled again after a momentary hesitation. "And all this sort of +thing," she said, as if she felt she had answered him perhaps a little +below his deserts. Her gesture indicated the house and the lawn and--my +cousin Melville wondered just exactly how much else. + +"Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Beautifully," said my cousin with a faint sigh in his voice. "What do +you think of it?" + +"It was worth coming for," said the Sea Lady, smiling into his eyes. + +"But did you really just come----?" + +She filled in his gap. "To see what life was like on land here?... Isn't +that enough?" + +Melville's cigarette had failed to light. He regarded its blighted +career pensively. + +"Life," he said, "isn't all--this sort of thing." + +"This sort of thing?" + +"Sunlight. Cigarette smoking. Talk. Looking nice." + +"But it's made up----" + +"Not altogether." + +"For example?" + +"Oh, _you_ know." + +"What?" + +"You know," said Melville, and would not look at her. + +"I decline to know," she said after a little pause. + +"Besides--" he said. + +"Yes?" + +"You told Mrs. Bunting--" It occurred to him that he was telling tales, +but that scruple came too late. + +"Well?" + +"Something about a soul." + +She made no immediate answer. He looked up and her eyes were smiling. +"Mr. Melville," she said, innocently, "what _is_ a soul?" + +"Well," said my cousin readily, and then paused for a space. "A soul," +said he, and knocked an imaginary ash from his extinct cigarette. + +"A soul," he repeated, and glanced at Parker. + +"A soul, you know," he said again, and looked at the Sea Lady with the +air of a man who is handling a difficult matter with skilful care. + +"Come to think of it," he said, "it's a rather complicated matter to +explain----" + +"To a being without one?" + +"To any one," said my cousin Melville, suddenly admitting his +difficulty. + +He meditated upon her eyes for a moment. + +"Besides," he said, "you know what a soul is perfectly well." + +"No," she answered, "I don't." + +"You know as well as I do." + +"Ah! that may be different." + +"You came to get a soul." + +"Perhaps I don't want one. Why--if one hasn't one----?" + +"Ah, _there_!" And my cousin shrugged his shoulders. "But really you +know-- It's just the generality of it that makes it hard to define." + +"Everybody has a soul?" + +"Every one." + +"Except me?" + +"I'm not certain of that." + +"Mrs. Bunting?" + +"Certainly." + +"And Mr. Bunting?" + +"Every one." + +"Has Miss Glendower?" + +"Lots." + +The Sea Lady mused. She went off at a tangent abruptly. + +"Mr. Melville," she said, "what is a union of souls?" + +Melville flicked his extinct cigarette suddenly into an elbow shape and +then threw it away. The phrase may have awakened some reminiscence. +"It's an extra," he said. "It's a sort of flourish.... And sometimes +it's like leaving cards by footmen--a substitute for the real presence." + +There came a gap. He remained downcast, trying to find a way towards +whatever it was that was in his mind to say. Conceivably, he did not +clearly know what that might be until he came to it. The Sea Lady +abandoned an attempt to understand him in favour of a more urgent topic. + +"Do you think Miss Glendower and Mr. Chatteris----?" + +Melville looked up at her. He noticed she had hung on the latter name. +"Decidedly," he said. "It's just what they _would_ do." + +Then he spoke again. "Chatteris?" he said. + +"Yes," said she. + +"I thought so," said Melville. + +The Sea Lady regarded him gravely. They scrutinised each other with an +unprecedented intimacy. Melville was suddenly direct. It was a discovery +that it seemed he ought to have made all along. He felt quite +unaccountably bitter; he spoke with a twitch of the mouth and his voice +had a note of accusation. "You want to talk about him." + +She nodded--still grave. + +"Well, _I_ don't." He changed his note. "But I will if you wish it." + +"I thought you would." + +"Oh, _you_ know," said Melville, discovering his extinct cigarette was +within reach of a vindictive heel. + +She said nothing. + +"Well?" said Melville. + +"I saw him first," she apologised, "some years ago." + +"Where?" + +"In the South Seas--near Tonga." + +"And that is really what you came for?" + +This time her manner was convincing. She admitted, "Yes." + +Melville was carefully impartial. "He's sightly," he admitted, "and +well-built and a decent chap--a decent chap. But I don't see why +you----" + +He went off at a tangent. "He didn't see you----?" + +"Oh, no." + +Melville's pose and tone suggested a mind of extreme liberality. "I +don't see why you came," he said. "Nor what you mean to do. You +see"--with an air of noting a trifling but valid obstacle--"there's Miss +Glendower." + +"Is there?" she said. + +"Well, isn't there?" + +"That's just it," she said. + +"And besides after all, you know, why should you----?" + +"I admit it's unreasonable," she said. "But why reason about it? It's a +matter of the imagination----" + +"For him?" + +"How should I know how it takes him? That is what I _want_ to know." + +Melville looked her in the eyes again. "You know, you're not playing +fair," he said. + +"To her?" + +"To any one." + +"Why?" + +"Because you are immortal--and unincumbered. Because you can do +everything you want to do--and we cannot. I don't know why we cannot, +but we cannot. Here we are, with our short lives and our little souls to +save, or lose, fussing for our little concerns. And you, out of the +elements, come and beckon----" + +"The elements have their rights," she said. And then: "The elements are +the elements, you know. That is what you forget." + +"Imagination?" + +"Certainly. That's _the_ element. Those elements of your chemists----" + +"Yes?" + +"Are all imagination. There isn't any other." She went on: "And all the +elements of your life, the life you imagine you are living, the little +things you must do, the little cares, the extraordinary little duties, +the day by day, the hypnotic limitations--all these things are a fancy +that has taken hold of you too strongly for you to shake off. You +daren't, you mustn't, you can't. To us who watch you----" + +"You watch us?" + +"Oh, yes. We watch you, and sometimes we envy you. Not only for the dry +air and the sunlight, and the shadows of trees, and the feeling of +morning, and the pleasantness of many such things, but because your +lives begin and end--because you look towards an end." + +She reverted to her former topic. "But you are so limited, so tied! The +little time you have, you use so poorly. You begin and you end, and all +the time between it is as if you were enchanted; you are afraid to do +this that would be delightful to do, you must do that, though you know +all the time it is stupid and disagreeable. Just think of the +things--even the little things--you mustn't do. Up there on the Leas in +this hot weather all the people are sitting in stuffy ugly clothes--ever +so much too much clothes, hot tight boots, you know, when they have the +most lovely pink feet, some of them--we _see_,--and they are all with +little to talk about and nothing to look at, and bound not to do all +sorts of natural things and bound to do all sorts of preposterous +things. Why are they bound? Why are they letting life slip by them? +Just as if they wouldn't all of them presently be dead! Suppose you were +to go up there in a bathing dress and a white cotton hat----" + +"It wouldn't be proper!" cried Melville. + +"Why not?" + +"It would be outrageous!" + +"But any one may see you like that on the beach!" + +"That's different." + +"It isn't different. You dream it's different. And in just the same way +you dream all the other things are proper or improper or good or bad to +do. Because you are in a dream, a fantastic, unwholesome little dream. +So small, so infinitely small! I saw you the other day dreadfully +worried by a spot of ink on your sleeve--almost the whole afternoon." + +[Illustration: "Why not?"] + +My cousin looked distressed. She abandoned the ink-spot. + +"Your life, I tell you, is a dream--a dream, and you can't wake out of +it----" + +"And if so, why do you tell me?" + +She made no answer for a space. + +"Why do you tell me?" he insisted. + +He heard the rustle of her movement as she bent towards him. + +She came warmly close to him. She spoke in gently confidential +undertone, as one who imparts a secret that is not to be too lightly +given. "Because," she said, "there are better dreams." + + +III + +For a moment it seemed to Melville that he had been addressed by +something quite other than the pleasant lady in the bath chair before +him. "But how--?" he began and stopped. He remained silent with a +perplexed face. She leaned back and glanced away from him, and when at +last she turned and spoke again, specific realities closed in on him +once more. + +"Why shouldn't I," she asked, "if I want to?" + +"Shouldn't what?" + +"If I fancy Chatteris." + +"One might think of obstacles," he reflected. + +"He's not hers," she said. + +"In a way, he's trying to be," said Melville. + +"Trying to be! He has to be what he is. Nothing can make him hers. If +you weren't dreaming you would see that." My cousin was silent. "She's +not _real_," she went on. "She's a mass of fancies and vanities. She +gets everything out of books. She gets herself out of a book. You can +see her doing it here.... What is she seeking? What is she trying to +do? All this work, all this political stuff of hers? She talks of the +condition of the poor! What is the condition of the poor? A dreary +tossing on the bed of existence, a perpetual fear of consequences that +perpetually distresses them. Lives of anxiety they lead, because they do +not know what a dream the whole thing is. Suppose they were not anxious +and afraid.... And what does she care for the condition of the poor, +after all? It is only a point of departure in her dream. In her heart +she does not want their dreams to be happier, in her heart she has no +passion for them, only her dream is that she should be prominently doing +good, asserting herself, controlling their affairs amidst thanks and +praise and blessings. _Her_ dream! Of serious things!--a rout of +phantoms pursuing a phantom ignis fatuus--the afterglow of a mirage. +Vanity of vanities----" + +"It's real enough to her." + +"As real as she can make it, you know. But she isn't real herself. She +begins badly." + +"And he, you know----" + +"He doesn't believe in it." + +"I'm not so sure." + +"I am--now." + +"He's a complicated being." + +"He will ravel out," said the Sea Lady. + +"I think you misjudge him about that work of his, anyhow," said +Melville. "He's a man rather divided against himself." He added +abruptly, "We all are." He recovered himself from the generality. "It's +vague, I admit, a sort of vague wish to do something decent, you know, +that he has----" + +"A sort of vague wish," she conceded; "but----" + +"He means well," said Melville, clinging to his proposition. + +"He means nothing. Only very dimly he suspects----" + +"Yes?" + +"What you too are beginning to suspect.... That other things may be +conceivable even if they are not possible. That this life of yours is +not everything. That it is not to be taken too seriously. Because ... +there are better dreams!" + +The song of the sirens was in her voice; my cousin would not look at her +face. "I know nothing of any other dreams," he said. "One has oneself +and this life, and that is enough to manage. What other dreams can there +be? Anyhow, we are in the dream--we have to accept it. Besides, you +know, that's going off the question. We were talking of Chatteris, and +why you have come for him. Why should you come, why should any one +outside come--into this world?" + +"Because we are permitted to come--we immortals. And why, if we choose +to do so, and taste this life that passes and continues, as rain that +falls to the ground, why should we not do it? Why should we abstain?" + +"And Chatteris?" + +"If he pleases me." + +He roused himself to a Titanic effort against an oppression that was +coming over him. He tried to get the thing down to a definite small +case, an incident, an affair of considerations. "But look here, you +know," he said. "What precisely do you mean to do if you get him? You +don't seriously intend to keep up the game to that extent. You don't +mean--positively, in our terrestrial fashion, you know--to marry him?" + +The Sea Lady laughed at his recovery of the practical tone. "Well, why +not?" she asked. + +"And go about in a bath chair, and-- No, that's not it. What _is_ it?" + +He looked up into her eyes, and it was like looking into deep water. +Down in that deep there stirred impalpable things. She smiled at him. + +"No!" she said, "I sha'n't marry him and go about in a bath chair. And +grow old as all earthly women must. (It's the dust, I think, and the +dryness of the air, and the way you begin and end.) You burn too fast, +you flare and sink and die. This life of yours!--the illnesses and the +growing old! When the skin wears shabby, and the light is out of the +hair, and the teeth-- Not even for love would I face it. No.... But +then you know--" Her voice sank to a low whisper. "_There are better +dreams._" + +"What dreams?" rebelled Melville. "What do you mean? What are you? What +do you mean by coming into this life--you who pretend to be a woman--and +whispering, whispering ... to us who are in it, to us who have no +escape." + +"But there is an escape," said the Sea Lady. + +"How?" + +"For some there is an escape. When the whole life rushes to a moment--" +And then she stopped. Now there is clearly no sense in this sentence to +my mind, even from a lady of an essentially imaginary sort, who comes +out of the sea. How can a whole life rush to a moment? But whatever it +was she really did say, there is no doubt she left it half unsaid. + +He glanced up at her abrupt pause, and she was looking at the house. + + * * * * * + +"Do ... ris! Do ... ris! Are you there?" It was Mrs. Bunting's voice +floating athwart the lawn, the voice of the ascendant present, of +invincibly sensible things. The world grew real again to Melville. He +seemed to wake up, to start back from some delusive trance that crept +upon him. + +He looked at the Sea Lady as if he were already incredulous of the +things they had said, as if he had been asleep and dreamed the talk. +Some light seemed to go out, some fancy faded. His eye rested upon the +inscription, "Flamps, Bath Chair Proprietor," just visible under her +arm. + +"We've got perhaps a little more serious than--" he said doubtfully, and +then, "What you have been saying--did you exactly mean----?" + +The rustle of Mrs. Bunting's advance became audible, and Parker moved +and coughed. + +He was quite sure they had been "more serious than----" + +"Another time perhaps----" + +Had all these things really been said, or was he under some fantastic +hallucination? + +He had a sudden thought. "Where's your cigarette?" he asked. + +But her cigarette had ended long ago. + +"And what have you been talking about so long?" sang Mrs. Bunting, with +an almost motherly hand on the back of Melville's chair. + +"Oh!" said Melville, at a loss for once, and suddenly rising from his +chair to face her, and then to the Sea Lady with an artificially easy +smile, "What _have_ we been talking about?" + +"All sorts of things, I dare say," said Mrs. Bunting, in what might +almost be called an arch manner. And she honoured Melville with a +special smile--one of those smiles that are morally almost winks. + +[Illustration: The waiter retires amazed.] + +My cousin caught all the archness full in the face, and for four seconds +he stared at Mrs. Bunting in amazement. He wanted breath. Then they +all laughed together, and Mrs. Bunting sat down pleasantly and remarked, +quite audibly to herself, "As if I couldn't guess." + + +IV + +I gather that after this talk Melville fell into an extraordinary net of +doubting. In the first place, and what was most distressing, he doubted +whether this conversation could possibly have happened at all, and if it +had whether his memory had not played him some trick in modifying and +intensifying the import of it all. My cousin occasionally dreams +conversations of so sober and probable a sort as to mingle quite +perplexingly with his real experiences. Was this one of these occasions? +He found himself taking up and scrutinising, as it were, first this +remembered sentence and then that. Had she really said this thing and +quite in this way? His memory of their conversation was never quite the +same for two days together. Had she really and deliberately foreshadowed +for Chatteris some obscure and mystical submergence? + +What intensified and complicated his doubts most, was the Sea Lady's +subsequent serene freedom from allusion to anything that might or might +not have passed. She behaved just as she had always behaved; neither an +added intimacy nor that distance that follows indiscreet confidences +appeared in her manner. + +And amidst this crop of questions arose presently quite a new set of +doubts, as if he were not already sufficiently equipped. The Sea Lady +alleged she had come to the world that lives on land, for Chatteris. + +And then----? + +He had not hitherto looked ahead to see precisely what would happen to +Chatteris, to Miss Glendower, to the Buntings or any one when, as seemed +highly probable, Chatteris was "got." There were other dreams, there was +another existence, an elsewhere--and Chatteris was to go there! So she +said! But it came into Melville's mind with a quite disproportionate +force and vividness that once, long ago, he had seen a picture of a man +and a mermaid, rushing downward through deep water.... Could it possibly +be that sort of thing in the year eighteen hundred and ninety-nine? +Conceivably, if she had said these things, did she mean them, and if she +meant them, and this definite campaign of capture was in hand, what was +an orderly, sane-living, well-dressed bachelor of the world to do? + +Look on--until things ended in a catastrophe? + +One figures his face almost aged. He appears to have hovered about the +house on the Sandgate Riviera to a scandalous extent, failing always to +get a sufficiently long and intimate tête-à-tête with the Sea Lady to +settle once for all his doubts as to what really had been said and what +he had dreamed or fancied in their talk. Never had he been so +exceedingly disturbed as he was by the twist this talk had taken. Never +had his habitual pose of humorous acquiescence in life been quite so +difficult to keep up. He became positively absent-minded. "You know if +it's like that, it's serious," was the burden of his private mutterings. +His condition was palpable even to Mrs. Bunting. But she misunderstood +his nature. She said something. Finally, and quite abruptly, he set off +to London in a state of frantic determination to get out of it all. The +Sea Lady wished him good-bye in Mrs. Bunting's presence as if there had +never been anything unusual between them. + +I suppose one may contrive to understand something of his disturbance. +He had made quite considerable sacrifices to the world. He had, at great +pains, found his place and his way in it, he had imagined he had really +"got the hang of it," as people say, and was having an interesting time. +And then, you know, to encounter a voice, that subsequently insists upon +haunting you with "_There are better dreams_"; to hear a tale that +threatens complications, disasters, broken hearts, and not to have the +faintest idea of the proper thing to do. + +But I do not think he would have bolted from Sandgate until he had +really got some more definite answer to the question, "_What_ better +dreams?" until he had surprised or forced some clearer illumination from +the passive invalid, if Mrs. Bunting one morning had not very tactfully +dropped a hint. + +You know Mrs. Bunting, and you can imagine what she tactfully hinted. +Just at that time, what with her own girls and the Glendower girls, her +imagination was positively inflamed for matrimony; she was a matrimonial +fanatic; she would have married anybody to anything just for the fun of +doing it, and the idea of pairing off poor Melville to this mysterious +immortal with a scaly tail seems to have appeared to her the most +natural thing in the world. + +_Apropos_ of nothing whatever I fancy she remarked, "Your opportunity is +now, Mr. Melville." + +"My opportunity!" cried Melville, trying madly not to understand in the +face of her pink resolution. + +"You've a monopoly now," she cried. "But when we go back to London with +her there will be ever so many people running after her." + +I fancy Melville said something about carrying the thing too far. He +doesn't remember what he did say. I don't think he even knew at the +time. + +However, he fled back to London in August, and was there so miserably at +loose ends that he had not the will to get out of the place. On this +passage in the story he does not dwell, and such verisimilitude as may +be, must be supplied by my imagination. I imagine him in his charmingly +appointed flat,--a flat that is light without being trivial, and +artistic with no want of dignity or sincerity,--finding a loss of +interest in his books, a loss of beauty in the silver he (not too +vehemently) collects. I imagine him wandering into that dainty little +bed-room of his and around into the dressing-room, and there, rapt in a +blank contemplation of the seven-and-twenty pairs of trousers (all +creasing neatly in their proper stretchers) that are necessary to his +conception of a wise and happy man. For every occasion he has learnt, in +a natural easy progress to knowledge, the exquisitely appropriate pair +of trousers, the permissible upper garment, the becoming gesture and +word. He was a man who had mastered his world. And then, you know, the +whisper:-- + +"_There are better dreams._" + +"What dreams?" I imagine him asking, with a defensive note. Whatever +transparence the world might have had, whatever suggestion of something +beyond there, in the sea garden at Sandgate, I fancy that in Melville's +apartments in London it was indisputably opaque. + +And "Damn it!" he cried, "if these dreams are for Chatteris, why should +she tell me? Suppose I had the chance of them-- Whatever they are----" + +He reflected, with a terrible sincerity in the nature of his will. + +"No!" And then again, "No! + +"And if one mustn't have 'em, why should one know about 'em and be +worried by them? If she comes to do mischief, why shouldn't she do +mischief without making me an accomplice?" + +He walks up and down and stops at last and stares out of his window on +the jaded summer traffic going Haymarket way. + +He sees nothing of that traffic. He sees the little sea garden at +Sandgate and that little group of people very small and bright and +something--something hanging over them. "It isn't fair on them--or +me--or anybody!" + +Then you know, quite suddenly, I imagine him swearing. + +I imagine him at his luncheon, a meal he usually treats with a becoming +gravity. I imagine the waiter marking the kindly self-indulgence of his +clean-shaven face, and advancing with that air of intimate participation +the good waiter shows to such as he esteems. I figure the respectful +pause, the respectful enquiry. + +"Oh, anything!" cries Melville, and the waiter retires amazed. + + +V + +To add to Melville's distress, as petty discomforts do add to all +genuine trouble, his club-house was undergoing an operation, and was +full of builders and decorators; they had gouged out its windows and +gagged its hall with scaffolding, and he and his like were guests of a +stranger club that had several members who blew. They seemed never to do +anything but blow and sigh and rustle papers and go to sleep about the +place; they were like blight-spots on the handsome plant of this +host-club, and it counted for little with Melville, in the state he was +in, that all the fidgety breathers were persons of eminent position. But +it was this temporary dislocation of his world that brought him +unexpectedly into a _quasi_ confidential talk with Chatteris one +afternoon, for Chatteris was one of the less eminent and amorphous +members of this club that was sheltering Melville's club. + +[Illustration: They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and +rustle papers.] + +Melville had taken up _Punch_--he was in that mood when a man takes up +anything--and was reading, he did not know exactly what. Presently he +sighed, looked up, and discovered Chatteris entering the room. + +He was surprised to see Chatteris, startled and just faintly alarmed, +and Chatteris it was evident was surprised and disconcerted to see him. +Chatteris stood in as awkward an attitude as he was capable of, staring +unfavourably, and for a moment or so he gave no sign of recognition. +Then he nodded and came forward reluctantly. His every movement +suggested the will without the wit to escape. "You here?" he said. + +"What are you doing away from Hythe at this time?" asked Melville. + +"I came here to write a letter," said Chatteris. + +He looked about him rather helplessly. Then he sat down beside Melville +and demanded a cigarette. Suddenly he plunged into intimacy. + +"It is doubtful whether I shall contest Hythe," he remarked. + +"Yes?" + +"Yes." + +He lit his cigarette. + +"Would you?" he asked. + +"Not a bit of it," said Melville. "But then it's not my line." + +"Is it mine?" + +"Isn't it a little late in the day to drop it?" said Melville. "You've +been put up for it now. Every one's at work. Miss Glendower----" + +"I know," said Chatteris. + +"Well?" + +"I don't seem to want to go on." + +"My dear man!" + +"It's a bit of overwork perhaps. I'm off colour. Things have gone flat. +That's why I'm up here." + +He did a very absurd thing. He threw away a quarter-smoked cigarette and +almost immediately demanded another. + +"You've been a little immoderate with your statistics," said Melville. + +Chatteris said something that struck Melville as having somehow been +said before. "Election, progress, good of humanity, public spirit. None +of these things interest me really," he said. "At least, not just now." + +Melville waited. + +"One gets brought up in an atmosphere in which it's always being +whispered that one should go for a career. You learn it at your mother's +knee. They never give you time to find out what you really want, they +keep on shoving you at that. They form your character. They rule your +mind. They rush you into it." + +"They didn't rush me," said Melville. + +"They rushed me, anyhow. And here I am!" + +"You don't want a career?" + +"Well-- Look what it is." + +"Oh! if you look at what things are!" + +"First of all, the messing about to get into the House. These confounded +parties mean nothing--absolutely nothing. They aren't even decent +factions. You blither to damned committees of damned tradesmen whose +sole idea for this world is to get overpaid for their self-respect; you +whisper and hobnob with local solicitors and get yourself seen about +with them; you ask about the charities and institutions, and lunch and +chatter and chum with every conceivable form of human conceit and +pushfulness and trickery----" + +He broke off. "It isn't as if _they_ were up to anything! They're +working in their way, just as you are working in your way. It's the same +game with all of them. They chase a phantom gratification, they toil and +quarrel and envy, night and day, in the perpetual attempt to persuade +themselves in spite of everything that they are real and a success----" + +He stopped and smoked. + +Melville was spiteful. "Yes," he admitted, "but I thought _your_ +little movement was to be something more than party politics and +self-advancement----?" + +He left his sentence interrogatively incomplete. + +"The condition of the poor," he said. + +"Well?" said Chatteris, regarding him with a sort of stony admission in +his blue eyes. + +Melville dodged the look. "At Sandgate," he said, "there was, you know, +a certain atmosphere of belief----" + +"I know," said Chatteris for the second time. + +"That's the devil of it!" said Chatteris after a pause. + +"If I don't believe in the game I'm playing, if I'm left high and dry on +this shoal, with the tide of belief gone past me, it isn't _my_ +planning, anyhow. I know the decent thing I ought to do. I mean to do +it; in the end I mean to do it; I'm talking in this way to relieve my +mind. I've started the game and I must see it out; I've put my hand to +the plough and I mustn't go back. That's why I came to London--to get it +over with myself. It was running up against you, set me off. You caught +me at the crisis." + +"Ah!" said Melville. + +"But for all that, the thing is as I said--none of these things interest +me really. It won't alter the fact that I am committed to fight a +phantom election about nothing in particular, for a party that's been +dead ten years. And if the ghosts win, go into the Parliament as a +constituent spectre.... There it is--as a mental phenomenon!" + +He reiterated his cardinal article. "The interest is dead," he said, +"the will has no soul." + +He became more critical. He bent a little closer to Melville's ear. "It +isn't really that I don't believe. When I say I don't believe in these +things I go too far. I do. I know, the electioneering, the intriguing is +a means to an end. There is work to be done, sound work, and important +work. Only----" + +Melville turned an eye on him over his cigarette end. + +Chatteris met it, seemed for a moment to cling to it. He became absurdly +confidential. He was evidently in the direst need of a confidential ear. + +"I don't want to do it. When I sit down to it, square myself down in the +chair, you know, and say, now for the rest of my life this is IT--this +is your life, Chatteris; there comes a sort of terror, Melville." + +"H'm," said Melville, and turned away. Then he turned on Chatteris with +the air of a family physician, and tapped his shoulder three times as he +spoke. "You've had too much statistics, Chatteris," he said. + +He let that soak in. Then he turned about towards his interlocutor, and +toyed with a club ash tray. "It's every day has overtaken you," he said. +"You can't see the wood for the trees. You forget the spacious design +you are engaged upon, in the heavy details of the moment. You are like a +painter who has been working hard upon something very small and exacting +in a corner. You want to step back and look at the whole thing." + +"No," said Chatteris, "that isn't quite it." + +Melville indicated that he knew better. + +"I keep on, stepping back and looking at it," said Chatteris. "Just +lately I've scarcely done anything else. I'll admit it's a spacious and +noble thing--political work done well--only-- I admire it, but it +doesn't grip my imagination. That's where the trouble comes in." + +"What _does_ grip your imagination?" asked Melville. He was absolutely +certain the Sea Lady had been talking this paralysis into Chatteris, and +he wanted to see just how far she had gone. "For example," he tested, +"are there--by any chance--other dreams?" + +Chatteris gave no sign at the phrase. Melville dismissed his suspicion. +"What do you mean--other dreams?" asked Chatteris. + +"Is there conceivably another way--another sort of life--some other +aspect----?" + +"It's out of the question," said Chatteris. He added, rather remarkably, +"Adeline's awfully good." + +My cousin Melville acquiesced silently in Adeline's goodness. + +"All this, you know, is a mood. My life is made for me--and it's a very +good life. It's better than I deserve." + +"Heaps," said Melville. + +"Much," said Chatteris defiantly. + +"Ever so much," endorsed Melville. + +"Let's talk of other things," said Chatteris. "It's what even the street +boys call _mawbid_ nowadays to doubt for a moment the absolute final +all-this-and-nothing-else-in-the-worldishness of whatever you happen to +be doing." + +My cousin Melville, however, could think of no other sufficiently +interesting topic. "You left them all right at Sandgate?" he asked, +after a pause. + +"Except little Bunting." + +"Seedy?" + +"Been fishing." + +"Of course. Breezes and the spring tides.... And Miss Waters?" + +Chatteris shot a suspicious glance at him. He affected the offhand +style. "_She's_ quite well," he said. "Looks just as charming as ever." + +"She really means that canvassing?" + +"She's spoken of it again." + +"She'll do a lot for you," said Melville, and left a fine wide pause. + +Chatteris assumed the tone of a man who gossips. + +"Who is this Miss Waters?" he asked. + +"A very charming person," said Melville and said no more. + +Chatteris waited and his pretence of airy gossip vanished. He became +very much in earnest. + +"Look here," he said. "Who is this Miss Waters?" + +"How should _I_ know?" prevaricated Melville. + +"Well, you do know. And the others know. Who is she?" + +Melville met his eyes. "Won't they tell you?" he asked. + +"That's just it," said Chatteris. + +"Why do you want to know?" + +"Why shouldn't I know?" + +"There's a sort of promise to keep it dark." + +"Keep _what_ dark?" + +My cousin gestured. + +"It can't be anything wrong?" My cousin made no sign. + +"She may have had experiences?" + +My cousin reflected a moment on the possibilities of the deep-sea life. +"She has had them," he said. + +"I don't care, if she has." + +There came a pause. + +"Look here, Melville," said Chatteris, "I want to know this. Unless it's +a thing to be specially kept from me.... I don't like being among a lot +of people who treat me as an outsider. What is this something about Miss +Waters?" + +"What does Miss Glendower say?" + +"Vague things. She doesn't like her and she won't say why. And Mrs. +Bunting goes about with discretion written all over her. And she +herself looks at you-- And that maid of hers looks-- The thing's +worrying me." + +"Why don't you ask the lady herself?" + +"How can I, till I know what it is? Confound it! I'm asking _you_ +plainly enough." + +"Well," said Melville, and at the moment he had really decided to tell +Chatteris. But he hung upon the manner of presentation. He thought in +the moment to say, "The truth is, she is a mermaid." Then as instantly +he perceived how incredible this would be. He always suspected Chatteris +of a capacity for being continental and romantic. The man might fly out +at him for saying such a thing of a lady. + +A dreadful doubt fell upon Melville. As you know, he had never seen that +tail with his own eyes. In these surroundings there came to him such an +incredulity of the Sea Lady as he had not felt even when first Mrs. +Bunting told him of her. All about him was an atmosphere of solid +reality, such as one can breathe only in a first-class London club. +Everywhere ponderous arm-chairs met the eye. There were massive tables +in abundance and match-boxes of solid rock. The matches were of some +specially large, heavy sort. On a ponderous elephant-legged green baize +table near at hand were several copies of the _Times_, the current +_Punch_, an inkpot of solid brass, and a paper weight of lead. _There +are other dreams!_ It seemed impossible. The breathing of an eminent +person in a chair in the far corner became very distinct in that +interval. It was heavy and resolute like the sound of a stone-mason's +saw. It insisted upon itself as the touchstone of reality. It seemed to +say that at the first whisper of a thing so utterly improbable as a +mermaid it would snort and choke. + +"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Melville. + +"Well, tell me--anyhow." + +My cousin looked at an empty chair beside him. It was evidently stuffed +with the very best horse-hair that money could procure, stuffed with +infinite skill and an almost religious care. It preached in the open +invitation of its expanded arms that man does not live by bread +alone--inasmuch as afterwards he needs a nap. An utterly dreamless +chair! + +Mermaids? + +He felt that he was after all quite possibly the victim of a foolish +delusion, hypnotised by Mrs. Bunting's beliefs. Was there not some more +plausible interpretation, some phrase that would lie out bridgeways from +the plausible to the truth? + +"It's no good," he groaned at last. + +Chatteris had been watching him furtively. + +"Oh, I don't care a hang," he said, and shied his second cigarette into +the massively decorated fireplace. "It's no affair of mine." + +Then quite abruptly he sprang to his feet and gesticulated with an +ineffectual hand. + +"You needn't," he said, and seemed to intend to say many regrettable +things. Meanwhile until his intention ripened he sawed the air with his +ineffectual hand. I fancy he ended by failing to find a thing +sufficiently regrettable to express the pungency of the moment. He flung +about and went towards the door. + +"Don't!" he said to the back of the newspaper of the breathing member. + +"If you don't want to," he said to the respectful waiter at the door. + +The hall-porter heard that he didn't care--he was damned if he did! + +"He might be one of these here guests," said the hall-porter, greatly +shocked. "That's what comes of lettin' 'em in so young." + + +VI + +Melville overcame an impulse to follow him. + +"Confound the fellow!" said he. + +And then as the whole outburst came into focus, he said with still more +emphasis, "Confound the fellow!" + +He stood up and became aware that the member who had been asleep was now +regarding him with malevolent eyes. He perceived it was a hard and +invincible malevolence, and that no petty apologetics of demeanour could +avail against it. He turned about and went towards the door. + +The interview had done my cousin good. His misery and distress had +lifted. He was presently bathed in a profound moral indignation, and +that is the very antithesis of doubt and unhappiness. The more he +thought it over, the more his indignation with Chatteris grew. That +sudden unreasonable outbreak altered all the perspectives of the case. +He wished very much that he could meet Chatteris again and discuss the +whole matter from a new footing. + +"Think of it!" He thought so vividly and so verbally that he was nearly +talking to himself as he went along. It shaped itself into an outspoken +discourse in his mind. + +"Was there ever a more ungracious, ungrateful, unreasonable creature +than this same Chatteris? He was the spoiled child of Fortune; things +came to him, things were given to him, his very blunders brought more +to him than other men's successes. Out of every thousand men, nine +hundred and ninety-nine might well find food for envy in this way luck +had served him. Many a one has toiled all his life and taken at last +gratefully the merest fraction of all that had thrust itself upon this +insatiable thankless young man. Even I," thought my cousin, "might envy +him--in several ways. And then, at the mere first onset of duty, +nay!--at the mere first whisper of restraint, this insubordination, this +protest and flight! + +"Think!" urged my cousin, "of the common lot of men. Think of the many +who suffer from hunger----" + +(It was a painful Socialistic sort of line to take, but in his mood of +moral indignation my cousin pursued it relentlessly.) + +"Think of many who suffer from hunger, who lead lives of unremitting +toil, who go fearful, who go squalid, and withal strive, in a sort of +dumb, resolute way, their utmost to do their duty, or at any rate what +they think to be their duty. Think of the chaste poor women in the +world! Think again of the many honest souls who aspire to the service +of their kind, and are so hemmed about and preoccupied that they may +not give it! And then this pitiful creature comes, with his mental +gifts, his gifts of position and opportunity, the stimulus of great +ideas, and a _fiancée_, who is not only rich and beautiful--she _is_ +beautiful!--but also the best of all possible helpers for him. And +he turns away. It isn't good enough. It takes no hold upon his +imagination, if you please. It isn't beautiful enough for him, and +that's the plain truth of the matter. What does the man _want_? What +does he expect?..." + +My cousin's moral indignation took him the whole length of Piccadilly, +and along by Rotten Row, and along the flowery garden walks almost into +Kensington High Street, and so around by the Serpentine to his home, and +it gave him such an appetite for dinner as he had not had for many days. +Life was bright for him all that evening, and he sat down at last, at +two o'clock in the morning, before a needlessly lit, delightfully +fusillading fire in his flat to smoke one sound cigar before he went to +bed. + +"No," he said suddenly, "I am not _mawbid_ either. I take the gifts the +gods will give me. I try to make myself happy, and a few other people +happy, too, to do a few little duties decently, and that is enough for +me. I don't look too deeply into things, and I don't look too widely +about things. A few old simple ideals---- + +"H'm. + +"Chatteris is a dreamer, with an impossible, extravagant discontent. +What does he dream of?... Three parts he is a dreamer and the fourth +part--spoiled child." + +"Dreamer...." + +"Other dreams...." + +"What other dreams could she mean?" + +My cousin fell into profound musings. Then he started, looked about him, +saw the time by his Rathbone clock, got up suddenly and went to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH + +THE CRISIS + + +I + +The crisis came about a week from that time--I say about because of +Melville's conscientious inexactness in these matters. And so far as the +crisis goes, I seem to get Melville at his best. He was keenly +interested, keenly observant, and his more than average memory took some +excellent impressions. To my mind, at any rate, two at least of these +people come out, fuller and more convincingly than anywhere else in this +painfully disinterred story. He has given me here an Adeline I seem to +believe in, and something much more like Chatteris than any of the +broken fragments I have had to go upon, and amplify and fudge together +so far. And for all such transient lucidities in this mysterious story, +the reader no doubt will echo my Heaven be thanked! + +Melville was called down to participate in the crisis at Sandgate by a +telegram from Mrs. Bunting, and his first exponent of the situation was +Fred Bunting. + +"_Come down. Urgent. Please_," was the irresistible message from Mrs. +Bunting. My cousin took the early train and arrived at Sandgate in the +forenoon. + +He was told that Mrs. Bunting was upstairs with Miss Glendower and that +she implored him to wait until she could leave her charge. "Miss +Glendower not well, then?" said Melville. "No, sir, not at all well," +said the housemaid, evidently awaiting a further question. "Where are +the others?" he asked casually. The three younger young ladies had gone +to Hythe, said the housemaid, with a marked omission of the Sea Lady. +Melville has an intense dislike of questioning servants on points at +issue, so he asked nothing at all concerning Miss Waters. This general +absence of people from the room of familiar occupation conveyed the same +suggested warning of crisis as the telegram. The housemaid waited an +instant longer and withdrew. + +He stood for a moment in the drawing-room and then walked out upon the +veranda. He perceived a richly caparisoned figure advancing towards him. +It was Fred Bunting. He had been taking advantage of the general +desertion of home to bathe from the house. He was wearing an umbrageous +white cotton hat and a striped blanket, and a more aggressively manly +pipe than any fully adult male would ever dream of smoking, hung from +the corner of his mouth. + +"Hello!" he said. "The mater sent for you?" + +Melville admitted the truth of this theory. + +"There's ructions," said Fred, and removed the pipe. The act offered +conversation. + +"Where's Miss Waters?" + +"Gone." + +"Back?" + +"Lord, no! Catch her! She's gone to Lummidge's Hotel. With her maid. +Took a suite." + +"Why----" + +"The mater made a row with her." + +"Whatever for?" + +"Harry." + +My cousin stared at the situation. + +"It broke out," said Fred. + +"What broke out?" + +"The row. Harry's gone daft on her, Addy says." + +"On Miss Waters?" + +"Rather. Mooney. Didn't care for his electioneering--didn't care for his +ordinary nourishment. Loose ends. Didn't mention it to Adeline, but she +began to see it. Asked questions. Next day, went off. London. She asked +what was up. Three days' silence. Then--wrote to her." + +Fred intensified all this by raising his eyebrows, pulling down the +corners of his mouth and nodding portentously. "Eh?" he said, and then +to make things clearer: "Wrote a letter." + +"He didn't write to her about Miss Waters?" + +"Don't know what he wrote about. Don't suppose he mentioned her name, +but I dare say he made it clear enough. All I know is that everything in +the house felt like elastic pulled tighter than it ought to be for two +whole days--everybody in a sort of complicated twist--and then there +was a snap. All that time Addy was writing letters to him and tearing +'em up, and no one could quite make it out. Everyone looked blue except +the Sea Lady. She kept her own lovely pink. And at the end of that time +the mater began asking things, Adeline chucked writing, gave the mater +half a hint, mater took it all in in an instant and the thing burst." + +"Miss Glendower didn't----?" + +"No, the mater did. Put it pretty straight too--as the mater can.... +_She_ didn't deny it. Said she couldn't help herself, and that he was as +much hers as Adeline's. I _heard_ that," said Fred shamelessly. "Pretty +thick, eh?--considering he's engaged. And the mater gave it her pretty +straight. Said, 'I've been very much deceived in you, Miss Waters--very +much indeed.' I heard her...." + +"And then?" + +"Asked her to go. Said she'd requited us ill for taking her up when +nobody but a fisherman would have looked at her." + +"She said that?" + +"Well, words to that effect." + +"And Miss Waters went?" + +"In a first-class cab, maid and boxes in another, all complete. Perfect +lady.... Couldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it--the tail, I mean." + +"And Miss Glendower?" + +"Addy? Oh, she's been going it. Comes downstairs and does the pale-faced +heroine and goes upstairs and does the broken-hearted part. _I_ know. +It's all very well. You never had sisters. You know----" + +Fred held his pipe elaborately out of the way and protruded his face to +a confidential nearness. + +"I believe they half like it," said Fred, in a confidential half +whisper. "Such a go, you know. Mabel pretty near as bad. And the girls. +All making the very most they can of it. Me! I think Chatteris was the +only man alive to hear 'em. _I_ couldn't get up emotion as they do, if +my feet were being flayed. Cheerful home, eh? For holidays." + +"Where's--the principal gentleman?" asked Melville a little grimly. "In +London?" + +"Unprincipled gentleman, I call him," said Fred. "He's stopping down +here at the Métropole. Stuck." + +"Down here? Stuck?" + +"Rather. Stuck and set about." + +My cousin tried for sidelights. "What's his attitude?" he asked. + +"Slump," said Fred with intensity. + +"This little blow-off has rather astonished him," he explained. "When he +wrote to say that the election didn't interest him for a bit, but he +hoped to pull around----" + +"You said you didn't know what he wrote." + +"I do that much," said Fred. "He no more thought they'd have spotted +that it meant Miss Waters than a baby. But women are so thundering +sharp, you know. They're born spotters. How it'll all end----" + +"But why has he come to the Métropole?" + +"Middle of the stage, I suppose," said Fred. + +"What's his attitude?" + +"Says he's going to see Adeline and explain everything--and doesn't do +it.... Puts it off. And Adeline, as far as I can gather, says that if he +doesn't come down soon, she's hanged if she'll see him, much as her +heart may be broken, and all that, if she doesn't. You know." + +"Naturally," said Melville, rather inconsecutively. "And he doesn't?" + +"Doesn't stir." + +"Does he see--the other lady?" + +"We don't know. We can't watch him. But if he does he's clever----" + +"Why?" + +"There's about a hundred blessed relatives of his in the place--came +like crows for a corpse. I never saw such a lot. Talk about a man of +good old family--it's decaying! I never saw such a high old family in my +life. Aunts they are chiefly." + +"Aunts?" + +"Aunts. Say, they've rallied round him. How they got hold of it I don't +know. Like vultures. Unless the mater-- But they're here. They're all at +him--using their influence with him, threatening to cut off legacies and +all that. There's one old girl at Bate's, Lady Poynting Mallow--least +bit horsey, but about as all right as any of 'em--who's been down here +twice. Seems a trifle disappointed in Adeline. And there's two aunts at +Wampach's--you know the sort that stop at Wampach's--regular hothouse +flowers--a watering-potful of real icy cold water would kill both of +'em. And there's one come over from the Continent, short hair, short +skirts--regular terror--she's at the Pavilion. They're all chasing round +saying, 'Where is this woman-fish sort of thing? Let me peek!'" + +"Does that constitute the hundred relatives?" + +"Practically. The Wampachers are sending for a Bishop who used to be his +schoolmaster----" + +"No stone unturned, eh?" + +"None." + +"And has he found out yet----" + +"That she's a mermaid? I don't believe he has. The pater went up to +tell him. Of course, he was a bit out of breath and embarrassed. And +Chatteris cut him down. 'At least let me hear nothing against her,' he +said. And the pater took that and came away. Good old pater. Eh?" + +"And the aunts?" + +"They're taking it in. Mainly they grasp the fact that he's going to +jilt Adeline, just as he jilted the American girl. The mermaid side they +seem to boggle at. Old people like that don't take to a new idea all at +once. The Wampach ones are shocked--but curious. They don't believe for +a moment she really is a mermaid, but they want to know all about it. +And the one down at the Pavilion simply said, 'Bosh! How can she breathe +under water? Tell me that, Mrs. Bunting. She's some sort of person you +have picked up, I don't know how, but mermaid she _cannot_ be.' They'd +be all tremendously down on the mater, I think, for picking her up, if +it wasn't that they can't do without her help to bring Addy round again. +Pretty mess all round, eh?" + +"I suppose the aunts will tell him?" + +"What?" + +"About the tail." + +"I suppose they will." + +"And what then?" + +"Heaven knows! Just as likely they won't." + +My cousin meditated on the veranda tiles for a space. + +"It amuses me," said Fred Bunting. + +"Look here," said my cousin Melville, "what am I supposed to do? Why +have I been asked to come?" + +"I don't know. Stir it up a bit, I expect. Everybody do a bit--like the +Christmas pudding." + +"But--" said Melville. + +[Illustration: Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity.] + +"I've been bathing," said Fred. "Nobody asked me to take a hand and I +didn't. It won't be a good pudding without me, but there you are! +There's only one thing I can see to do----" + +"It might be the right thing. What is it?" + +"Punch Chatteris's head." + +"I don't see how that would help matters." + +"Oh, it wouldn't help matters," said Fred, adding with an air of +conclusiveness, "There it is!" Then adjusting the folds of his blanket +to a greater dignity, and replacing his long extinct large pipe between +his teeth, he went on his way. The tail of his blanket followed him +reluctantly through the door. His bare feet padded across the hall and +became inaudible on the carpet of the stairs. + +"Fred!" said Melville, going doorward with a sudden afterthought for +fuller particulars. + +But Fred had gone. + +Instead, Mrs. Bunting appeared. + + +II + +She appeared with traces of recent emotion. "I telegraphed," she said. +"We are in dreadful trouble." + +"Miss Waters, I gather----" + +"She's gone." + +She went towards the bell and stopped. "They'll get luncheon as usual," +she said. "You will be wanting your luncheon." + +She came towards him with rising hands. "You can _not_ imagine," she +said. "That poor child!" + +"You must tell me," said Melville. + +"I simply do not know what to do. I don't know where to turn." She came +nearer to him. She protested. "All that I did, Mr. Melville, I did for +the best. I saw there was trouble. I could see that I had been +deceived, and I stood it as long as I could. I _had_ to speak at last." + +My cousin by leading questions and interrogative silences developed her +story a little. + +"And every one," she said, "blames me. Every one." + +"Everybody blames everybody who does anything, in affairs of this sort," +said Melville. "You mustn't mind that." + +"I'll try not to," she said bravely. "_You_ know, Mr. Melville----" + +He laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Yes," he said very +impressively, and I think Mrs. Bunting felt better. + +"We all look to you," she said. "I don't know what I should do without +you." + +"That's it," said Melville. "How do things stand? What am I to do?" + +"Go to him," said Mrs. Bunting, "and put it all right." + +"But suppose--" began Melville doubtfully. + +"Go to her. Make her see what it would mean for him and all of us." + +He tried to get more definite instructions. "Don't make difficulties," +implored Mrs. Bunting. "Think of that poor girl upstairs. Think of us +all." + +"Exactly," said Melville, thinking of Chatteris and staring despondently +out of the window. + +"Bunting, I gather----" + +"It is you or no one," said Mrs. Bunting, sailing over his unspoken +words. "Fred is too young, and Randolph--! He's not diplomatic. He--he +hectors." + +"Does he?" exclaimed Melville. + +"You should see him abroad. Often--many times I have had to +interfere.... No, it is you. You know Harry so well. He trusts you. +You can say things to him--no one else could say." + +"That reminds me. Does _he_ know----" + +"We don't know. How can we know? We know he is infatuated, that is all. +He is up there in Folkestone, and she is in Folkestone, and they may be +meeting----" + +My cousin sought counsel with himself. + +"Say you will go?" said Mrs. Bunting, with a hand upon his arm. + +"I'll go," said Melville, "but I don't see what I can do!" + +And Mrs. Bunting clasped his hand in both of her own plump shapely hands +and said she knew all along that he would, and that for coming down so +promptly to her telegram she would be grateful to him so long as she had +a breath to draw, and then she added, as if it were part of the same +remark, that he must want his luncheon. + +He accepted the luncheon proposition in an incidental manner and +reverted to the question in hand. + +"Do you know what his attitude----" + +"He has written only to Addy." + +"It isn't as if he had brought about this crisis?" + +"It was Addy. He went away and something in his manner made her write +and ask him the reason why. So soon as she had his letter saying he +wanted to rest from politics for a little, that somehow he didn't seem +to find the interest in life he thought it deserved, she divined +everything----" + +"Everything? Yes, but just what _is_ everything?" + +"That _she_ had led him on." + +"Miss Waters?" + +"Yes." + +My cousin reflected. So that was what they considered to be everything! +"I wish I knew just where he stood," he said at last, and followed +Mrs. Bunting luncheonward. In the course of that meal, which was +_tête-à-tête_, it became almost unsatisfactorily evident what a great +relief Melville's consent to interview Chatteris was to Mrs. Bunting. +Indeed, she seemed to consider herself relieved from the greater portion +of her responsibility in the matter, since Melville was bearing her +burden. She sketched out her defence against the accusations that had no +doubt been levelled at her, explicitly and implicitly. + +"How was _I_ to know?" she asked, and she told over again the story of +that memorable landing, but with new, extenuating details. It was +Adeline herself who had cried first, "She must be saved!" Mrs. Bunting +made a special point of that. "And what else was there for me to do?" +she asked. + +And as she talked, the problem before my cousin assumed graver and yet +graver proportions. He perceived more and more clearly the complexity +of the situation with which he was entrusted. In the first place it was +not at all clear that Miss Glendower was willing to receive back her +lover except upon terms, and the Sea Lady, he was quite sure, did not +mean to release him from any grip she had upon him. They were preparing +to treat an elemental struggle as if it were an individual case. It grew +more and more evident to him how entirely Mrs. Bunting overlooked the +essentially abnormal nature of the Sea Lady, how absolutely she regarded +the business as a mere every-day vacillation, a commonplace outbreak of +that jilting spirit which dwells, covered deep, perhaps, but never +entirely eradicated, in the heart of man; and how confidently she +expected him, with a little tactful remonstrance and pressure, to +restore the _status quo ante_. + +As for Chatteris!--Melville shook his head at the cheese, and answered +Mrs. Bunting abstractedly. + + +III + +"She wants to speak to you," said Mrs. Bunting, and Melville with a +certain trepidation went upstairs. He went up to the big landing with +the seats, to save Adeline the trouble of coming down. She appeared +dressed in a black and violet tea gown with much lace, and her dark hair +was done with a simple carefulness that suited it. She was pale, and her +eyes showed traces of tears, but she had a certain dignity that differed +from her usual bearing in being quite unconscious. + +She gave him a limp hand and spoke in an exhausted voice. + +"You know--all?" she asked. + +"All the outline, anyhow." + +"Why has he done this to me?" + +Melville looked profoundly sympathetic through a pause. + +"I feel," she said, "that it isn't coarseness." + +"Certainly not," said Melville. + +"It is some mystery of the imagination that I cannot understand. I +should have thought--his career at any rate--would have appealed...." +She shook her head and regarded a pot of ferns fixedly for a space. + +"He has written to you?" asked Melville. + +"Three times," she said, looking up. + +Melville hesitated to ask the extent of that correspondence, but she +left no need for that. + +"I had to ask him," she said. "He kept it all from me, and I had to +force it from him before he would tell." + +"Tell!" said Melville, "what?" + +"What he felt for her and what he felt for me." + +"But did he----?" + +"He has made it clearer. But still even now. No, I don't understand." + +She turned slowly and watched Melville's face as she spoke: "You know, +Mr. Melville, that this has been an enormous shock to me. I suppose I +never really knew him. I suppose I--idealised him. I thought he cared +for--our work at any rate.... He _did_ care for our work. He believed in +it. Surely he believed in it." + +"He does," said Melville. + +"And then-- But how can he?" + +"He is--he is a man with rather a strong imagination." + +"Or a weak will?" + +"Relatively--yes." + +"It is so strange," she sighed. "It is so inconsistent. It is like +a child catching at a new toy. Do you know, Mr. Melville"--she +hesitated--"all this has made me feel old. I feel very much older, +very much wiser than he is. I cannot help it. I am afraid it is for +all women ... to feel that sometimes." + +She reflected profoundly. "For _all_ women-- The child, man! I see now +just what Sarah Grand meant by that." + +She smiled a wan smile. "I feel just as if he had been a naughty child. +And I--I worshipped him, Mr. Melville," she said, and her voice +quivered. + +My cousin coughed and turned about to stare hard out of the window. He +was, he perceived, much more shockingly inadequate even than he had +expected to be. + +"If I thought she could make him happy!" she said presently, leaving a +hiatus of generous self-sacrifice. + +"The case is--complicated," said Melville. + +Her voice went on, clear and a little high, resigned, impenetrably +assured. + +"But she would not. All his better side, all his serious side-- She +would miss it and ruin it all." + +"Does he--" began Melville and repented of the temerity of his question. + +"Yes?" she said. + +"Does he--ask to be released?" + +"No.... He wants to come back to me." + +"And you----" + +"He doesn't come." + +"But do you--do you want him back?" + +"How can I say, Mr. Melville? He does not say certainly even that he +wants to come back." + +My cousin Melville looked perplexed. He lived on the superficies of +emotion, and these complexities in matters he had always assumed were +simple, put him out. + +"There are times," she said, "when it seems to me that my love for him +is altogether dead.... Think of the disillusionment--the shock--the +discovery of such weakness." + +My cousin lifted his eyebrows and shook his head in agreement. + +"His feet--to find his feet were of clay!" + +There came a pause. + +"It seems as if I have never loved him. And then--and then I think of +all the things that still might be." + +Her voice made him look up, and he saw that her mouth was set hard and +tears were running down her cheeks. + +It occurred to my cousin, he says, that he would touch her hand in a +sympathetic manner, and then it occurred to him that he wouldn't. Her +words rang in his thoughts for a space, and then he said somewhat +tardily, "He may still be all those things." + +"I suppose he may," she said slowly and without colour. The weeping +moment had passed. + +"What is she?" she changed abruptly. "What is this being, who has come +between him and all the realities of life? What is there about her--? +And why should I have to compete with her, because he--because he +doesn't know his own mind?" + +"For a man," said Melville, "to know his own mind is--to have exhausted +one of the chief interests in life. After that--! A cultivated extinct +volcano--if ever it was a volcano." + +He reflected egotistically for a space. Then with a secret start he came +back to consider her. + +"What is there," she said, with that deliberate attempt at clearness +which was one of her antipathetic qualities for Melville--"what is there +that she has, that she offers, that _I_----?" + +Melville winced at this deliberate proposal of appalling comparisons. +All the catlike quality in his soul came to his aid. He began to edge +away, and walk obliquely and generally to shirk the issue. "My dear Miss +Glendower," he said, and tried to make that seem an adequate reply. + +"What _is_ the difference?" she insisted. + +"There are impalpable things," waived Melville. "They are above reason +and beyond describing." + +"But you," she urged, "you take an attitude, you must have an +impression. Why don't you-- Don't you see, Mr. Melville, this is +very"--her voice caught for a moment--"very vital for me. It isn't kind +of you, if you have impressions-- I'm sorry, Mr. Melville, if I seem to +be trying to get too much from you. I--I want to know." + +It came into Melville's head for a moment that this girl had something +in her, perhaps, that was just a little beyond his former judgments. + +"I must admit, I have a sort of impression," he said. + +"You are a man; you know him; you know all sorts of things--all sorts of +ways of looking at things, I don't know. If you could go so far--as to +be frank." + +"Well," said Melville and stopped. + +She hung over him as it were, as a tense silence. + +"There _is_ a difference," he admitted, and still went unhelped. + +"How can I put it? I think in certain ways you contrast with her, in a +way that makes things easier for her. He has--I know the thing sounds +like cant, only you know, _he_ doesn't plead it in defence--he has a +temperament, to which she sometimes appeals more than you do." + +"Yes, I know, but how?" + +"Well----" + +"Tell me." + +"You are austere. You are restrained. Life--for a man like Chatteris--is +schooling. He has something--something perhaps more worth having than +most of us have--but I think at times--it makes life harder for him than +it is for a lot of us. Life comes at him, with limitations and +regulations. He knows his duty well enough. And you-- You mustn't mind +what I say too much, Miss Glendower--I may be wrong." + +"Go on," she said, "go on." + +"You are too much--the agent general of his duty." + +"But surely!--what else----?" + +"I talked to him in London and then I thought he was quite in the +wrong. Since that I've thought all sorts of things--even that you might +be in the wrong. In certain minor things." + +"Don't mind my vanity now," she cried. "Tell me." + +"You see you have defined things--very clearly. You have made it clear +to him what you expect him to be, and what you expect him to do. It is +like having built a house in which he is to live. For him, to go to her +is like going out of a house, a very fine and dignified house, I admit, +into something larger, something adventurous and incalculable. She +is--she has an air of being--_natural_. She is as lax and lawless as the +sunset, she is as free and familiar as the wind. She doesn't--if I may +put it in this way--she doesn't love and respect him when he is this, +and disapprove of him highly when he is that; she takes him altogether. +She has the quality of the open sky, of the flight of birds, of deep +tangled places, she has the quality of the high sea. That I think is +what she is for him, she is the Great Outside. You--you have the +quality----" + +He hesitated. + +"Go on," she insisted. "Let us get the meaning." + +"Of an edifice.... I don't sympathise with him," said Melville. "I am a +tame cat and I should scratch and mew at the door directly I got outside +of things. I don't want to go out. The thought scares me. But he is +different." + +"Yes," she said, "he is different." + +For a time it seemed that Melville's interpretation had hold of her. She +stood thoughtful. Slowly other aspects of the thing came into his mind. + +"Of course," she said, thinking as she looked at him. "Yes. Yes. That is +the impression. That is the quality. But in reality-- There are other +things in the world beside effects and impressions. After all, that +is--an analogy. It is pleasant to go out of houses and dwellings into +the open air, but most of us, nearly all of us must live in houses." + +"Decidedly," said Melville. + +"He cannot-- What can he do with her? How can he live with her? What +life could they have in common?" + +"It's a case of attraction," said Melville, "and not of plans." + +"After all," she said, "he must come back--if I let him come back. He +may spoil everything now; he may lose his election and be forced to +start again, lower and less hopefully; he may tear his heart to +pieces----" + +She stopped at a sob. + +"Miss Glendower," said Melville abruptly. + +"I don't think you quite understand." + +"Understand what?" + +"You think he cannot marry this--this being who has come among us?" + +"How could he?" + +"No--he couldn't. You think his imagination has wandered away from +you--to something impossible. That generally, in an aimless way, he has +cut himself up for nothing, and made an inordinate fool of himself, and +that it's simply a business of putting everything back into place +again." + +He paused and she said nothing. But her face was attentive. "What you do +not understand," he went on, "what no one seems to understand, is that +she comes----" + +"Out of the sea." + +"Out of some other world. She comes, whispering that this life is a +phantom life, unreal, flimsy, limited, casting upon everything a spell +of disillusionment----" + +"So that _he_----" + +"Yes, and then she whispers, 'There are better dreams!'" + +The girl regarded him in frank perplexity. + +"She hints of these vague better dreams, she whispers of a way----" + +"_What_ way?" + +"I do not know what way. But it is something--something that tears at +the very fabric of this daily life." + +"You mean----?" + +"She is a mermaid, she is a thing of dreams and desires, a siren, a +whisper and a seduction. She will lure him with her----" + +He stopped. + +"Where?" she whispered. + +"Into the deeps." + +"The deeps?" + +They hung upon a long pause. Melville sought vagueness with infinite +solicitude, and could not find it. He blurted out at last: "There can +be but one way out of this dream we are all dreaming, you know." + +"And that way?" + +"That way--" began Melville and dared not say it. + +"You mean," she said, with a pale face, half awakened to a new thought, +"the way is----?" + +Melville shirked the word. He met her eyes and nodded weakly. + +"But how--?" she asked. + +"At any rate"--he said hastily, seeking some palliative phrase--"at any +rate, if she gets him, this little world of yours-- There will be no +coming back for him, you know." + +"No coming back?" she said. + +"No coming back," said Melville. + +"But are you sure?" she doubted. + +"Sure?" + +"That it is so?" + +"That desire is desire, and the deep the deep--yes." + +"I never thought--" she began and stopped. + +"Mr. Melville," she said, "you know I don't understand. I thought--I +scarcely know what I thought. I thought he was trivial and foolish to +let his thoughts go wandering. I agreed--I see your point--as to the +difference in our effect upon him. But this--this suggestion that for +him she may be something determining and final-- After all, she----" + +"She is nothing," he said. "She is the hand that takes hold of him, the +shape that stands for things unseen." + +"What things unseen?" + +My cousin shrugged his shoulders. "Something we never find in life," he +said. "Something we are always seeking." + +"But what?" she asked. + +Melville made no reply. She scrutinised his face for a time, and then +looked out at the sunlight again. + +"Do you want him back?" he said. + +"I don't know." + +"Do you want him back?" + +"I feel as if I had never wanted him before." + +"And now?" + +"Yes.... But--if he will not come back?" + +"He will not come back," said Melville, "for the work." + +"I know." + +"He will not come back for his self-respect--or any of those things." + +"No." + +"Those things, you know, are only fainter dreams. All the palace you +have made for him is a dream. But----" + +"Yes?" + +"He might come back--" he said, and looked at her and stopped. He tells +me he had some vague intention of startling her, rousing her, wounding +her to some display of romantic force, some insurgence of passion, that +might yet win Chatteris back, and then in that moment, and like a blow, +it came to him how foolish such a fancy had been. There she stood +impenetrably herself, limitedly intelligent, well-meaning, imitative, +and powerless. Her pose, her face, suggested nothing but a clear and +reasonable objection to all that had come to her, a critical antagonism, +a steady opposition. And then, amazingly, she changed. She looked up, +and suddenly held out both her hands, and there was something in her +eyes that he had never seen before. + +Melville took her hands mechanically, and for a second or so they stood +looking with a sort of discovery into each other's eyes. + +"Tell him," she said, with an astounding perfection of simplicity, "to +come back to me. There can be no other thing than what I am. Tell him to +come back to me!" + +"And----?" + +"Tell him _that_." + +"Forgiveness?" + +"No! Tell him I want him. If he will not come for that he will not come +at all. If he will not come back for that"--she halted for a moment--"I +do not want him. No! I do not want him. He is not mine and he may go." + +His passive hold of her hands became a pressure. Then they dropped apart +again. + +"You are very good to help us," she said as he turned to go. + +He looked at her. "You are very good to help me," she said, and then: +"Tell him whatever you like if only he will come back to me!... No! +Tell him what I have said." He saw she had something more to say, and +stopped. "You know, Mr. Melville, all this is like a book newly opened +to me. Are you sure----?" + +"Sure?" + +"Sure of what you say--sure of what she is to him--sure that if he goes +on he will--" She stopped. + +He nodded. + +"It means--" she said and stopped again. + +"No adventure, no incident, but a going out from all that this life has +to offer." + +"You mean," she insisted, "you mean----?" + +"Death," said Melville starkly, and for a space both stood without a +word. + +She winced, and remained looking into his eyes. Then she spoke again. + +"Mr. Melville, tell him to come back to me." + +"And----?" + +"Tell him to come back to me, or"--a sudden note of passion rang in her +voice--"if I have no hold upon him, let him go his way." + +"But--" said Melville. + +"I know," she cried, with her face set, "I know. But if he is mine he +will come to me, and if he is not-- Let him dream his dream." + +Her clenched hand tightened as she spoke. He saw in her face she would +say no more, that she wanted urgently to leave it there. He turned again +towards the staircase. He glanced at her and went down. + +As he looked up from the bend of the stairs she was still standing in +the light. + +He was moved to proclaim himself in some manner her adherent, but he +could think of nothing better than: "Whatever I can do I will." And so, +after a curious pause, he departed, rather stumblingly, from her sight. + + +IV + +After this interview it was right and proper that Melville should have +gone at once to Chatteris, but the course of events in the world does +occasionally display a lamentable disregard for what is right and +proper. Points of view were destined to crowd upon him that day--for the +most part entirely unsympathetic points of view. He found Mrs. Bunting +in the company of a boldly trimmed bonnet in the hall, waiting, it +became clear, to intercept him. + +As he descended, in a state of extreme preoccupation, the boldly trimmed +bonnet revealed beneath it a white-faced, resolute person in a duster +and sensible boots. This stranger, Mrs. Bunting made apparent, was Lady +Poynting Mallow, one of the more representative of the Chatteris aunts. +Her ladyship made a few enquiries about Adeline with an eye that took +Melville's measure, and then, after agreeing to a number of the +suggestions Mrs. Bunting had to advance, proposed that he should escort +her back to her hotel. He was much too exercised with Adeline to discuss +the proposal. "I walk," she said. "And we go along the lower road." + +He found himself walking. + +She remarked, as the Bunting door closed behind them, that it was always +a comfort to have to do with a man; and there was a silence for a space. + +I don't think at that time Melville completely grasped the fact that he +had a companion. But presently his meditations were disturbed by her +voice. He started. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. + +"That Bunting woman is a fool," repeated Lady Poynting Mallow. + +There was a slight interval for consideration. + +"She's an old friend of mine," said Melville. + +"Quite possibly," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +The position seemed a little awkward to Melville for a moment. He +flicked a fragment of orange peel into the road. "I want to get to the +bottom of all this," said Lady Poynting Mallow. "Who _is_ this other +woman?" + +"What other woman?" + +"_Tertium quid_," said Lady Poynting Mallow, with a luminous +incorrectness. + +"Mermaid, I gather," said Melville. + +"What's the objection to her?" + +"Tail." + +"Fin and all?" + +"Complete." + +"You're sure of it?" + +"Certain." + +"How do you know?" + +"I'm certain," repeated Melville with a quite unusual testiness. + +The lady reflected. + +"Well, there are worse things in the world than a fishy tail," she said +at last. + +Melville saw no necessity for a reply. "H'm," said Lady Poynting Mallow, +apparently by way of comment on his silence, and for a space they went +on. + +"That Glendower girl is a fool too," she added after a pause. + +My cousin opened his mouth and shut it again. How can one answer when +ladies talk in this way? But if he did not answer, at any rate his +preoccupation was gone. He was now acutely aware of the determined +person at his side. + +"She has means?" she asked abruptly. + +"Miss Glendower?" + +"No. I know all about her. The other?" + +"The mermaid?" + +"Yes, the mermaid. Why not?" + +"Oh, _she_--Very considerable means. Galleons. Phoenician treasure +ships, wrecked frigates, submarine reefs----" + +"Well, that's all right. And now will you tell me, Mr. Melville, why +shouldn't Harry have her? What if she is a mermaid? It's no worse than +an American silver mine, and not nearly so raw and ill-bred." + +"In the first place there's his engagement----" + +"Oh, _that_!" + +"And in the next there's the Sea Lady." + +"But I thought she----" + +"She's a mermaid." + +"It's no objection. So far as I can see, she'd make an excellent wife +for him. And, as a matter of fact, down here she'd be able to help him +in just the right way. The member here--he'll be fighting--this Sassoon +man--makes a lot of capital out of deep-sea cables. Couldn't be better. +Harry could dish him easily. That's all right. Why shouldn't he have +her?" + +She stuck her hands deeply into the pockets of her dust-coat, and a +china-blue eye regarded Melville from under the brim of the boldly +trimmed bonnet. + +"You understand clearly she is a properly constituted mermaid with a +real physical tail?" + +"Well?" said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +"Apart from any question of Miss Glendower----" + +"That's understood." + +"I think that such a marriage would be impossible." + +"Why?" + +My cousin played round the question. "She's an immortal, for example, +with a past." + +"Simply makes her more interesting." + +Melville tried to enter into her point of view. "You think," he said, +"she would go to London for him, and marry at St. George's, Hanover +Square, and pay for a mansion in Park Lane and visit just anywhere he +liked?" + +"That's precisely what she would do. Just now, with a Court that is +waking up----" + +"It's precisely what she won't do," said Melville. + +"But any woman would do it who had the chance." + +"She's a mermaid." + +"She's a fool," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +"She doesn't even mean to marry him; it doesn't enter into her code." + +"The hussy! What does she mean?" + +My cousin made a gesture seaward. "That!" he said. "She's a mermaid." + +"What?" + +"Out there." + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +Lady Poynting Mallow scanned the sea as if it were some curious new +object. "It's an amphibious outlook for the family," she said after +reflection. "But even then--if she doesn't care for society and it makes +Harry happy--and perhaps after they are tired of--rusticating----" + +"I don't think you fully realise that she is a mermaid," said Melville; +"and Chatteris, you know, breathes air." + +"That _is_ a difficulty," admitted Lady Poynting Mallow, and studied the +sunlit offing for a space. + +"I don't see why it shouldn't be managed for all that," she considered +after a pause. + +"It can't be," said Melville with arid emphasis. + +"She cares for him?" + +"She's come to fetch him." + +"If she wants him badly he might make terms. In these affairs +it's always one or other has to do the buying. She'd have to +_marry_--anyhow." + +My cousin regarded her impenetrably satisfied face. + +"He could have a yacht and a diving bell," she suggested; "if she wanted +him to visit her people." + +"They are pagan demigods, I believe, and live in some mythological way +in the Mediterranean." + +"Dear Harry's a pagan himself--so that doesn't matter, and as for being +mythological--all good families are. He could even wear a diving dress +if one could be found to suit him." + +"I don't think that anything of the sort is possible for a moment." + +"Simply because you've never been a woman in love," said Lady Poynting +Mallow with an air of vast experience. + +She continued the conversation. "If it's sea water she wants it would +be quite easy to fit up a tank wherever they lived, and she could +easily have a bath chair like a sitz bath on wheels.... Really, Mr. +Milvain----" + +"Melville." + +"Mr. Melville, I don't see where your 'impossible' comes in." + +"Have you seen the lady?" + +"Do you think I've been in Folkestone two days doing nothing?" + +"You don't mean you've called on her?" + +"Dear, no! It's Harry's place to settle that. But I've seen her in her +bath chair on the Leas, and I'm certain I've never seen any one who +looked so worthy of dear Harry. _Never!_" + +"Well, well," said Melville. "Apart from any other considerations, you +know, there's Miss Glendower." + +"I've never regarded her as a suitable wife for Harry." + +"Possibly not. Still--she exists." + +"So many people do," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +She evidently regarded that branch of the subject as dismissed. + +They pursued their way in silence. + +"What I wanted to ask you, Mr. Milvain----" + +"Melville." + +"Mr. Melville, is just precisely where you come into this business?" + +"I'm a friend of Miss Glendower." + +"Who wants him back." + +"Frankly--yes." + +"Isn't she devoted to him?" + +"I presume as she's engaged----" + +"She ought to be devoted to him--yes. Well, why can't she see that she +ought to release him for his own good?" + +"She doesn't see it's for his good. Nor do I." + +"Simply an old-fashioned prejudice because the woman's got a tail. Those +old frumps at Wampach's are quite of your opinion." + +Melville shrugged his shoulders. + +"And so I suppose you're going to bully and threaten on account of Miss +Glendower.... You'll do no good." + +"May I ask what you are going to do?" + +"What a good aunt always does." + +"And that?" + +"Let him do what he likes." + +"Suppose he wants to drown himself?" + +"My dear Mr. Milvain, Harry isn't a fool." + +"I've told you she's a mermaid." + +"Ten times." + +A constrained silence fell between them. + +It became apparent they were near the Folkestone Lift. + +"You'll do no good," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +Melville's escort concluded at the lift station. There the lady turned +upon him. + +"I'm greatly obliged to you for coming, Mr. Milvain," she said; "and +very glad to hear your views of this matter. It's a peculiar business, +but I hope we're sensible people. You think over what I have said. As a +friend of Harry's. You _are_ a friend of Harry's?" + +"We've known each other some years." + +"I feel sure you will come round to my point of view sooner or later. It +is so obviously the best thing for him." + +"There's Miss Glendower." + +"If Miss Glendower is a womanly woman, she will be ready to make any +sacrifice for his good." + +And with that they parted. + +In the course of another minute Melville found himself on the side of +the road opposite the lift station, regarding the ascending car. The +boldly trimmed bonnet, vivid, erect, assertive, went gliding upward, a +perfect embodiment of sound common sense. His mind was lapsing once +again into disorder; he was stunned, as it were, by the vigour of her +ladyship's view. Could any one not absolutely right be quite so clear +and emphatic? And if so, what became of all that oppression of +foreboding, that sinister promise of an escape, that whisper of "other +dreams," that had dominated his mind only a short half-hour before? + +He turned his face back to Sandgate, his mind a theatre of warring +doubts. Quite vividly he could see the Sea Lady as Lady Poynting Mallow +saw her, as something pink and solid and smart and wealthy, and, indeed, +quite abominably vulgar, and yet quite as vividly he recalled her as she +had talked to him in the garden, her face full of shadows, her eyes of +deep mystery, and the whisper that made all the world about him no more +than a flimsy, thin curtain before vague and wonderful, and hitherto, +quite unsuspected things. + + +V + +Chatteris was leaning against the railings. He started violently at +Melville's hand upon his shoulder. They made awkward greetings. + +"The fact is," said Melville, "I--I have been asked to talk to you." + +"Don't apologise," said Chatteris. "I'm glad to have it out with some +one." + +There was a brief silence. + +They stood side by side--looking down upon the harbour. Behind, the +evening band played remotely and the black little promenaders went to +and fro under the tall electric lights. I think Chatteris decided to be +very self-possessed at first--a man of the world. + +"It's a gorgeous night," he said. + +"Glorious," said Melville, playing up to the key set. + +He clicked his cutter on a cigar. "There was something you wanted me to +tell you----" + +"I know all that," said Chatteris with the shoulder towards Melville +becoming obtrusive. "I know everything." + +"You have seen and talked to her?" + +"Several times." + +There was perhaps a minute's pause. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Melville. + +Chatteris made no answer and Melville did not repeat his question. + +Presently Chatteris turned about. "Let's walk," he said, and they paced +westward, side by side. + +He made a little speech. "I'm sorry to give everybody all this trouble," +he said with an air of having prepared his sentences; "I suppose there +is no question that I have behaved like an ass. I am profoundly sorry. +Largely it is my own fault. But you know--so far as the overt kick-up +goes--there is a certain amount of blame attaches to our outspoken +friend Mrs. Bunting." + +"I'm afraid there is," Melville admitted. + +"You know there are times when one is under the necessity of having +moods. It doesn't help them to drag them into general discussion." + +"The mischief's done." + +"You know Adeline seems to have objected to the presence of--this sea +lady at a very early stage. Mrs. Bunting overruled her. Afterwards when +there was trouble she seems to have tried to make up for it." + +"I didn't know Miss Glendower had objected." + +"She did. She seems to have seen--ahead." + +Chatteris reflected. "Of course all that doesn't excuse me in the least. +But it's a sort of excuse for _your_ being dragged into this bother." + +He said something less distinctly about a "stupid bother" and "private +affairs." + +They found themselves drawing near the band and already on the +outskirts of its territory of votaries. Its cheerful rhythms became +insistent. The canopy of the stand was a focus of bright light, +music-stands and instruments sent out beams of reflected brilliance, +and a luminous red conductor in the midst of the lantern guided the +ratatoo-tat, ratatoo-tat of a popular air. Voices, detached fragments +of conversation, came to our talkers and mingled impertinently with +their thoughts. + +"I wouldn't 'ave no truck with 'im, not after that," said a young person +to her friend. + +"Let's get out of this," said Chatteris abruptly. + +They turned aside from the high path of the Leas to the head of some +steps that led down the declivity. In a few moments it was as if those +imposing fronts of stucco, those many-windowed hotels, the electric +lights on the tall masts, the band-stand and miscellaneous holiday +British public, had never existed. It is one of Folkestone's best +effects, that black quietness under the very feet of a crowd. They no +longer heard the band even, only a remote suggestion of music filtered +to them over the brow. The black-treed slopes fell from them to the surf +below, and out at sea were the lights of many ships. Away to the +westward like a swarm of fire-flies hung the lights of Hythe. The two +men sat down on a vacant seat in the dimness. For a time neither spoke. +Chatteris impressed Melville with an air of being on the defensive. He +murmured in a meditative undertone, "I wouldn't 'ave no truck with 'im +not after that." + +"I will admit by every standard," he said aloud, "that I have been +flappy and feeble and wrong. Very. In these things there is a prescribed +and definite course. To hesitate, to have two points of view, is +condemned by all right-thinking people.... Still--one has the two points +of view.... You have come up from Sandgate?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you see Miss Glendower?" + +"Yes." + +"Talked to her?... I suppose-- What do you think of her?" + +His cigar glowed into an expectant brightness while Melville hesitated +at his answer, and showed his eyes thoughtful upon Melville's face. + +"I've never thought her--" Melville sought more diplomatic phrasing. +"I've never found her exceptionally attractive before. Handsome, you +know, but not--winning. But this time, she seemed ... rather splendid." + +"She is," said Chatteris, "she is." + +He sat forward and began flicking imaginary ash from the end of his +cigar. + +"She _is_ splendid," he admitted. "You--only begin to imagine. You +don't, my dear man, know that girl. She is not--quite--in your line. +She is, I assure you, the straightest and cleanest and clearest human +being I have ever met. She believes so firmly, she does right so +simply, there is a sort of queenly benevolence, a sort of integrity of +benevolence----" + +He left the sentence unfinished, as if unfinished it completely +expressed his thought. + +"She wants you to go back to her," said Melville bluntly. + +"I know," said Chatteris and flicked again at that ghostly ash. "She +has written that.... That's just where her complete magnificence comes +in. She doesn't fence and fool about, as the she-women do. She doesn't +squawk and say, 'You've insulted me and everything's at an end;' and +she doesn't squawk and say, 'For God's sake come back to me!' _She_ +doesn't say, she 'won't 'ave no truck with me not after this.' She +writes--straight. I don't believe, Melville, I half knew her until +all this business came up. She comes out.... Before that it was, as +you said, and I quite perceive--I perceived all along--a little +too--statistical." + +He became meditative, and his cigar glow waned and presently vanished +altogether. + +"You are going back?" + +"By Jove! _Yes._" + +Melville stirred slightly and then they both sat rigidly quiet for a +space. Then abruptly Chatteris flung away his extinct cigar. He seemed +to fling many other things away with that dim gesture. "Of course," he +said, "I shall go back. + +"It is not my fault," he insisted, "that this trouble, this separation, +has ever arisen. I was moody, I was preoccupied, I know--things had got +into my head. But if I'd been left alone.... + +"I have been forced into this position," he summarised. + +"You understand," said Melville, "that--though I think matters are +indefined and distressing just now--I don't attach blame--anywhere." + +"You're open-minded," said Chatteris. "That's just your way. And I can +imagine how all this upset and discomfort distresses you. You're awfully +good to keep so open-minded and not to consider me an utter outcast, an +ill-regulated disturber of the order of the world." + +"It's a distressing state of affairs," said Melville. "But perhaps I +understand the forces pulling at you--better than you imagine." + +"They're very simple, I suppose." + +"Very." + +"And yet----?" + +"Well?" + +He seemed to hesitate at a dangerous topic. "The other," he said. + +Melville's silence bade him go on. + +He plunged from his prepared attitude. "What is it? Why should--this +being--come into my life, as she has done, if it _is_ so simple? What is +there about her, or me, that has pulled me so astray? She has, you know. +Here we are at sixes and sevens! It's not the situation, it's the mental +conflict. Why am I pulled about? She has got into my imagination. How? I +haven't the remotest idea." + +"She's beautiful," meditated Melville. + +"She's beautiful certainly. But so is Miss Glendower." + +"She's very beautiful. I'm not blind, Chatteris. She's beautiful in a +different way." + +"Yes, but that's only the name for the effect. _Why_ is she very +beautiful?" + +Melville shrugged his shoulders. + +"She's not beautiful to every one." + +"You mean?" + +"Bunting keeps calm." + +"Oh--_he_----!" + +"And other people don't seem to see it--as I do." + +"Some people seem to see no beauty at all, as we do. With emotion, that +is." + +"Why do we?" + +"We see--finer." + +"Do we? Is it finer? Why should it be finer to see beauty where it is +fatal to us to see it? Why? Unless we are to believe there is no reason +in things, why should this--impossibility, be beautiful to any one +anyhow? Put it as a matter of reason, Melville. Why should _her_ smile +be so sweet to me, why should _her_ voice move me! Why her's and not +Adeline's? Adeline has straight eyes and clear eyes and fine eyes, and +all the difference there can be, what is it? An infinitesimal curving of +the lid, an infinitesimal difference in the lashes--and it shatters +everything--in this way. Who could measure the difference, who could +tell the quality that makes me _swim_ in the sound of her voice.... The +difference? After all, it's a visible thing, it's a material thing! It's +in my eyes. By Jove!" he laughed abruptly. "Imagine old Helmholtz trying +to gauge it with a battery of resonators, or Spencer in the light of +Evolution and the Environment explaining it away!" + +"These things are beyond measurement," said Melville. + +"Not if you measure them by their effect," said Chatteris. "And anyhow, +why do they take us? That is the question I can't get away from just +now." + +My cousin meditated, no doubt with his hands deep in his trousers' +pockets. "It is illusion," he said. "It is a sort of glamour. After all, +look at it squarely. What is she? What can she give you? She promises +you vague somethings.... She is a snare, she is deception. She is the +beautiful mask of death." + +"Yes," said Chatteris. "I know." + +And then again, "I know. + +"There is nothing for me to learn about that," he said. "But why--why +should the mask of death be beautiful? After all-- We get our duty by +good hard reasoning. Why should reason and justice carry everything? +Perhaps after all there are things beyond our reason, perhaps after all +desire has a claim on us?" + +He stopped interrogatively and Melville was profound. "I think," said +my cousin at last, "Desire _has_ a claim on us. Beauty, at any rate---- + +"I mean," he explained, "we are human beings. We are matter with minds +growing out of ourselves. We reach downward into the beautiful +wonderland of matter, and upward to something--" He stopped, from sheer +dissatisfaction with the image. "In another direction, anyhow," he tried +feebly. He jumped at something that was not quite his meaning. "Man is a +sort of half-way house--he must compromise." + +"As you do?" + +"Well. Yes. I try to strike a balance." + +"A few old engravings--good, I suppose--a little luxury in furniture and +flowers, a few things that come within your means. Art--in moderation, +and a few kindly acts of the pleasanter sort, a certain respect for +truth; duty--also in moderation. Eh? It's just that even balance that I +cannot contrive. I cannot sit down to the oatmeal of this daily life and +wash it down with a temperate draught of beauty and water. Art!... I +suppose I'm voracious, I'm one of the unfit--for the civilised stage. +I've sat down once, I've sat down twice, to perfectly sane, secure, and +reasonable things.... It's not my way." + +He repeated, "It's not my way." + +Melville, I think, said nothing to that. He was distracted from the +immediate topic by the discussion of his own way of living. He was lost +in egotistical comparisons. No doubt he was on the verge of saying, as +most of us would have been under the circumstances: "I don't think you +quite understand my position." + +"But, after all, what is the good of talking in this way?" exclaimed +Chatteris abruptly. "I am simply trying to elevate the whole business by +dragging in these wider questions. It's justification, when I didn't +mean to justify. I have to choose between life with Adeline and this +woman out of the sea." + +"Who is Death." + +"How do I know she is Death?" + +"But you said you had made your choice!" + +"I have." + +He seemed to recollect. + +"I have," he corroborated. "I told you. I am going back to see Miss +Glendower to-morrow. + +"Yes." He recalled further portions of what I believe was some prepared +and ready-phrased decision--some decision from which the conversation had +drifted. "The need of my life is discipline, the habit of persistence, +of ignoring side issues and wandering thoughts. Discipline!" + +"And work." + +"Work, if you like to put it so; it's the same thing. The trouble so far +has been I haven't worked hard enough. I've stopped to speak to the +woman by the wayside. I've paltered with compromise, and the other thing +has caught me.... I've got to renounce it, that is all." + +"It isn't that your work is contemptible." + +"By Jove! No. It's--arduous. It has its dusty moments. There are places +to climb that are not only steep but muddy----" + +"The world wants leaders. It gives a man of your class a great deal. +Leisure. Honour. Training and high traditions----" + +"And it expects something back. I know. I am wrong--have been wrong +anyhow. This dream has taken me wonderfully. And I must renounce it. +After all it is not so much--to renounce a dream. It's no more than +deciding to live. There are big things in the world for men to do." + +Melville produced an elaborate conceit. "If there is no Venus +Anadyomene," he said, "there is Michael and his Sword." + +"The stern angel in armour! But then he had a good palpable dragon to +slash and not his own desires. And our way nowadays is to do a deal with +the dragons somehow, raise the minimum wage and get a better housing for +the working classes by hook or by crook." + +Melville does not think that was a fair treatment of his suggestion. + +"No," said Chatteris, "I've no doubt about the choice. I'm going to fall +in--with the species; I'm going to take my place in the ranks in that +great battle for the future which is the meaning of life. I want a moral +cold bath and I mean to take one. This lax dalliance with dreams and +desires must end. I will make a time table for my hours and a rule for +my life, I will entangle my honour in controversies, I will give myself +to service, as a man should do. Clean-handed work, struggle, and +performance." + +"And there is Miss Glendower, you know." + +"Rather!" said Chatteris, with a faint touch of insincerity. "Tall and +straight-eyed and capable. By Jove! if there's to be no Venus +Anadyomene, at any rate there will be a Pallas Athene. It is she who +plays the reconciler." + +And then he said these words: "It won't be so bad, you know." + +Melville restrained a movement of impatience, he tells me, at that. + +Then Chatteris, he says, broke into a sort of speech. "The case is +tried," he said, "the judgment has been given. I am that I am. I've been +through it all and worked it out. I am a man and I must go a man's way. +There is Desire, the light and guide of the world, a beacon on a +headland blazing out. Let it burn! Let it burn! The road runs near it +and by it--and past.... I've made my choice. I've got to be a man, I've +got to live a man and die a man and carry the burden of my class and +time. There it is! I've had the dream, but you see I keep hold of +reason. Here, with the flame burning, I renounce it. I make my +choice.... Renunciation! Always--renunciation! That is life for all of +us. We have desires, only to deny them, senses that we all must starve. +We can live only as a part of ourselves. Why should _I_ be exempt. For +me, she is evil. For me she is death.... Only why have I seen her face? +Why have I heard her voice?..." + + +VI + +They walked out of the shadows and up a long sloping path until +Sandgate, as a little line of lights, came into view below. Presently +they came out upon the brow and walked together (the band playing with a +remote and sweetening indistinctness far away behind them) towards the +cliff at the end. They stood for a little while in silence looking down. +Melville made a guess at his companion's thoughts. + +"Why not come down to-night?" he asked. + +"On a night like this!" Chatteris turned about suddenly and regarded the +moonlight and the sea. He stood quite still for a space, and that cold +white radiance gave an illusory strength and decision to his face. +"No," he said at last, and the word was almost a sigh. + +"Go down to the girl below there. End the thing. She will be there, +thinking of you----" + +"No," said Chatteris, "no." + +"It's not ten yet," Melville tried again. + +Chatteris thought. "No," he answered, "not to-night. To-morrow, in the +light of everyday. + +"I want a good, gray, honest day," he said, "with a south-west wind.... +These still, soft nights! How can you expect me to do anything of that +sort to-night?" + +And then he murmured as if he found the word a satisfying word to +repeat, "Renunciation." + +"By Jove!" he said with the most astonishing transition, "but this is a +night out of fairyland! Look at the lights of those windows below there +and then up--up into this enormous blue of sky. And there, as if it were +fainting with moonlight--shines one star." + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH + +MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT + + +I + +Just precisely what happened after that has been the most impossible +thing to disinter. I have given all the things that Melville remembered +were said, I have linked them into a conversation and checked them by my +cousin's afterthoughts, and finally I have read the whole thing over to +him. It is of course no verbatim rendering, but it is, he says, closely +after the manner of their talk, the gist was that, and things of that +sort were said. And when he left Chatteris, he fully believed that the +final and conclusive thing was said. And then he says it came into his +head that, apart from and outside this settlement, there still remained +a tangible reality, capable of action, the Sea Lady. What was she going +to do? The thought toppled him back into a web of perplexities again. It +carried him back into a state of inconclusive interrogation past +Lummidge's Hotel. + +The two men had gone back to the Métropole and had parted with a firm +handclasp outside the glare of the big doorway. Chatteris went straight +in, Melville fancies, but he is not sure. I understand Melville had +some private thinking to do on his own account, and I conceive him +walking away in a state of profound preoccupation. Afterwards the fact +that the Sea Lady was not to be abolished by renunciations, cropped up +in his mind, and he passed back along the Leas, as I have said. His +inconclusive interrogations elicited at the utmost that Lummidge's +Private and Family Hotel is singularly like any other hotel of its +class. Its windows tell no secrets. And there Melville's narrative ends. + +With that my circumstantial record necessarily comes to an end also. +There are sources, of course, and glimpses. Parker refuses, +unhappily--as I explained. The chief of these sources are, first, +Gooch, the valet employed by Chatteris; and, secondly, the hall-porter +of Lummidge's Private and Family Hotel. + +The valet's evidence is precise, but has an air of being irrelevant. He +witnesses that at a quarter past eleven he went up to ask Chatteris if +there was anything more to do that night, and found him seated in an +arm-chair before the open window, with his chin upon his hands, staring +at nothing--which, indeed, as Schopenhauer observes in his crowning +passage, is the whole of human life. + +"More to do?" said Chatteris. + +"Yessir," said the valet. + +"Nothing," said Chatteris, "absolutely nothing." And the valet, finding +this answer quite satisfactory, wished him goodnight and departed. + +Probably Chatteris remained in this attitude for a considerable +time--half an hour, perhaps, or more. Slowly, it would seem, his mood +underwent a change. At some definite moment it must have been that his +lethargic meditation gave way to a strange activity, to a sort of +hysterical reaction against all his resolves and renunciations. His +first action seems to me grotesque--and grotesquely pathetic. He went +into his dressing-room, and in the morning "his clo'es," said the valet, +"was shied about as though 'e'd lost a ticket." This poor worshipper of +beauty and the dream shaved! He shaved and washed and he brushed his +hair, and, his valet testifies, one of the brushes got "shied" behind +the bed. Even this throwing about of brushes seems to me to have done +little or nothing to palliate his poor human preoccupation with the +toilette. He changed his gray flannels--which suited him very well--for +his white ones, which suited him extremely. He must deliberately and +conscientiously have made himself quite "lovely," as a schoolgirl would +have put it. + +And having capped his great "renunciation" by these proceedings, he +seems to have gone straight to Lummidge's Private and Family Hotel and +demanded to see the Sea Lady. + +She had retired. + +This came from Parker, and was delivered in a chilling manner by the +hall-porter. + +Chatteris swore at the hall-porter. "Tell her I'm here," he said. + +"She's retired," said the hall-porter with official severity. + +"Will you tell her I'm here?" said Chatteris, suddenly white. + +"What name, sir?" said the hall-porter, in order, as he explains, "to +avoid a frackass." + +"Chatteris. Tell her I must see her now. Do you hear, _now_?" + +The hall-porter went to Parker, and came half-way back. He wished to +goodness he was not a hall-porter. The manager had gone out--it was a +stagnant hour. He decided to try Parker again; he raised his voice. + +The Sea Lady called to Parker from the inner room. There was an interval +of tension. + +I gather that the Sea Lady put on a loose wrap, and the faithful Parker +either carried her or sufficiently helped her from her bedroom to the +couch in the little sitting-room. In the meanwhile the hall-porter +hovered on the stairs, praying for the manager--prayers that went +unanswered--and Chatteris fumed below. Then we have a glimpse of the Sea +Lady. + +"I see her just in the crack of the door," said the porter, "as that +maid of hers opened it. She was raised up on her hands, and turned so +towards the door. Looking exactly like this----" + +And the hall-porter, who has an Irish type of face, a short nose, long +upper lip, and all the rest of it, and who has also neglected his +dentist, projected his face suddenly, opened his eyes very wide, and +slowly curved his mouth into a fixed smile, and so remained until he +judged the effect on me was complete. + +Parker, a little flushed, but resolutely flattening everything to the +quality of the commonplace, emerged upon him suddenly. Miss Waters could +see Mr. Chatteris for a few minutes. She was emphatic with the "Miss +Waters," the more emphatic for all the insurgent stress of the goddess, +protestingly emphatic. And Chatteris went up, white and resolved, to +that smiling expectant presence. No one witnessed their meeting but +Parker--assuredly Parker could not resist seeing that, but Parker is +silent--Parker preserves a silence that rubies could not break. + +All I know, is this much from the porter: + +"When I said she was up there and would see him," he says, "the way he +rooshed up was outrageous. This is a Private Family Hotel. Of course one +sees things at times even here, but---- + +"I couldn't find the manager to tell 'im," said the hall-porter. "And +what was _I_ authorised to do? + +"For a bit they talked with the door open, and then it was shut. That +maid of hers did it--I lay." + +I asked an ignoble question. + +"Couldn't ketch a word," said the hall-porter. "Dropped to +whispers--instanter." + + +II + +And afterwards-- + +It was within ten minutes of one that Parker, conferring an amount of +decorum on the request beyond the power of any other living being, +descended to demand--of all conceivable things--the bath chair! + +"I got it," said the hall-porter with inimitable profundity. + +And then, having let me realise the fulness of that, he said: "They +never used it!" + +"No?" + +"No! He carried her down in his arms." + +"And out?" + +"And out!" + +He was difficult to follow in his description of the Sea Lady. She wore +her wrap, it seems, and she was "like a statue"--whatever he may have +meant by that. Certainly not that she was impassive. "Only," said the +porter, "she was alive. One arm was bare, I know, and her hair was down, +a tossing mass of gold. + +"He looked, you know, like a man who's screwed himself up. + +"She had one hand holding his hair--yes, holding his hair, with her +fingers in among it.... + +"And when she see my face she threw her head back laughing at me. + +"As much as to say, '_got_ 'im!' + +"Laughed at me, she did. Bubblin' over." + +I stood for a moment conceiving this extraordinary picture. Then a +question occurred to me. + +"Did _he_ laugh?" I asked. + +"Gord bless you, sir, laugh? _No!_" + + +III + +The definite story ends in the warm light outside Lummidge's Private and +Family Hotel. One sees that bright solitude of the Leas stretching white +and blank--deserted as only a seaside front in the small hours can be +deserted--and all its electric light ablaze. And then the dark line of +the edge where the cliff drops down to the undercliff and sea. And +beyond, moonlit, the Channel and its incessant ships. Outside the front +of the hotel, which is one of a great array of pallid white facades, +stands this little black figure of a hall-porter, staring stupidly into +the warm and luminous mystery of the night that has swallowed Sea Lady +and Chatteris together. And he is the sole living thing in the picture. + +There is a little shelter set in the brow of the Leas, wherein, during +the winter season, a string band plays. Close by there are steps that go +down precipitously to the lower road below. Down these it must have been +they went together, hastening downward out of this life of ours to +unknown and inconceivable things. So it is I seem to see them, and +surely though he was not in a laughing mood, there was now no doubt nor +resignation in his face. Assuredly now he had found himself, for a time +at least he was sure of himself, and that at least cannot be misery, +though it lead straight through a few swift strides to death. + +They went down through the soft moonlight, tall and white and splendid, +interlocked, with his arms about her, his brow to her white shoulder and +her hair about his face. And she, I suppose, smiled above him and +caressed him and whispered to him. For a moment they must have glowed +under the warm light of the lamp that is half-way down the steps there, +and then the shadows closed about them. He must have crossed the road +with her, through the laced moonlight of the tree shadows, and through +the shrubs and bushes of the undercliff, into the shadeless moon glare +of the beach. There was no one to see that last descent, to tell whether +for a moment he looked back before he waded into the phosphorescence, +and for a little swam with her, and presently swam no longer, and so was +no more to be seen by any one in this gray world of men. + +Did he look back, I wonder? They swam together for a little while, the +man and the sea goddess who had come for him, with the sky above them +and the water about them all, warmly filled with the moonlight and set +with shining stars. It was no time for him to think of truth, nor of the +honest duties he had left behind him, as they swam together into the +unknown. And of the end I can only guess and dream. Did there come a +sudden horror upon him at the last, a sudden perception of infinite +error, and was he drawn down, swiftly and terribly, a bubbling +repentance, into those unknown deeps? Or was she tender and wonderful to +the last, and did she wrap her arms about him and draw him down, down +until the soft waters closed above him into a gentle ecstasy of death? + +Into these things we cannot pry or follow, and on the margin of the +softly breathing water the story of Chatteris must end. For the +tailpiece to that, let us put that policeman who in the small hours +before dawn came upon the wrap the Sea Lady had been wearing just as +the tide overtook it. It was not the sort of garment low people +sometimes throw away--it was a soft and costly wrap. I seem to see him +perplexed and dubious, wrap in charge over his arm and lantern in hand, +scanning first the white beach and black bushes behind him and then +staring out to sea. It was the inexplicable abandonment of a thoroughly +comfortable and desirable thing. + +"What were people up to?" one figures him asking, this simple citizen of +a plain and observed world. "What do such things mean? + +"To throw away such an excellent wrap...!" + +In all the southward heaven there were only a planet and the sinking +moon, and from his feet a path of quivering light must have started and +run up to the extreme dark edge before him of the sky. Ever and again +the darkness east and west of that glory would be lit by a momentary +gleam of phosphorescence; and far out the lights of ships were shining +bright and yellow. Across its shimmer a black fishing smack was gliding +out of mystery into mystery. Dungeness shone from the west a pin-point +of red light, and in the east the tireless glare of that great beacon on +Gris-nez wheeled athwart the sky and vanished and came again. + +I picture the interrogation of his lantern going out for a little way, a +stain of faint pink curiosity upon the mysterious vast serenity of +night. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: A few obvious printer's errors have been silently +corrected. 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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 Sea Lady + +Author: Herbert George Wells + +Illustrator: Lewis Baumer + +Release Date: April 20, 2011 [EBook #35920] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>THE SEA LADY</h1> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-004.jpg" width="400" height="486" alt="“Am I doing it right?” asked the Sea Lady." title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Am I doing it right?” asked the Sea Lady.</span><br /><br /> +<span class="caption rght"><small>(See page <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.)</small></span> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>THE SEA LADY</h1> + +<p class="title">BY<br /> + +<big>H. G. WELLS</big></p> + +<p class="title"><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="66" height="80" alt="logo" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="title">NEW YORK<br /> +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> +<small>1902</small></p> +<hr class="l2"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="title"><small><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1902</small><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="title"><i><small>Published September, 1902</small></i></p> + +<p class="title"><small>Copyright 1901 by H. G. Wells</small></p> +<hr class="l2"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="col1"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td class="col2"> </td><td class="col3"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">I.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">The coming of the Sea Lady</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">II.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">Some first impressions</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">III.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">The episode of the various journalists</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">IV.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">The quality of Parker</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">V.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">The absence and return of Mr. Harry +Chatteris</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VI.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">Symptomatic</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VII.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">The crisis</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VIII.</td><td class="col2">—<span class="smcap">Moonshine triumphant</span></td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> +<hr class="l2"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="col2"> </td><td class="col3"><small>FACING<br /> PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">“Am I doing it right?” asked the Sea Lady<div class="rght"><a href="#Page_ii"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></div></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">“Stuff that the public won’t believe aren’t facts”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">A little group about the Sea Lady’s bath chair</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">“Why not?”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">The waiter retires amazed</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_171">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">They seemed never to do anything but blow and +sigh and rustle papers</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_181">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col2">Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater +dignity</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_217">216</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>THE SEA LADY</h1> + + +<hr class="l2"/> +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</small><br /> + +THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Such previous landings of mermaids +as have left a record, have all a flavour of +doubt. Even the very circumstantial account +of that Bruges Sea Lady, who was +so clever at fancy work, gives occasion to +the sceptic. I must confess that I was +absolutely incredulous of such things until +a year ago. But now, face to face with +indisputable facts in my own immediate +neighbourhood, and with my own second +cousin Melville (of Seaton Carew) as the +chief witness to the story, I see these old +legends in a very different light. Yet so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +many people concerned themselves with +the hushing up of this affair, that, but for +my sedulous enquiries, I am certain it +would have become as doubtful as those +older legends in a couple of score of +years. Even now to many minds——</p> + +<p>The difficulties in the way of the hushing-up +process were no doubt exceptionally +great in this case, and that they did +contrive to do so much, seems to show +just how strong are the motives for secrecy +in all such cases. There is certainly no +remoteness nor obscurity about the scene +of these events. They began upon the +beach just east of Sandgate Castle, towards +Folkestone, and they ended on the beach +near Folkestone pier not two miles away. +The beginning was in broad daylight on +a bright blue day in August and in full +sight of the windows of half a dozen +houses. At first sight this alone is sufficient +to make the popular want of information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +almost incredible. But of that +you may think differently later.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Randolph Bunting’s two charming +daughters were bathing at the time in +company with their guest, Miss Mabel +Glendower. It is from the latter lady +chiefly, and from Mrs. Bunting, that I +have pieced together the precise circumstances +of the Sea Lady’s arrival. From +Miss Glendower, the elder of two Glendower +girls, for all that she is a principal +in almost all that follows, I have obtained, +and have sought to obtain, no information +whatever. There is the question of the +lady’s feelings—and in this case I gather +they are of a peculiarly complex sort. +Quite naturally they would be. At any +rate, the natural ruthlessness of the literary +calling has failed me. I have not +ventured to touch them.…</p> + +<p>The villa residences to the east of +Sandgate Castle, you must understand, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +particularly lucky in having gardens that +run right down to the beach. There is +no intervening esplanade or road or path +such as cuts off ninety-nine out of the +hundred of houses that face the sea. As +you look down on them from the western +end of the Leas, you see them crowding +the very margin. And as a great number +of high groins stand out from the shore +along this piece of coast, the beach is +practically cut off and made private except +at very low water, when people can get +around the ends of the groins. These +houses are consequently highly desirable +during the bathing season, and it is the +custom of many of their occupiers to let +them furnished during the summer to persons +of fashion and affluence.</p> + +<p>The Randolph Buntings were such +persons—indisputably. It is true of course +that they were not Aristocrats, or indeed +what an unpaid herald would freely call<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +“gentle.” They had no right to any sort +of arms. But then, as Mrs. Bunting would +sometimes remark, they made no pretence +of that sort; they were quite free (as +indeed everybody is nowadays) from snobbery. +They were simple homely Buntings—Randolph +Buntings—“good people” +as the saying is—of a widely diffused +Hampshire stock addicted to brewing, +and whether a suitably remunerated herald +could or could not have proved them +“gentle” there can be no doubt that Mrs. +Bunting was quite justified in taking in +the <cite>Gentlewoman</cite>, and that Mr. Bunting +and Fred were sedulous gentlemen, and +that all their ways and thoughts were +delicate and nice. And they had staying +with them the two Miss Glendowers, to +whom Mrs. Bunting had been something +of a mother, ever since Mrs. Glendower’s +death.</p> + +<p>The two Miss Glendowers were half<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +sisters, and gentle beyond dispute, a +county family race that had only for a generation +stooped to trade, and risen at once +Antæus-like, refreshed and enriched. The +elder, Adeline, was the rich one—the +heiress, with the commercial blood in her +veins. She was really very rich, and she +had dark hair and grey eyes and serious +views, and when her father died, which he +did a little before her step-mother, she had +only the later portion of her later youth +left to her. She was nearly seven-and-twenty. +She had sacrificed her earlier +youth to her father’s infirmity of temper +in a way that had always reminded her of +the girlhood of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. +But after his departure for a sphere +where his temper has no doubt a wider +scope—for what is this world for if it is +not for the Formation of Character?—she +had come out strongly. It became evident +she had always had a mind, and a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +active and capable one, an accumulated +fund of energy and much ambition. She +had bloomed into a clear and critical socialism, +and she had blossomed at public +meetings; and now she was engaged to +that really very brilliant and promising +but rather extravagant and romantic person, +Harry Chatteris, the nephew of an +earl and the hero of a scandal, and quite a +possible Liberal candidate for the Hythe +division of Kent. At least this last matter +was under discussion and he was about, +and Miss Glendower liked to feel she was +supporting him by being about too, and +that was chiefly why the Buntings had +taken a house in Sandgate for the summer. +Sometimes he would come and stay +a night or so with them, sometimes he +would be off upon affairs, for he was +known to be a very versatile, brilliant, first-class +political young man—and Hythe +very lucky to have a bid for him, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +things considered. And Fred Bunting +was engaged to Miss Glendower’s less distinguished, +much less wealthy, seventeen-year +old and possibly altogether more ordinary +half-sister, Mabel Glendower, who +had discerned long since when they were +at school together that it wasn’t any good +trying to be clear when Adeline was about.</p> + +<p>The Buntings did not bathe “mixed,” +a thing indeed that was still only very +doubtfully decent in 1898, but Mr. Randolph +Bunting and his son Fred came +down to the beach with them frankly instead +of hiding away or going for a walk +according to the older fashion. (This, notwithstanding +that Miss Mabel Glendower, +Fred’s <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiancée</i> to boot, was of the bathing +party.) They formed a little procession +down under the evergreen oaks in the garden +and down the ladder and so to the +sea’s margin.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting went first, looking as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +were for Peeping Tom with her glasses, +and Miss Glendower, who never bathed +because it made her feel undignified, went +with her—wearing one of those simple, +costly “art” morning costumes Socialists +affect. Behind this protecting van came, +one by one, the three girls, in their +beautiful Parisian bathing dresses and +headdresses—though these were of course +completely muffled up in huge hooded +gowns of towelling—and wearing of course +stockings and shoes—they bathed in stockings +and shoes. Then came Mrs. Bunting’s +maid and the second housemaid and +the maid the Glendower girls had brought, +carrying towels, and then at a little interval +the two men carrying ropes and things. +(Mrs. Bunting always put a rope around +each of her daughters before ever they +put a foot in the water and held it until +they were safely out again. But Mabel +Glendower would not have a rope.)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>Where the garden ends and the beach +begins Miss Glendower turned aside and +sat down on the green iron seat under the +evergreen oak, and having found her place +in “Sir George Tressady”—a book of +which she was naturally enough at that +time inordinately fond—sat watching the +others go on down the beach. There they +were a very bright and very pleasant group +of prosperous animated people upon the +sunlit beach, and beyond them in streaks +of grey and purple, and altogether calm +save for a pattern of dainty little wavelets, +was that ancient mother of surprises, +the Sea.</p> + +<p>As soon as they reached the high-water +mark where it is no longer indecent to be +clad merely in a bathing dress, each of the +young ladies handed her attendant her +wrap, and after a little fun and laughter +Mrs. Bunting looked carefully to see if +there were any jelly fish, and then they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +went in. And after a minute or so, it +seems Betty, the elder Miss Bunting, +stopped splashing and looked, and then +they all looked, and there, about thirty +yards away was the Sea Lady’s head, as if +she were swimming back to land.</p> + +<p>Naturally they concluded that she must +be a neighbour from one of the adjacent +houses. They were a little surprised not +to have noticed her going down into the +water, but beyond that her apparition had +no shadow of wonder for them. They +made the furtive penetrating observations +usual in such cases. They could see that +she was swimming very gracefully and +that she had a lovely face and very beautiful +arms, but they could not see her +wonderful golden hair because all that was +hidden in a fashionable Phrygian bathing +cap, picked up—as she afterwards admitted +to my second cousin—some nights +before upon a Norman <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">plage</i>. Nor could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +they see her lovely shoulders because of +the red costume she wore.</p> + +<p>They were just on the point of feeling +their inspection had reached the limit of +really nice manners and Mabel was pretending +to go on splashing again and saying +to Betty, “She’s wearing a red dress. +I wish I could see—” when something +very terrible happened.</p> + +<p>The swimmer gave a queer sort of flop +in the water, threw up her arms and—vanished!</p> + +<p>It was the sort of thing that seems for +an instant to freeze everybody, just one +of those things that everyone has read of +and imagined and very few people have +seen.</p> + +<p>For a space no one did anything. One, +two, three seconds passed and then for an +instant a bare arm flashed in the air and +vanished again.</p> + +<p>Mabel tells me she was quite paralysed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +with horror, she did nothing all the time, +but the two Miss Buntings, recovering a +little, screamed out, “Oh, she’s drowning!” +and hastened to get out of the sea +at once, a proceeding accelerated by Mrs. +Bunting, who with great presence of mind +pulled at the ropes with all her weight +and turned about and continued to pull +long after they were many yards from the +water’s edge and indeed cowering in a +heap at the foot of the sea wall. Miss +Glendower became aware of a crisis and +descended the steps, “Sir George Tressady” +in one hand and the other shading +her eyes, crying in her clear resolute voice, +“She must be saved!” The maids of +course were screaming—as became them—but +the two men appear to have acted +with the greatest presence of mind. +“Fred, Nexdoors ledder!” said Mr. Randolph +Bunting—for the next-door neighbour +instead of having convenient stone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +steps had a high wall and a long wooden +ladder, and it had often been pointed out +by Mr. Bunting if ever an accident should +happen to anyone there was <em>that!</em> In a +moment it seems they had both flung off +jacket and vest, collar, tie and shoes, and +were running the neighbour’s ladder out +into the water.</p> + +<p>“Where did she go, Ded?” said Fred.</p> + +<p>“Right out hea!” said Mr. Bunting, +and to confirm his word there flashed +again an arm and “something dark”—something +which in the light of all that +subsequently happened I am inclined to +suppose was an unintentional exposure of +the Lady’s tail.</p> + +<p>Neither of the two gentlemen are +expert swimmers—indeed so far as I can +gather, Mr. Bunting in the excitement +of the occasion forgot almost everything +he had ever known of swimming—but +they waded out valiantly one on each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +side of the ladder, thrust it out before +them and committed themselves to the +deep, in a manner casting no discredit +upon our nation and race.</p> + +<p>Yet on the whole I think it is a matter +for general congratulation that they were +not engaged in the rescue of a genuinely +drowning person. At the time of my +enquiries whatever soreness of argument +that may once have obtained between +them had passed, and it is fairly clear that +while Fred Bunting was engaged in swimming +hard against the long side of the +ladder and so causing it to rotate slowly +on its axis, Mr. Bunting had already swallowed +a very considerable amount of sea-water +and was kicking Fred in the chest +with aimless vigour. This he did, as he +explains, “to get my legs down, you +know. Something about that ladder, you +know, and they <em>would</em> go up!”</p> + +<p>And then quite unexpectedly the Sea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +Lady appeared beside them. One lovely +arm supported Mr. Bunting about the +waist and the other was over the ladder. +She did not appear at all pale or frightened +or out of breath, Fred told me when +I cross-examined him, though at the time +he was too violently excited to note a detail +of that sort. Indeed she smiled and +spoke in an easy pleasant voice.</p> + +<p>“Cramp,” she said, “I have cramp.” +Both the men were convinced of that.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bunting was on the point of telling +her to hold tight and she would be +quite safe, when a little wave went almost +entirely into his mouth and reduced him +to wild splutterings.</p> + +<p>“<em>We’ll</em> get you in,” said Fred, or something +of that sort, and so they all hung, +bobbing in the water to the tune of Mr. +Bunting’s trouble.</p> + +<p>They seem to have rocked so for some +time. Fred says the Sea Lady looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +calm but a little puzzled and that she +seemed to measure the distance shoreward. +“You <em>mean</em> to save me?” she +asked him.</p> + +<p>He was trying to think what could be +done before his father drowned. “We’re +saving you now,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You’ll take me ashore?”</p> + +<p>As she seemed so cool he thought he +would explain his plan of operations, +“Trying to get—end of ladder—kick with +my legs. Only a few yards out of our +depth—if we could only——”</p> + +<p>“Minute—get my breath—moufu’ +sea-water,” said Mr. Bunting. <em>Splash!</em> +wuff!…</p> + +<p>And then it seemed to Fred that a +little miracle happened. There was a +swirl of the water like the swirl about a +screw propeller, and he gripped the Sea +Lady and the ladder just in time, as it +seemed to him, to prevent his being washed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +far out into the Channel. His father vanished +from his sight with an expression of +astonishment just forming on his face and +reappeared beside him, so far as back and +legs are concerned, holding on to the +ladder with a sort of death grip. And +then behold! They had shifted a dozen +yards inshore, and they were in less than +five feet of water and Fred could feel the +ground.</p> + +<p>At its touch his amazement and dismay +immediately gave way to the purest +heroism. He thrust ladder and Sea Lady +before him, abandoned the ladder and his +now quite disordered parent, caught her +tightly in his arms, and bore her up out +of the water. The young ladies cried +“Saved!” the maids cried “Saved!” Distant +voices echoed “Saved, Hooray!” +Everybody in fact cried “Saved!” except +Mrs. Bunting, who was, she says, under +the impression that Mr. Bunting was in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +fit, and Mr. Bunting, who seems to have +been under an impression that all those +laws of nature by which, under Providence, +we are permitted to float and swim, were +in suspense and that the best thing to do +was to kick very hard and fast until the +end should come. But in a dozen seconds +or so his head was up again and his feet +were on the ground and he was making +whale and walrus noises, and noises like a +horse and like an angry cat and like sawing, +and was wiping the water from his +eyes; and Mrs. Bunting (except that +now and then she really <em>had</em> to turn and +say “<em>Ran</em>dolph!”) could give her attention +to the beautiful burthen that clung +about her son.</p> + +<p>And it is a curious thing that the Sea +Lady was at least a minute out of the +water before anyone discovered that she +was in any way different from—other +ladies. I suppose they were all crowding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +close to her and looking at her beautiful +face, or perhaps they imagined that she +was wearing some indiscreet but novel +form of dark riding habit or something of +that sort. Anyhow not one of them +noticed it, although it must have been before +their eyes as plain as day. Certainly +it must have blended with the costume. +And there they stood, imagining that Fred +had rescued a lovely lady of indisputable +fashion, who had been bathing from +some neighbouring house, and wondering +why on earth there was nobody on the +beach to claim her. And she clung to +Fred and, as Miss Mabel Glendower +subsequently remarked in the course of +conversation with him, Fred clung to +her.</p> + +<p>“I had cramp,” said the Sea Lady, +with her lips against Fred’s cheek and one +eye on Mrs. Bunting. “I am sure it was +cramp.… I’ve got it still.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I don’t see anybody—” began Mrs. +Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Please carry me in,” said the Sea +Lady, closing her eyes as if she were ill—though +her cheek was flushed and warm. +“Carry me in.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” gasped Fred.</p> + +<p>“Carry me into the house,” she whispered +to him.</p> + +<p>“Which house?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting came nearer.</p> + +<p>“<em>Your</em> house,” said the Sea Lady, and +shut her eyes for good and became oblivious +to all further remarks.</p> + +<p>“She— But I don’t understand—” +said Mrs. Bunting, addressing everybody.…</p> + +<p>And then it was they saw it. Nettie, +the younger Miss Bunting, saw it first. +She pointed, she says, before she could +find words to speak. Then they all saw +it! Miss Glendower, I believe, was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +person who was last to see it. At any +rate it would have been like her if she +had been.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” said Nettie, giving words +to the general horror. “<em>Mother!</em> She +has a <em>tail!</em>”</p> + +<p>And then the three maids and Mabel +Glendower screamed one after the other. +“Look!” they cried. “A tail!”</p> + +<p>“Of all—” said Mrs. Bunting, and +words failed her.</p> + +<p>“<em>Oh!</em>” said Miss Glendower, and put +her hand to her heart.</p> + +<p>And then one of the maids gave it a +name. “It’s a mermaid!” screamed the +maid, and then everyone screamed, “It’s +a mermaid.”</p> + +<p>Except the mermaid herself; she remained +quite passive, pretending to be insensible +partly on Fred’s shoulder and +altogether in his arms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>That, you know, is the tableau so far +as I have been able to piece it together +again. You must imagine this little knot +of people upon the beach, and Mr. Bunting, +I figure, a little apart, just wading out +of the water and very wet and incredulous +and half drowned. And the neighbour’s +ladder was drifting quietly out to sea.</p> + +<p>Of course it was one of those positions +that have an air of being conspicuous.</p> + +<p>Indeed it was conspicuous. It was +some way below high water and the +group stood out perhaps thirty yards +down the beach. Nobody, as Mrs. Bunting +told my cousin Melville, knew a bit +<em>what</em> to do and they all had even an exaggerated +share of the national hatred of +being seen in a puzzle. The mermaid +seemed content to remain a beautiful +problem clinging to Fred, and by all accounts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +she was a reasonable burthen for a +man. It seems that the very large family +of people who were stopping at the house +called Koot Hoomi had appeared in force, +and they were all staring and gesticulating. +They were just the sort of people +the Buntings did not want to know—tradespeople +very probably. Presently +one of the men—the particularly vulgar +man who used to shoot at the gulls—began +putting down their ladder as if he intended +to offer advice, and Mrs. Bunting +also became aware of the black glare of +the field glasses of a still more horrid man +to the west.</p> + +<p>Moreover the popular author who lived +next door, an irascible dark square-headed +little man in spectacles, suddenly turned +up and began bawling from his inaccessible +wall top something foolish about his +ladder. Nobody thought of his silly ladder +or took any trouble about it, naturally.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +He was quite stupidly excited. To judge +by his tone and gestures he was using +dreadful language and seemed disposed +every moment to jump down to the beach +and come to them.</p> + +<p>And then to crown the situation, over +the westward groin appeared Low Excursionists!</p> + +<p>First of all their heads came, and then +their remarks. Then they began to clamber +the breakwater with joyful shouts.</p> + +<p>“Pip, Pip,” said the Low Excursionists +as they climbed—it was the year of +“pip, pip”—and, “What HO she bumps!” +and then less generally, “What’s up ’<em>ere?”</em></p> + +<p>And the voices of other Low Excursionists +still invisible answered, “Pip, Pip.”</p> + +<p>It was evidently a large party.</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong?” shouted one of +the Low Excursionists at a venture.</p> + +<p>“My <em>dear!”</em> said Mrs. Bunting to +Mabel, “what <em>are</em> we to do?” And in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +her description of the affair to my cousin +Melville she used always to make that the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">clou</i> of the story. “My DEAR! What +ARE we to do?”</p> + +<p>I believe that in her desperation she +even glanced at the water. But of course +to have put the mermaid back then would +have involved the most terrible explanations.…</p> + +<p>It was evident there was only one thing +to be done. Mrs. Bunting said as much. +“The only thing,” said she, “is to carry +her indoors.”</p> + +<p>And carry her indoors they did!…</p> + +<p>One can figure the little procession. +In front Fred, wet and astonished but still +clinging and clung to, and altogether too +out of breath for words. And in his arms +the Sea Lady. She had a beautiful figure, +I understand, until that horrible tail began +(and the fin of it, Mrs. Bunting told my +cousin in a whispered confidence, went up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +and down and with pointed corners for all +the world like a mackerel’s). It flopped +and dripped along the path—I imagine. +She was wearing a very nice and very +long-skirted dress of red material trimmed +with coarse white lace, and she had, Mabel +told me, a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gilet</i>, though that would scarcely +show as they went up the garden. And +that Phrygian cap hid all her golden hair +and showed the white, low, level forehead +over her sea-blue eyes. From all that followed, +I imagine her at the moment scanning +the veranda and windows of the +house with a certain eagerness of scrutiny.</p> + +<p>Behind this staggering group of two +I believe Mrs. Bunting came. Then Mr. +Bunting. Dreadfully wet and broken +down Mr. Bunting must have been by then, +and from one or two things I have noticed +since, I can’t help imagining him as +pursuing his wife with, “Of course, my +dear, <em>I</em> couldn’t tell, you know!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then, in a dismayed yet curious +bunch, the girls in their wraps of towelling +and the maids carrying the ropes and +things and, as if inadvertently, as became +them, most of Mr. and Fred Bunting’s +clothes.</p> + +<p>And then Miss Glendower, for once at +least in no sort of pose whatever, clutching +“Sir George Tressady” and perplexed +and disturbed beyond measure.</p> + +<p>And then, as it were pursuing them +all, “Pip, pip,” and the hat and raised +eyebrows of a Low Excursionist still anxious +to know “What’s up?” from the +garden end.</p> + +<p>So it was, or at least in some such way, +and to the accompaniment of the wildest +ravings about some ladder or other heard +all too distinctly over the garden wall—(“Overdressed +Snobbs take my <cite>rare old +English adjective</cite> ladder…!”)—that +they carried the Sea Lady (who appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +serenely insensible to everything) up +through the house and laid her down +upon the couch in Mrs. Bunting’s room.</p> + +<p>And just as Miss Glendower was suggesting +that the very best thing they could +do would be to send for a doctor, the Sea +Lady with a beautiful naturalness sighed +and came to.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE SECOND</small><br /> + +SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>There with as much verisimilitude as +I can give it, is how the Folkestone mermaid +really came to land. There can be +no doubt that the whole affair was a deliberately +planned intrusion upon her part. +She never had cramp, she couldn’t have +cramp, and as for drowning, nobody was +near drowning for a moment except Mr. +Bunting, whose valuable life she very +nearly sacrificed at the outset of her adventure. +And her next proceeding was +to demand an interview with Mrs. Bunting +and to presume upon her youthful +and glowing appearance to gain the support, +sympathy and assistance of that good-hearted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +lady (who as a matter of fact was +a thing of yesterday, a mere chicken in +comparison with her own immemorial +years) in her extraordinary raid upon +Humanity.</p> + +<p>Her treatment of Mrs. Bunting would +be incredible if we did not know that, in +spite of many disadvantages, the Sea Lady +was an extremely well read person. She +admitted as much in several later conversations +with my cousin Melville. For a +time there was a friendly intimacy—so +Melville always preferred to present it—between +these two, and my cousin, who +has a fairly considerable amount of curiosity, +learnt many very interesting details +about the life “out there” or “down +there”—for the Sea Lady used either expression. +At first the Sea Lady was exceedingly +reticent under the gentle insistence +of his curiosity, but after a time, I +gather, she gave way to bursts of cheerful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +confidence. “It is clear,” says my cousin, +“that the old ideas of the submarine life as +a sort of perpetual game of ‘who-hoop’ +through groves of coral, diversified by +moonlight hair-combings on rocky strands, +need very extensive modification.” In +this matter of literature, for example, they +have practically all that we have, and unlimited +leisure to read it in. Melville is +very insistent upon and rather envious of +that unlimited leisure. A picture of a +mermaid swinging in a hammock of +woven seaweed, with what bishops call a +“latter-day” novel in one hand and a sixteen +candle-power phosphorescent fish in +the other, may jar upon one’s preconceptions, +but it is certainly far more in accordance +with the picture of the abyss she +printed on his mind. Everywhere Change +works her will on things. Everywhere, +and even among the immortals, Modernity +spreads. Even on Olympus I suppose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +there is a Progressive party and a new +Phaeton agitating to supersede the horses +of his father by some solar motor of his +own. I suggested as much to Melville +and he said “Horrible! Horrible!” and +stared hard at my study fire. Dear old +Melville! She gave him no end of facts +about Deep Sea Reading.</p> + +<p>Of course they do not print books +“out there,” for the printer’s ink under +water would not so much run as fly—she +made that very plain; but in one way or +another nearly the whole of terrestrial literature, +says Melville, has come to them. +“We know,” she said. They form indeed +a distinct reading public, and additions to +their vast submerged library that circulates +forever with the tides, are now pretty systematically +sought. The sources are various +and in some cases a little odd. Many +books have been found in sunken ships. +“Indeed!” said Melville. There is always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +a dropping and blowing overboard of novels +and magazines from most passenger-carrying +vessels—sometimes, but these are +not as a rule valuable additions—a deliberate +shying overboard. But sometimes +books of an exceptional sort are thrown +over when they are quite finished. (Melville +is a dainty irritable reader and no +doubt he understood that.) From the sea +beaches of holiday resorts, moreover, the +lighter sorts of literature are occasionally +getting blown out to sea. And so soon +as the Booms of our great Popular Novelists +are over, Melville assured me, the +libraries find it convenient to cast such +surplus copies of their current works as +the hospitals and prisons cannot take, below +high-water mark.</p> + +<p>“That’s not generally known,” said I.</p> + +<p>“<em>They</em> know it,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>In other ways the beaches yield. +Young couples who “begin to sit heapy,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +the Sea Lady told my cousin, as often as +not will leave excellent modern fiction +behind them, when at last they return to +their proper place. There is a particularly +fine collection of English work, it seems, +in the deep water of the English Channel; +practically the whole of the Tauchnitz +Library is there, thrown overboard at the +last moment by conscientious or timid +travellers returning from the continent, +and there was for a time a similar source +of supply of American reprints in the +Mersey, but that has fallen off in recent +years. And the Deep Sea Mission for +Fishermen has now for some years been +raining down tracts and giving a particularly +elevated tone of thought to the extensive +shallows of the North Sea. The +Sea Lady was very precise on these points.</p> + +<p>When one considers the conditions of +its accumulation, one is not surprised to +hear that the element of fiction is as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +dominant in this Deep Sea Library as it +is upon the counters of Messrs. Mudie; +but my cousin learnt that the various +illustrated magazines, and particularly the +fashion papers, are valued even more highly +than novels, are looked for far more +eagerly and perused with envious emotion. +Indeed on that point my cousin got +a sudden glimpse of one of the motives +that had brought this daring young lady +into the air. He made some sort of suggestion. +“We should have taken to dressing +long ago,” she said, and added, with a +vague quality of laughter in her tone, “it +isn’t that we’re unfeminine, Mr. Melville. +Only—as I was explaining to Mrs. Bunting, +one must consider one’s circumstances—how +<em>can</em> one <em>hope</em> to keep anything nice +under water? Imagine lace!”</p> + +<p>“Soaked!” said my cousin Melville.</p> + +<p>“Drenched!” said the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“Ruined!” said my cousin Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And then you know,” said the Sea +Lady very gravely, “one’s hair!”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Melville. “Why!—you +can never get it <em>dry!”</em></p> + +<p>“That’s precisely it,” said she.</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville had a new light +on an old topic. “And that’s why—in +the old time——?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” she cried, “exactly! Before +there were so many Excursionists +and sailors and Low People about, one +came out, one sat and brushed it in the +sun. And then of course it really <em>was</em> +possible to do it up. But now——”</p> + +<p>She made a petulant gesture and +looked gravely at Melville, biting her lip +the while. My cousin made a sympathetic +noise. “The horrid modern spirit,” +he said—almost automatically.…</p> + +<p>But though fiction and fashion appear +to be so regrettably dominant in the nourishment +of the mer-mind, it must not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +supposed that the most serious side of +our reading never reaches the bottom of +the sea. There was, for example, a case +quite recently, the Sea Lady said, of the +captain of a sailing ship whose mind had +become unhinged by the huckstering uproar +of the <cite>Times</cite> and <cite>Daily Mail</cite>, and +who had not only bought a second-hand +copy of the <cite>Times</cite> reprint of the Encyclopædia +Britannica, but also that dense collection +of literary snacks and samples, +that All-Literature Sausage which has +been compressed under the weighty editing +of Doctor Richard Garnett. It has +long been notorious that even the greatest +minds of the past were far too copious +and confusing in their—as the word goes—lubrications. +Doctor Garnett, it is alleged, +has seized the gist and presented +it so compactly that almost any business +man now may take hold of it without +hindrance to his more serious occupations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +The unfortunate and misguided seaman +seems to have carried the entire collection +aboard with him, with the pretty evident +intention of coming to land in Sydney +the wisest man alive—a Hindoo-minded +thing to do. The result might have been +anticipated. The mass shifted in the +night, threw the whole weight of the +science of the middle nineteenth century +and the literature of all time, in a virulently +concentrated state, on one side of his +little vessel and capsized it instantly.…</p> + +<p>The ship, the Sea Lady said, dropped +into the abyss as if it were loaded with +lead, and its crew and other movables did +not follow it down until much later in +the day. The captain was the first to arrive, +said the Sea Lady, and it is a curious +fact, due probably to some preliminary +dippings into his purchase, that he came +head first, instead of feet down and limbs +expanded in the customary way.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>However, such exceptional windfalls +avail little against the rain of light literature +that is constantly going on. The +novel and the newspaper remain the +world’s reading even at the bottom of the +sea. As subsequent events would seem to +show, it must have been from the common +latter-day novel and the newspaper +that the Sea Lady derived her ideas of +human life and sentiment and the inspiration +of her visit. And if at times she +seemed to underestimate the nobler tendencies +of the human spirit, if at times +she seemed disposed to treat Adeline Glendower +and many of the deeper things of +life with a certain sceptical levity, if she +did at last indisputably subordinate reason +and right feeling to passion, it is only just +to her, and to those deeper issues, that we +should ascribe her aberrations to their +proper cause.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>My cousin Melville, I was saying, did +at one time or another get a vague, a very +vague conception of what that deep-sea +world was like. But whether his conception +has any quality of truth in it is more +than I dare say. He gives me an impression +of a very strange world indeed, a +green luminous fluidity in which these +beings float, a world lit by great shining +monsters that drift athwart it, and by waving +forests of nebulous luminosity amidst +which the little fishes drift like netted +stars. It is a world with neither sitting, +nor standing, nor going, nor coming, +through which its inhabitants float and +drift as one floats and drifts in dreams. +And the way they live there! “My dear +man!” said Melville, “it must be like a +painted ceiling!…”</p> + +<p>I do not even feel certain that it is in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +the sea particularly that this world of the +Sea Lady is to be found. But about +those saturated books and drowned scraps +of paper, you say? Things are not always +what they seem, and she told him all of +that, we must reflect, one laughing afternoon.</p> + +<p>She could appear, at times, he says, as +real as you or I, and again came mystery +all about her. There were times when it +seemed to him you might have hurt her +or killed her as you can hurt and kill anyone—with +a penknife for example—and +there were times when it seemed to him +you could have destroyed the whole material +universe and left her smiling still. +But of this ambiguous element in the +lady, more is to be told later. There are +wider seas than ever keel sailed upon, and +deeps that no lead of human casting will +ever plumb. When it is all summed up, +I have to admit, I do not know, I cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +tell. I fall back upon Melville and my +poor array of collected facts. At first +there was amazingly little strangeness +about her for any who had to deal with +her. There she was, palpably solid and +material, a lady out of the sea.</p> + +<p>This modern world is a world where +the wonderful is utterly commonplace. +We are bred to show a quiet freedom +from amazement, and why should we +boggle at material Mermaids, with Dewars +solidifying all sorts of impalpable things +and Marconi waves spreading everywhere? +To the Buntings she was as matter of +fact, as much a matter of authentic and +reasonable motives and of sound solid +sentimentality, as everything else in the +Bunting world. So she was for them in +the beginning, and so up to this day with +them her memory remains.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The way in which the Sea Lady talked +to Mrs. Bunting on that memorable morning, +when she lay all wet and still visibly +fishy on the couch in Mrs. Bunting’s +dressing-room, I am also able to give with +some little fulness, because Mrs. Bunting +repeated it all several times, acting the +more dramatic speeches in it, to my cousin +Melville in several of those good long +talks that both of them in those happy +days—and particularly Mrs. Bunting—always +enjoyed so much. And with her +very first speech, it seems, the Sea Lady +took her line straight to Mrs. Bunting’s +generous managing heart. She sat up on +the couch, drew the antimacassar modestly +over her deformity, and sometimes looking +sweetly down and sometimes openly +and trustfully into Mrs. Bunting’s face, +and speaking in a soft clear grammatical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +manner that stamped her at once as no +mere mermaid but a finished fine Sea +Lady, she “made a clean breast of it,” as +Mrs. Bunting said, and “fully and frankly” +placed herself in Mrs. Bunting’s +hands.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Bunting,” said Mrs. Bunting to +my cousin Melville, in a dramatic rendering +of the Sea Lady’s manner, “do permit +me to apologise for this intrusion, for I +know it <em>is</em> an intrusion. But indeed it +has almost been <em>forced</em> upon me, and if +you will only listen to my story, Mrs. +Bunting, I think you will find—well, if +not a complete excuse for me—for I can +understand how exacting your standards +must be—at any rate <em>some</em> excuse for what +I have done—for what I <em>must</em> call, Mrs. +Bunting, my deceitful conduct towards +you. Deceitful it was, Mrs. Bunting, for +I never had cramp— But then, Mrs. +Bunting”—and here Mrs. Bunting would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +insert a long impressive pause—“I never +had a mother!”</p> + +<p>“And then and there,” said Mrs. Bunting, +when she told the story to my cousin +Melville, “the poor child burst into tears +and confessed she had been born ages and +ages ago in some dreadful miraculous way +in some terrible place near Cyprus, and +had no more right to a surname— Well, +<em>there</em>—!” said Mrs. Bunting, telling the +story to my cousin Melville and making +the characteristic gesture with which she +always passed over and disowned any indelicacy +to which her thoughts might have +tended. “And all the while speaking +with such a nice accent and moving in +such a ladylike way!”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said my cousin Melville, +“there are classes of people in whom one +excuses— One must weigh——”</p> + +<p>“Precisely,” said Mrs. Bunting. “And +you see it seems she deliberately chose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +<em>me</em> as the very sort of person she had always +wanted to appeal to. It wasn’t as +if she came to us haphazard—she picked +us out. She had been swimming round +the coast watching people day after day, +she said, for quite a long time, and she +said when she saw my face, watching the +girls bathe—you know how funny girls +are,” said Mrs. Bunting, with a little deprecatory +laugh, and all the while with a +moisture of emotion in her kindly eyes. +“She took quite a violent fancy to me +from the very first.”</p> + +<p>“I can <em>quite</em> believe <em>that</em>, at any +rate,” said my cousin Melville with unction. +I know he did, although he always +leaves it out of the story when he +tells it to me. But then he forgets that +I have had the occasional privilege of +making a third party in these good long +talks.</p> + +<p>“You know it’s most extraordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +and exactly like the German story,” said +Mrs. Bunting. “Oom—what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Undine?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly—yes. And it really seems +these poor creatures are Immortal, Mr. +Melville—at least within limits—creatures +born of the elements and resolved into +the elements again—and just as it is in +the story—there’s always a something—they +have no Souls! No Souls at all! +Nothing! And the poor child feels it. +She feels it dreadfully. But in order to +<em>get</em> souls, Mr. Melville, you know they +have to come into the world of men. At +least so they believe down there. And so +she has come to Folkestone. To get a +soul. Of course that’s her great object, +Mr. Melville, but she’s not at all fanatical +or silly about it. Any more than <em>we</em> +are. Of course <em>we</em>—people who feel +deeply——”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said my cousin Melville,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +with, I know, a momentary expression of +profound gravity, drooping eyelids and a +hushed voice. For my cousin does a +good deal with his soul, one way and another.</p> + +<p>“And she feels that if she comes to +earth at all,” said Mrs. Bunting, “she <em>must</em> +come among <em>nice</em> people and in a nice +way. One can understand her feeling like +that. But imagine her difficulties! To +be a mere cause of public excitement, and +silly paragraphs in the silly season, to be +made a sort of show of, in fact—she +doesn’t want <em>any</em> of it,” added Mrs. Bunting, +with the emphasis of both hands.</p> + +<p>“What <em>does</em> she want?” asked my +cousin Melville.</p> + +<p>“She wants to be treated exactly like +a human being, to <em>be</em> a human being, just +like you or me. And she asks to stay +with us, to be one of our family, and to +learn how we live. She has asked me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +to advise her what books to read that are +really nice, and where she can get a dress-maker, +and how she can find a clergyman +to sit under who would really be +likely to understand her case, and everything. +She wants me to advise her about +it all. She wants to put herself altogether +in my hands. And she asked it all so +nicely and sweetly. She wants me to advise +her about it all.”</p> + +<p>“Um,” said my cousin Melville.</p> + +<p>“You should have heard her!” cried +Mrs. Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Practically it’s another daughter,” he +reflected.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Bunting, “and even +that did not frighten me. She admitted +as much.”</p> + +<p>“Still——”</p> + +<p>He took a step.</p> + +<p>“She has means?” he inquired abruptly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ample. She told me there was a +box. She said it was moored at the end +of a groin, and accordingly dear Randolph +watched all through luncheon, and afterwards, +when they could wade out and reach +the end of the rope that tied it, he and +Fred pulled it in and helped Fitch and +the coachman carry it up. It’s a curious +little box for a lady to have, well made, of +course, but of wood, with a ship painted +on the top and the name of ‘Tom’ cut in +it roughly with a knife; but, as she says, +leather simply will <em>not</em> last down there, and +one has to put up with what one can get; +and the great thing is it’s <em>full</em>, perfectly +full, of gold coins and things. Yes, +gold—and diamonds, Mr. Melville. You +know Randolph understands something— Yes, +well he says that box—oh! I couldn’t +tell you <em>how</em> much it isn’t worth! And +all the gold things with just a sort of +faint reddy touch.… But anyhow, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +is rich, as well as charming and beautiful. +And really you know, Mr. Melville, +altogether— Well, I’m going to help +her, just as much as ever I can. Practically, +she’s to be our paying guest. As +you know—it’s no great secret between <em>us</em>—Adeline— Yes.… +She’ll be the +same. And I shall bring her out and introduce +her to people and so forth. It +will be a great help. And for everyone +except just a few intimate friends, she is +to be just a human being who happens to +be an invalid—temporarily an invalid—and +we are going to engage a good, trustworthy +woman—the sort of woman who +isn’t astonished at anything, you know—they’re +a little expensive but they’re to be +got even nowadays—who will be her +maid—and make her dresses, her skirts at +any rate—and we shall dress her in long +skirts—and throw something over It, you +know——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Over——?”</p> + +<p>“The tail, you know.”</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville said “Precisely!” +with his head and eyebrows. But that was +the point that hadn’t been clear to him so +far, and it took his breath away. Positively—a +tail! All sorts of incorrect theories +went by the board. Somehow he felt +this was a topic not to be too urgently +pursued. But he and Mrs. Bunting were +old friends.</p> + +<p>“And she really has … a tail?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Like the tail of a big mackerel,” said +Mrs. Bunting, and he asked no more.</p> + +<p>“It’s a most extraordinary situation,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“But what else <em>could</em> I do?” asked +Mrs. Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Of course the thing’s a tremendous +experiment,” said my cousin Melville, and +repeated quite inadvertently, “<em>a tail!</em>”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>Clear and vivid before his eyes, obstructing +absolutely the advance of his +thoughts, were the shiny clear lines, the +oily black, the green and purple and silver, +and the easy expansiveness of a mackerel’s +termination.</p> + +<p>“But really, you know,” said my +cousin Melville, protesting in the name +of reason and the nineteenth century—“a +tail!”</p> + +<p>“I patted it,” said Mrs. Bunting.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Certain supplementary aspects of the +Sea Lady’s first conversation with Mrs. +Bunting I got from that lady herself afterwards.</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady had made one queer +mistake. “Your four charming daughters,” +she said, “and your two sons.”</p> + +<p>“My dear!” cried Mrs. Bunting—they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +had got through their preliminaries +by then—“I’ve only two daughters and +one son!”</p> + +<p>“The young man who carried—who +rescued me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And the other two girls are +friends, you know, visitors who are staying +with me. On land one has visitors——”</p> + +<p>“I know. So I made a mistake?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes.”</p> + +<p>“And the other young man?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean Mr. Bunting.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Mr. Bunting?”</p> + +<p>“The other gentleman who——”</p> + +<p>“<em>No!</em>”</p> + +<p>“There was no one——”</p> + +<p>“But several mornings ago?”</p> + +<p>“Could it have been Mr. Melville?… +<em>I</em> know! You mean Mr. Chatteris! +I remember, he came down with us one +morning. A tall young man with fair—rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +curlyish you might say—hair, wasn’t +it? And a rather thoughtful face. He +was dressed all in white linen and he sat +on the beach.”</p> + +<p>“I fancy he did,” said the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“He’s not my son. He’s—he’s a +friend. He’s engaged to Adeline, to the +elder Miss Glendower. He was stopping +here for a night or so. I daresay he’ll +come again on his way back from Paris. +Dear me! Fancy <em>my</em> having a son like +that!”</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady was not quite prompt in +replying.</p> + +<p>“What a stupid mistake for me to +make!” she said slowly; and then with +more animation, “Of course, now I think, +he’s much too old to be your son!”</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s thirty-two!” said Mrs. +Bunting with a smile.</p> + +<p>“It’s preposterous.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t say <em>that</em>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But I saw him only at a distance, +you know,” said the Sea Lady; and then, +“And so he is engaged to Miss Glendower? +And Miss Glendower——?”</p> + +<p>“Is the young lady in the purple robe +who——”</p> + +<p>“Who carried a book?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Bunting, “that’s +the one. They’ve been engaged three +months.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said the Sea Lady. “She +seemed— And is he very much in love +with her?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Mrs. Bunting.</p> + +<p>“<em>Very</em> much?”</p> + +<p>“Oh—of <em>course</em>. If he wasn’t, he +wouldn’t——”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the Sea Lady +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“And it’s such an excellent match in +every way. Adeline’s just in the very +position to help him——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bunting it would seem +briefly but clearly supplied an indication +of the precise position of Mr. Chatteris, +not omitting even that he was the nephew +of an earl, as indeed why should she omit +it?—and the splendid prospects of his alliance +with Miss Glendower’s plebeian but +extensive wealth. The Sea Lady listened +gravely. “He is young, he is able, he +may still be anything—anything. And +she is so earnest, so clever herself—always +reading. She even reads Blue Books—government +Blue Books I mean—dreadful +statistical schedulely things. And the +condition of the poor and all those +things. She knows more about the condition +of the poor than any one I’ve ever +met; what they earn and what they eat, +and how many of them live in a room. +So dreadfully crowded, you know—perfectly +shocking.… She is just the +helper he needs. So dignified—so capable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +of giving political parties and influencing +people, so earnest! And you +know she can talk to workmen and take +an interest in trades unions, and in quite +astonishing things. <em>I</em> always think she’s +just <cite>Marcella</cite> come to life.”</p> + +<p>And from that the good lady embarked +upon an illustrative but involved +anecdote of Miss Glendower’s marvellous +blue-bookishness.…</p> + +<p>“He’ll come here again soon?” the +Sea Lady asked quite carelessly in the +midst of it.</p> + +<p>The query was carried away and lost in +the anecdote, so that later the Sea Lady repeated +her question even more carelessly.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Bunting did not know +whether the Sea Lady sighed at all or not. +She thinks not. She was so busy telling +her all about everything that I don’t think +she troubled very much to see how her information +was received.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>What mind she had left over from her +own discourse was probably centred on +the tail.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Even to Mrs. Bunting’s senses—she is +one of those persons who take everything +(except of course impertinence or impropriety) +quite calmly—it must, I think, +have been a little astonishing to find herself +sitting in her boudoir, politely taking +tea with a real live legendary creature. +They were having tea in the boudoir, because +of callers, and quite quietly because, +in spite of the Sea Lady’s smiling assurances, +Mrs. Bunting would have it she +<em>must</em> be tired and unequal to the exertions +of social intercourse. “After <em>such</em> +a journey,” said Mrs. Bunting. There +were just the three, Adeline Glendower +being the third; and Fred and the three +other girls, I understand, hung about in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +general sort of way up and down the staircase +(to the great annoyance of the servants +who were thus kept out of it altogether) +confirming one another’s views of +the tail, arguing on the theory of mermaids, +revisiting the garden and beach and +trying to invent an excuse for seeing the +invalid again. They were forbidden to +intrude and pledged to secrecy by Mrs. +Bunting, and they must have been as altogether +unsettled and miserable as young +people can be. For a time they played +croquet in a half-hearted way, each no +doubt with an eye on the boudoir window.</p> + +<p>(And as for Mr. Bunting, he was in +bed.)</p> + +<p>I gather that the three ladies sat and +talked as any three ladies all quite resolved +to be pleasant to one another would talk. +Mrs. Bunting and Miss Glendower were +far too well trained in the observances of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +good society (which is as every one knows, +even the best of it now, extremely mixed) +to make too searching enquiries into the +Sea Lady’s status and way of life or precisely +where she lived when she was at +home, or whom she knew or didn’t know. +Though in their several ways they wanted +to know badly enough. The Sea Lady +volunteered no information, contenting +herself with an entertaining superficiality +of touch and go, in the most ladylike way. +She professed herself greatly delighted +with the sensation of being in air and +superficially quite dry, and was particularly +charmed with tea.</p> + +<p>“And don’t you have <em>tea?”</em> cried +Miss Glendower, startled.</p> + +<p>“How can we?”</p> + +<p>“But do you really mean——?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never tasted tea before. How +do you think we can boil a kettle?”</p> + +<p>“What a strange—what a wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +world it must be!” cried Adeline. And +Mrs. Bunting said: “I can hardly <em>imagine</em> +it without tea. It’s worse than— I mean +it reminds me—of abroad.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting was in the act of refilling +the Sea Lady’s cup. “I suppose,” +she said suddenly, “as you’re not used to +it— It won’t affect your diges—” She +glanced at Adeline and hesitated. “But +it’s China tea.”</p> + +<p>And she filled the cup.</p> + +<p>“It’s an inconceivable world to me,” +said Adeline. “Quite.”</p> + +<p>Her dark eyes rested thoughtfully on +the Sea Lady for a space. “Inconceivable,” +she repeated, for, in that unaccountable +way in which a whisper will attract +attention that a turmoil fails to arouse, the +tea had opened her eyes far more than +the tail.</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady looked at her with sudden +frankness. “And think how wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +all this must seem to <em>me!”</em> she +remarked.</p> + +<p>But Adeline’s imagination was aroused +for the moment and she was not to be put +aside by the Sea Lady’s terrestrial impressions. +She pierced—for a moment or so—the +ladylike serenity, the assumption of +a terrestrial fashion of mind that was imposing +so successfully upon Mrs. Bunting. +“It must be,” she said, “the strangest +world.” And she stopped invitingly.…</p> + +<p>She could not go beyond that and the +Sea Lady would not help her.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, a silent eager +search for topics. Apropos of the Niphetos +roses on the table they talked of +flowers and Miss Glendower ventured: +“You have your anemones too! How +beautiful they must be amidst the rocks!”</p> + +<p>And the Sea Lady said they were +very pretty—especially the cultivated +sorts.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And the fishes,” said Mrs. Bunting. +“How wonderful it must be to see the +fishes!”</p> + +<p>“Some of them,” volunteered the Sea +Lady, “will come and feed out of one’s +hand.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting made a little coo of approval. +She was reminded of chrysanthemum +shows and the outside of the Royal +Academy exhibition and she was one of +those people to whom only the familiar is +really satisfying. She had a momentary +vision of the abyss as a sort of diverticulum +of Piccadilly and the Temple, a +place unexpectedly rational and comfortable. +There was a kink for a time about +a little matter of illumination, but it recurred +to Mrs. Bunting only long after. +The Sea Lady had turned from Miss +Glendower’s interrogative gravity of expression +to the sunlight.</p> + +<p>“The sunlight seems so golden here,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +said the Sea Lady. “Is it always golden?”</p> + +<p>“You have that beautiful greenery-blue +shimmer I suppose,” said Miss Glendower, +“that one catches sometimes ever +so faintly in aquaria——”</p> + +<p>“One lives deeper than that,” said the +Sea Lady. “Everything is phosphorescent, +you know, a mile or so down, and +it’s like—I hardly know. As towns +look at night—only brighter. Like piers +and things like that.”</p> + +<p>“Really!” said Mrs. Bunting, with the +Strand after the theatres in her head. +“Quite bright?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite,” said the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“But—” struggled Adeline, “is it +never put out?”</p> + +<p>“It’s so different,” said the Sea +Lady.</p> + +<p>“That’s why it is so interesting,” said +Adeline.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>“There are no nights and days, you +know. No time nor anything of that +sort.”</p> + +<p>“Now that’s very queer,” said Mrs. +Bunting with Miss Glendower’s teacup in +her hand—they were both drinking quite +a lot of tea absent-mindedly, in their interest +in the Sea Lady. “But how do you +tell when it’s Sunday?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t—” began the Sea Lady. +“At least not exactly—” And then—“Of +course one hears the beautiful hymns that +are sung on the passenger ships.”</p> + +<p>“Of course!” said Mrs. Bunting, having +sung so in her youth and quite forgetting +something elusive that she had previously +seemed to catch.</p> + +<p>But afterwards there came a glimpse +of some more serious divergence—a +glimpse merely. Miss Glendower hazarded +a supposition that the sea people +also had their Problems, and then it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +would seem the natural earnestness of her +disposition overcame her proper attitude +of ladylike superficiality and she began to +ask questions. There can be no doubt that +the Sea Lady was evasive, and Miss Glendower, +perceiving that she had been a trifle +urgent, tried to cover her error by expressing +a general impression.</p> + +<p>“I can’t see it,” she said, with a gesture +that asked for sympathy. “One wants to +see it, one wants to <em>be</em> it. One needs to +be born a mer-child.”</p> + +<p>“A mer-child?” asked the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“Yes— Don’t you call your little +ones——?”</p> + +<p>“<em>What</em> little ones?” asked the Sea +Lady.</p> + +<p>She regarded them for a moment with +a frank wonder, the undying wonder of +the Immortals at that perpetual decay and +death and replacement which is the gist of +human life. Then at the expression of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +their faces she seemed to recollect. “Of +course,” she said, and then with a transition +that made pursuit difficult, she agreed +with Adeline. “It <em>is</em> different,” she said. +“It <em>is</em> wonderful. One feels so alike, you +know, and so different. That’s just where +it <em>is</em> so wonderful. Do I look—? And +yet you know I have never had my hair +up, nor worn a dressing gown before today.”</p> + +<p>“What do you wear?” asked Miss +Glendower. “Very charming things, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a different costume altogether,” +said the Sea Lady, brushing away a +crumb.</p> + +<p>Just for a moment Mrs. Bunting regarded +her visitor fixedly. She had, I +fancy, in that moment, an indistinct, imperfect +glimpse of pagan possibilities. +But there, you know, was the Sea Lady in +her wrapper, so palpably a lady, with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +pretty hair brought up to date and such a +frank innocence in her eyes, that Mrs. +Bunting’s suspicions vanished as they +came.</p> + +<p>(But I am not so sure of Adeline.)</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE THIRD</small><br /> + +THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS<br /> +JOURNALISTS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The remarkable thing is that the Buntings +really carried out the programme Mrs. +Bunting laid down. For a time at least +they positively succeeded in converting the +Sea Lady into a credible human invalid, +in spite of the galaxy of witnesses to the +lady’s landing and in spite of the severe internal +dissensions that presently broke out. +In spite, moreover, of the fact that one of +the maids—they found out which only +long after—told the whole story under +vows to her very superior young man who +told it next Sunday to a rising journalist +who was sitting about on the Leas maturing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +a descriptive article. The rising journalist +was incredulous. But he went about +enquiring. In the end he thought it good +enough to go upon. He found in several +quarters a vague but sufficient rumour of +a something; for the maid’s young man +was a conversationalist when he had anything +to say.</p> + +<p>Finally the rising journalist went and +sounded the people on the two chief Folkestone +papers and found the thing had just +got to them. They were inclined to pretend +they hadn’t heard of it, after the +fashion of local papers when confronted +by the abnormal, but the atmosphere of +enterprise that surrounded the rising journalist +woke them up. He perceived he +had done so and that he had no time to +lose. So while they engaged in inventing +representatives to enquire, he went off and +telephoned to the <cite>Daily Gunfire</cite> and the +<cite>New Paper</cite>. When they answered he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +positive and earnest. He staked his reputation—the +reputation of a rising journalist!</p> + +<p>“I swear there’s something up,” he +said. “Get in first—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>He had some reputation, I say—and +he had staked it. The <cite>Daily Gunfire</cite> was +sceptical but precise, and the <cite>New Paper</cite> +sprang a headline “A Mermaid at last!”</p> + +<p>You might well have thought the thing +was out after that, but it wasn’t. There +are things one doesn’t believe even if they +are printed in a halfpenny paper. To find +the reporters hammering at their doors, so +to speak, and fended off only for a time +by a proposal that they should call again; +to see their incredible secret glaringly in +print, did indeed for a moment seem a +hopeless exposure to both the Buntings +and the Sea Lady. Already they could +see the story spreading, could imagine the +imminent rush of intimate enquiries, the +tripod strides of a multitude of cameras,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +the crowds watching the windows, the +horrors of a great publicity. All the +Buntings and Mabel were aghast, simply +aghast. Adeline was not so much aghast +as excessively annoyed at this imminent +and, so far as she was concerned, absolutely +irrelevant publicity. “They will never +dare—” she said, and “Consider how it +affects Harry!” and at the earliest opportunity +she retired to her own room. The +others, with a certain disregard of her offence, +sat around the Sea Lady’s couch—she +had scarcely touched her breakfast—and +canvassed the coming terror.</p> + +<p>“They will put our photographs in +the papers,” said the elder Miss Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Well, they won’t put mine in,” said +her sister. “It’s horrid. I shall go right +off now and have it taken again.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll interview the Ded!”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said Mr. Bunting terrified. +“Your mother——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s your place, my dear,” said Mrs. +Bunting.</p> + +<p>“But the Ded—” said Fred.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t,” said Mr. Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Well, some one’ll have to tell ’em +anyhow,” said Mrs. Bunting. “You +know, they will——”</p> + +<p>“But it isn’t at all what I wanted,” +wailed the Sea Lady, with the <cite>Daily Gunfire</cite> +in her hand. “Can’t it be stopped?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know our journalists,” +said Fred.</p> + +<p>The tact of my cousin Melville saved +the situation. He had dabbled in journalism +and talked with literary fellows like +myself. And literary fellows like myself +are apt at times to be very free and outspoken +about the press. He heard of the +Buntings’ shrinking terror of publicity +as soon as he arrived, a perfect clamour—an +almost exultant clamour indeed, +of shrinking terror, and he caught the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +Sea Lady’s eye and took his line there +and then.</p> + +<p>“It’s not an occasion for sticking at +trifles, Mrs. Bunting,” he said. “But I +think we can save the situation all the +same. You’re too hopeless. We must +put our foot down at once; that’s all. +Let <em>me</em> see these reporter fellows and +write to the London dailies. I think I +can take a line that will settle them.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” said Fred.</p> + +<p>“I can take a line that will stop it, +trust me.”</p> + +<p>“What, altogether?”</p> + +<p>“Altogether.”</p> + +<p>“How?” said Fred and Mrs. Bunting. +“You’re not going to bribe them!”</p> + +<p>“Bribe!” said Mr. Bunting. “We’re +not in France. You can’t bribe a British +paper.”</p> + +<p>(A sort of subdued cheer went around +from the assembled Buntings.)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You leave it to me,” said Melville, in +his element.</p> + +<p>And with earnestly expressed but not +very confident wishes for his success, they +did.</p> + +<p>He managed the thing admirably.</p> + +<p>“What’s this about a mermaid?” he +demanded of the local journalists when +they returned. They travelled together +for company, being, so to speak, emergency +journalists, compositors in their +milder moments, and unaccustomed to +these higher aspects of journalism. +“What’s this about a mermaid?” repeated +my cousin, while they waived precedence +dumbly one to another.</p> + +<p>“I believe some one’s been letting +you in,” said my cousin Melville. “Just +imagine!—a mermaid!”</p> + +<p>“That’s what we thought,” said the +younger of the two emergency journalists. +“We knew it was some sort of hoax, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +know. Only the <cite>New Paper</cite> giving it +a headline——”</p> + +<p>“I’m amazed even Banghurst—” said +my cousin Melville.</p> + +<p>“It’s in the <cite>Daily Gunfire</cite> as well,” +said the older of the two emergency journalists.</p> + +<p>“What’s one more or less of these ha’penny +fever rags?” cried my cousin with +a ringing scorn. “Surely you’re not +going to take your Folkestone news from +mere London papers.”</p> + +<p>“But how did the story come about?” +began the older emergency journalist.</p> + +<p>“That’s not my affair.”</p> + +<p>The younger emergency journalist had +an inspiration. He produced a note book +from his breast pocket. “Perhaps, sir, +you wouldn’t mind suggesting to us something +we might say——”</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville complied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The rising young journalist who had +first got wind of the business—who must +not for a moment be confused with the +two emergency journalists heretofore described—came +to Banghurst next night in +a state of strange exultation. “I’ve been +through with it and I’ve seen her,” he +panted. “I waited about outside and saw +her taken into the carriage. I’ve talked +to one of the maids—I got into the house +under pretence of being a telephone man +to see their telephone—I spotted the wire—and +it’s a fact. A positive fact—she’s +a mermaid with a tail—a proper mermaid’s +tail. I’ve got here——”</p> + +<p>He displayed sheets.</p> + +<p>“Whaddyer talking about?” said +Banghurst from his littered desk, eyeing +the sheets with apprehensive animosity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The mermaid—there really <em>is</em> a mermaid. +At Folkestone.”</p> + +<p>Banghurst turned away from him and +pawed at his pen tray. “Whad if there +is!” he said after a pause.</p> + +<p>“But it’s proved. That note you +printed——”</p> + +<p>“That note I printed was a mistake if +there’s anything of that sort going, young +man.” Banghurst remained an obstinate +expansion of back.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t deal in mermaids here.”</p> + +<p>“But you’re not going to let it drop?”</p> + +<p>“I am.”</p> + +<p>“But there she is!”</p> + +<p>“Let her be.” He turned on the rising +young journalist, and his massive face was +unusually massive and his voice fine and +full and fruity. “Do you think we’re going +to make our public believe anything +simply because it’s true? They know perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +well what they are going to believe +and what they aren’t going to believe, and +they aren’t going to believe anything about +mermaids—you bet your hat. I don’t care +if the whole damned beach was littered +with mermaids—not the whole damned +beach! We’ve got our reputation to keep +up. See?… Look here!—you don’t +learn journalism as I hoped you’d do. It +was you what brought in all that stuff +about a discovery in chemistry——”</p> + +<p>“It’s true.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh!”</p> + +<p>“I had it from a Fellow of the Royal +Society——”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-092.jpg" width="400" height="393" alt="“Stuff that the public won’t believe aren’t facts.”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Stuff that the public won’t believe aren’t facts.”</span> +</div> +<p>“I don’t care if you had it from—anybody. +Stuff that the public won’t believe +aren’t facts. Being true only makes ’em +worse. They buy our paper to swallow it +and it’s got to go down easy. When I +printed you that note and headline I +thought you was up to a lark. I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +you was on to a mixed bathing scandal +or something of that sort—with juice in +it. The sort of thing that <em>all</em> understand. +You know when you went down to Folkestone +you were going to describe what +Salisbury and all the rest of them wear +upon the Leas. And start a discussion on +the acclimatisation of the café. And all +that. And then you get on to this (unprintable +epithet) nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“But Lord Salisbury—he doesn’t go to +Folkestone.”</p> + +<p>Banghurst shrugged his shoulders over +a hopeless case. “What the deuce,” he +said, addressing his inkpot in plaintive +tones, “does <em>that</em> matter?”</p> + +<p>The young man reflected. He addressed +Banghurst’s back after a pause. +His voice had flattened a little. “I might +go over this and do it up as a lark perhaps. +Make it a comic dialogue sketch +with a man who really believed in it—or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +something like that. It’s a beastly lot of +copy to get slumped, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Nohow,” said Banghurst. “Not in +any shape. No! Why! They’d think it +clever. They’d think you was making +game of them. They hate things they +think are clever!”</p> + +<p>The young man made as if to reply, +but Banghurst’s back expressed quite +clearly that the interview was at an +end.</p> + +<p>“Nohow,” repeated Banghurst just +when it seemed he had finished altogether.</p> + +<p>“I may take it to the <cite>Gunfire</cite> then?”</p> + +<p>Banghurst suggested an alternative.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said the young man, +heated, “the <cite>Gunfire</cite> it is.”</p> + +<p>But in that he was reckoning without +the editor of the <cite>Gunfire</cite>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>It must have been quite soon after +that, that I myself heard the first mention +of the mermaid, little recking that at +last it would fall to me to write her history. +I was on one of my rare visits to +London, and Micklethwaite was giving +me lunch at the Penwiper Club, certainly +one of the best dozen literary clubs in +London. I noted the rising young journalist +at a table near the door, lunching +alone. All about him tables were vacant, +though the other parts of the room were +crowded. He sat with his face towards +the door, and he kept looking up whenever +any one came in, as if he expected +some one who never came. Once +distinctly I saw him beckon to a man, +but the man did not respond.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Micklethwaite,” I said, +“why is everybody avoiding that man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +over there? I noticed just now in the +smoking-room that he seemed to be trying +to get into conversation with some +one and that a kind of taboo——”</p> + +<p>Micklethwaite stared over his fork. +“Ra-ther,” he said.</p> + +<p>“But what’s he done?”</p> + +<p>“He’s a fool,” said Micklethwaite +with his mouth full, evidently annoyed. +“Ugh,” he said as soon as he was free to +do so.</p> + +<p>I waited a little while.</p> + +<p>“What’s he done?” I ventured.</p> + +<p>Micklethwaite did not answer for a +moment and crammed things into his +mouth vindictively, bread and all sorts of +things. Then leaning towards me in a +confidential manner he made indignant +noises which I could not clearly distinguish +as words.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” I said, when he had done.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Micklethwaite. He swallowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +and then poured himself wine—splashing +the tablecloth.</p> + +<p>“He had <em>me</em> for an hour very nearly +the other day.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Silly fool,” said Micklethwaite.</p> + +<p>I was afraid it was all over, but luckily +he gave me an opening again after gulping +down his wine.</p> + +<p>“He leads you on to argue,” he said.</p> + +<p>“That——?”</p> + +<p>“That he can’t prove it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“And then he shows you he can. +Just showing off how damned ingenious +he is.”</p> + +<p>I was a little confused. “Prove what?” +I asked.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I been telling you?” said +Micklethwaite, growing very red. “About +this confounded mermaid of his at Folkestone.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He says there is one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he does,” said Micklethwaite, +going purple and staring at me very hard. +He seemed to ask mutely whether I of +all people proposed to turn on him and +back up this infamous scoundrel. I +thought for a moment he would have +apoplexy, but happily he remembered his +duty as my host. So he turned very suddenly +on a meditative waiter for not removing +our plates.</p> + +<p>“Had any golf lately?” I said to +Micklethwaite, when the plates and the +remains of the waiter had gone away. +Golf always does Micklethwaite good except +when he is actually playing. Then, I +am told— If I were Mrs. Bunting I +should break off and raise my eyebrows +and both hands at this point, to indicate +how golf acts on Micklethwaite when he +is playing.</p> + +<p>I turned my mind to feigning an interest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +in golf—a game that in truth I despise +and hate as I despise and hate nothing +else in this world. Imagine a great +fat creature like Micklethwaite, a creature +who ought to wear a turban and a long +black robe to hide his grossness, whacking +a little white ball for miles and miles with +a perfect surgery of instruments, whacking +it either with a babyish solemnity or a +childish rage as luck may have decided, +whacking away while his country goes to +the devil, and incidentally training an innocent-eyed +little boy to swear and be a +tip-hunting loafer. That’s golf! However, +I controlled my all too facile sneer +and talked of golf and the relative merits +of golf links as I might talk to a child +about buns or distract a puppy with the +whisper of “rats,” and when at last I could +look at the rising young journalist again +our lunch had come to an end.</p> + +<p>I saw that he was talking with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +greater air of freedom than it is usual to +display to club waiters, to the man who +held his coat. The man looked incredulous +but respectful, and was answering +shortly but politely.</p> + +<p>When we went out this little conversation +was still going on. The waiter was +holding the rising young journalist’s soft +felt hat and the rising young journalist +was fumbling in his coat pocket with a +thick mass of papers.</p> + +<p>“It’s tremendous. I’ve got most of it +here,” he was saying as we went by. “I +don’t know if you’d care——”</p> + +<p>“I get very little time for reading, +sir,” the waiter was replying.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE FOURTH</small><br /> + +THE QUALITY OF PARKER</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>So far I have been very full, I know, +and verisimilitude has been my watchword +rather than the true affidavit style. But if +I have made it clear to the reader just +how the Sea Lady landed and just how it +was possible for her to land and become a +member of human society without any +considerable excitement on the part of +that society, such poor pains as I have +taken to tint and shadow and embellish +the facts at my disposal will not have been +taken in vain. She positively and quietly +settled down with the Buntings. Within +a fortnight she had really settled down so +thoroughly that, save for her exceptional<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +beauty and charm and the occasional faint +touches of something a little indefinable +in her smile, she had become a quite passable +and credible human being. She was +a cripple, indeed, and her lower limb was +most pathetically swathed and put in a +sort of case, but it was quite generally understood—I +am afraid at Mrs. Bunting’s +initiative—that presently <em>they</em>—Mrs. Bunting +said “they,” which was certainly almost +as far or even a little farther than legitimate +prevarication may go—would be +as well as ever.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-103.jpg" width="400" height="477" alt="She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings." title="" /> +<span class="caption">She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Of course,” said Mrs. Bunting, “she +will never be able to <em>bicycle</em> again——”</p> + +<p>That was the sort of glamour she +threw about it.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In Parker it is indisputable that the +Sea Lady found—or at least had found +for her by Mrs. Bunting—a treasure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +the richest sort. Parker was still fallaciously +young, but she had been maid to a +lady from India who had been in a “case” +and had experienced and overcome cross-examination. +She had also been deceived +by a young man, whom she had fancied +greatly, only to find him walking out with +another—contrary to her inflexible sense +of correctness—in the presence of which +all other things are altogether vain. Life +she had resolved should have no further +surprises for her. She looked out on its +(largely improper) pageant with an expression +of alert impartiality in her hazel +eyes, calm, doing her specific duty, and +entirely declining to participate further. +She always kept her elbows down by her +side and her hands always just in contact, +and it was impossible for the most powerful +imagination to conceive her under any +circumstances as being anything but absolutely +straight and clean and neat. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +her voice was always under all circumstances +low and wonderfully distinct—just +to an infinitesimal degree indeed “mincing.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting had been a little nervous +when it came to the point. It was Mrs. +Bunting of course who engaged her, because +the Sea Lady was so entirely without +experience. But certainly Mrs. Bunting’s +nervousness was thrown away.</p> + +<p>“You understand,” said Mrs. Bunting, +taking a plunge at it, “that—that she is +an invalid.”</p> + +<p>“I <em>didn’t</em>, Mem,” replied Parker respectfully, +and evidently quite willing to +understand anything as part of her duty +in this world.</p> + +<p>“In fact,” said Mrs. Bunting, rubbing +the edge of the tablecloth daintily with +her gloved finger and watching the operation +with interest, “as a matter of fact, +she has a mermaid’s tail.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Mermaid’s tail! Indeed, Mem! And +is it painful at all?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no, it involves no inconvenience—nothing. +Except—you understand, +there is a need of—discretion.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Mem,” said Parker, as who +should say, “there always is.”</p> + +<p>“We particularly don’t want the servants——”</p> + +<p>“The lower servants— No, Mem.”</p> + +<p>“You understand?” and Mrs. Bunting +looked up again and regarded Parker +calmly.</p> + +<p>“Precisely, Mem!” said Parker, with a +face unmoved, and so they came to the +question of terms. “It all passed off +<em>most</em> satisfactorily,” said Mrs. Bunting, +taking a deep breath at the mere memory +of that moment. And it is clear that +Parker was quite of her opinion.</p> + +<p>She was not only discreet but really +clever and handy. From the very outset<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +she grasped the situation, unostentatiously +but very firmly. It was Parker who contrived +the sort of violin case for It, and +who made the tea gown extension that +covered the case’s arid contours. It was +Parker who suggested an invalid’s chair +for use indoors and in the garden, and a +carrying chair for the staircase. Hitherto +Fred Bunting had been on hand, at last +even in excessive abundance, whenever +the Sea Lady lay in need of masculine +arms. But Parker made it clear at once +that that was not at all in accordance with +her ideas, and so earned the lifelong gratitude +of Mabel Glendower. And Parker +too spoke out for drives, and suggested +with an air of rightness that left nothing +else to be done, the hire of a carriage and +pair for the season—to the equal delight +of the Buntings and the Sea Lady. It +was Parker who dictated the daily drive +up to the eastern end of the Leas and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +Sea Lady’s transfer, and the manner of +the Sea Lady’s transfer, to the bath chair +in which she promenaded the Leas. There +seemed to be nowhere that it was pleasant +and proper for the Sea Lady to go +that Parker did not swiftly and correctly +indicate it and the way to get to it, and +there seems to have been nothing that it +was really undesirable the Sea Lady should +do and anywhere that it was really undesirable +that she should go, that Parker +did not at once invisibly but effectively +interpose a bar. It was Parker who released +the Sea Lady from being a sort of +private and peculiar property in the Bunting +household and carried her off to a becoming +position in the world, when the +crisis came. In little things as in great +she failed not. It was she who made it +luminous that the Sea Lady’s card plate +was not yet engraved and printed (“Miss +Doris Thalassia Waters” was the pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +and appropriate name with which the Sea +Lady came primed), and who replaced the +box of the presumably dank and drowned +and dripping “Tom” by a jewel case, a +dressing bag and the first of the Sea +Lady’s trunks.</p> + +<p>On a thousand little occasions this +Parker showed a sense of propriety that +was penetratingly fine. For example, in +the shop one day when “things” of an +intimate sort were being purchased, she +suddenly intervened.</p> + +<p>“There are stockings, Mem,” she said +in a discreet undertone, behind, but not +too vulgarly behind, a fluttering straight +hand.</p> + +<p>“<em>Stockings!</em>” cried Mrs. Bunting. +“But——!”</p> + +<p>“I think, Mem, she should have stockings,” +said Parker, quietly but very firmly.</p> + +<p>And come to think of it, why <em>should</em> +an unavoidable deficiency in a lady excuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +one that can be avoided? It’s there we +touch the very quintessence and central +principle of the proper life.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Bunting, you know, would +never have seen it like that.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Let me add here, regretfully but with +infinite respect, one other thing about +Parker, and then she shall drop into her +proper place.</p> + +<p>I must confess, with a slight tinge of +humiliation, that I pursued this young +woman to her present situation at Highton +Towers—maid she is to that eminent +religious and social propagandist, the Lady +Jane Glanville. There were certain details +of which I stood in need, certain scenes +and conversations of which my passion +for verisimilitude had scarcely a crumb to +go upon. And from first to last, what she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +must have seen and learnt and inferred +would amount practically to everything.</p> + +<p>I put this to her frankly. She made +no pretence of not understanding me nor +of ignorance of certain hidden things. +When I had finished she regarded me +with a level regard.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t think of it, sir,” she said. +“It wouldn’t be at all according to my +ideas.”</p> + +<p>“But!—It surely couldn’t possibly hurt +you now to tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I couldn’t, sir.”</p> + +<p>“It couldn’t hurt anyone.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I should see you didn’t lose by it, +you know.”</p> + +<p>She looked at me politely, having said +what she intended to say.</p> + +<p>And, in spite of what became at last +very fine and handsome inducements, that +remained the inflexible Parker’s reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +Even after I had come to an end with my +finesse and attempted to bribe her in the +grossest manner, she displayed nothing but +a becoming respect for my impregnable +social superiority.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t think of it, sir,” she repeated. +“It wouldn’t be at all according +to my ideas.”</p> + +<p>And if in the end you should find this +story to any extent vague or incomplete, +I trust you will remember how the inflexible +severity of Parker’s ideas stood in my +way.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE FIFTH</small><br /> + +THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF +MR. HARRY CHATTERIS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>These digressions about Parker and +the journalists have certainly led me astray +from the story a little. You will, however, +understand that while the rising young +journalist was still in pursuit of information, +Hope and Banghurst, and Parker +merely a budding perfection, the carriage +not even thought of, things were already +developing in that bright little establishment +beneath the evergreen oaks on the +Folkestone Riviera. So soon as the minds +of the Buntings ceased to be altogether +focused upon this new and amazing social +addition, they—of all people—had most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +indisputably discovered, it became at first +faintly and then very clearly evident that +their own simple pleasure in the possession +of a guest so beautiful as Miss Waters, so +solidly wealthy and—in a manner—so distinguished, +was not entirely shared by the +two young ladies who were to have been +their principal guests for the season.</p> + +<p>This little rift was perceptible the very +first time Mrs. Bunting had an opportunity +of talking over her new arrangements with +Miss Glendower.</p> + +<p>“And is she really going to stay with +you all the summer?” said Adeline.</p> + +<p>“Surely, dear, you don’t mind?”</p> + +<p>“It takes me a little by surprise.”</p> + +<p>“She’s asked me, my dear——”</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of Harry. If the general +election comes on in September—and +every one seems to think it will —You +promised you would let us inundate you +with electioneering.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But do you think she——”</p> + +<p>“She will be dreadfully in the way.”</p> + +<p>She added after an interval, “She +stops my working.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear!”</p> + +<p>“She’s out of harmony,” said Adeline.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting looked out of her window +at the tamarisk and the sea. “I’m +sure I wouldn’t do anything to hurt +Harry’s prospects. You know how enthusiastic +we all are. Randolph would do +anything. But are you sure she will be +in the way?”</p> + +<p>“What else can she be?”</p> + +<p>“She might help even.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, help!”</p> + +<p>“She might canvass. She’s very attractive, +you know, dear.”</p> + +<p>“Not to me,” said Miss Glendower. +“I don’t trust her.”</p> + +<p>“But to some people. And as Harry +says, at election times every one who can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +do anything must be let do it. Cut them—do +anything afterwards, but at the time—you +know he talked of it when Mr. +Fison and he were here. If you left electioneering +only to the really nice people——”</p> + +<p>“It was Mr. Fison said that, not Harry. +And besides, she wouldn’t help.”</p> + +<p>“I think you misjudge her there, dear. +She has been asking——”</p> + +<p>“To help?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and all about it,” said Mrs. +Bunting, with a transient pink. “She +keeps asking questions about why we are +having the election and what it is all about, +and why Harry is a candidate and all that. +She wants to go into it quite deeply. <em>I</em> +can’t answer half the things she asks.”</p> + +<p>“And that’s why she keeps up those +long conversations with Mr. Melville, I +suppose, and why Fred goes about neglecting +Mabel——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My dear!” said Mrs. Bunting.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t have her canvassing with +us for anything,” said Miss Glendower. +“She’d spoil everything. She is frivolous +and satirical. She looks at you with +incredulous eyes, she seems to blight all +one’s earnestness.… I don’t think you +quite understand, dear Mrs. Bunting, what +this election and my studies mean to me—and +Harry. She comes across all that—like +a contradiction.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, my dear! I’ve never heard +her contradict.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she doesn’t contradict. But +she— There is something about her— One +feels that things that are most +important and vital are nothing to her. +Don’t you feel it? She comes from another +world to us.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting remained judicial. Adeline +dropped to a lower key again. “I +think,” she said, “anyhow, that we’re taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +her very easily. How do we know +what she is? Down there, out there, she +may be anything. She may have had excellent +reasons for coming to land——”</p> + +<p>“My dear!” cried Mrs. Bunting. “Is +that charity?”</p> + +<p>“How do they live?”</p> + +<p>“If she hadn’t lived nicely I’m sure +she couldn’t behave so nicely.”</p> + +<p>“Besides—coming here! She had no +invitation——”</p> + +<p>“I’ve invited her now,” said Mrs. +Bunting gently.</p> + +<p>“You could hardly help yourself. I +only hope your kindness——”</p> + +<p>“It’s not a kindness,” said Mrs. Bunting, +“it’s a duty. If she were only half +as charming as she is. You seem to forget”—her +voice dropped—“what it is she +comes for.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I want to know.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure in these days, with so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +materialism about and such wickedness +everywhere, when everybody who has a +soul seems trying to lose it, to find any +one who hadn’t a soul and who is trying +to find one——”</p> + +<p>“But <em>is</em> she trying to get one?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Flange comes twice every week. +He would come oftener, as you know, if +there wasn’t so much confirmation about.”</p> + +<p>“And when he comes he sits and +touches her hand if he can, and he talks in +his lowest voice, and she sits and smiles—she +almost laughs outright at the things +he says.”</p> + +<p>“Because he has to win his way with +her. Surely Mr. Flange may do what he +can to make religion attractive?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe she believes she will +get a soul. I don’t believe she wants one +a bit.”</p> + +<p>She turned towards the door as if she +had done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting’s pink was now permanent. +She had brought up a son and two +daughters, and besides she had brought +down a husband to “My dear, how was <em>I</em> +to know?” and when it was necessary to +be firm—even with Adeline Glendower—she +knew how to be firm just as well as +anybody.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she began in her very +firmest quiet manner, “I am positive you +misjudge Miss Waters. Trivial she may +be—on the surface at any rate. Perhaps +she laughs and makes fun a little. There +are different ways of looking at things. +But I am sure that at bottom she is just +as serious, just as grave, as—any one. You +judge her hastily. I am sure if you knew +her better—as I do——”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bunting left an eloquent pause.</p> + +<p>Miss Glendower had two little pink +flushes in her cheeks. She turned with +her hand on the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>“At any rate,” she said, “I am sure +that Harry will agree with me that she +can be no help to our cause. We have +our work to do and it is something more +than just vulgar electioneering. We have +to develop and establish ideas. Harry has +views that are new and wide-reaching. +We want to put our whole strength into +this work. Now especially. And her +presence——”</p> + +<p>She paused for a moment. “It is a +digression. She divides things. She puts +it all wrong. She has a way of concentrating +attention about herself. She alters +the values of things. She prevents my +being single-minded, she will prevent +Harry being single-minded——”</p> + +<p>“I think, my dear, that you might +trust my judgment a little,” said Mrs. +Bunting and paused.</p> + +<p>Miss Glendower opened her mouth +and shut it again, without speaking. It became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +evident finality was attained. Nothing +remained to be said but the regrettable.</p> + +<p>The door opened and closed smartly +and Mrs. Bunting was alone.</p> + +<p>Within an hour they all met at the +luncheon table and Adeline’s behaviour to +the Sea Lady and to Mrs. Bunting was as +pleasant and alert as any highly earnest +and intellectual young lady’s could be. +And all that Mrs. Bunting said and did +tended with what people call infinite tact—which +really, you know, means a great +deal more tact than is comfortable—to develop +and expose the more serious aspect +of the Sea Lady’s mind. Mr. Bunting +was unusually talkative and told them all +about a glorious project he had just heard +of, to cut out the rather shrubby and weedy +front of the Leas and stick in something +between a wine vault and the Crystal Palace +as a Winter Garden—which seemed +to him a very excellent idea indeed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>It is time now to give some impression +of the imminent Chatteris, who for all his +late appearance is really the chief human +being in my cousin Melville’s story. It +happens that I met him with some frequency +in my university days and afterwards +ever and again I came upon him. +He was rather a brilliant man at the university, +smart without being vulgar and +clever for all that. He was remarkably +good-looking from the very onset of his +manhood and without being in any way a +showy spendthrift, was quite magnificently +extravagant. There was trouble in his +last year, something hushed up about a +girl or woman in London, but his family +had it all over with him, and his uncle, +the Earl of Beechcroft, settled some of his +bills. Not all—for the family is commendably +free from sentimental excesses—but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +enough to make him comfortable +again. The family is not a rich one and +it further abounds in an extraordinary +quantity of rather frowsy, loose-tongued +aunts—I never knew a family quite so +rich in old aunts. But Chatteris was so +good-looking, easy-mannered, and clever, +that they seemed to agree almost without +discussion to pull him through. They +hunted about for something that would +be really remunerative without being +laborious or too commercial; and meanwhile—after +the extraordinary craving of +his aunt, Lady Poynting Mallow, to see +him acting had been overcome by the +united efforts of the more religious section +of his aunts—Chatteris set himself seriously +to the higher journalism—that is +to say, the journalism that dines anywhere, +gets political tips after dinner, and +is always acceptable—if only to avoid +thirteen articles—in a half-crown review.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +In addition, he wrote some very passable +verse and edited Jane Austen for the only +publisher who had not already reprinted +the works of that classic lady.</p> + +<p>His verse, like himself, was shapely and +handsome, and, like his face, it suggested +to the penetrating eye certain reservations +and indecisions. There was just that touch +of refinement that is weakness in the public +man. But as yet he was not a public +man; he was known to be energetic and +his work was gathering attention as always +capable and occasionally brilliant. His +aunts declared he was ripening, that any +defect in vigour he displayed was the incompleteness +of the process, and decided +he should go to America, where vigour +and vigorous opportunities abound, and +there, I gather, he came upon something +like a failure. Something happened, indeed, +quite a lot happened. He came +back unmarried—and <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">viâ</i> the South Seas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +Australasia and India. And Lady Poynting +Mallow publicly told him he was a +fool, when he got back.</p> + +<p>What happened in America, even if +one does not consult contemporary American +papers, is still very difficult to determine. +There appear to have been the +daughter of a millionaire and something +like an engagement in the story. According +to the <cite>New York Yell</cite>, one of the +smartest, crispest, and altogether most representative +papers in America, there was +also the daughter of some one else, whom +the <cite>Yell</cite> interviewed, or professed to interview, +under the heading:</p> + +<p class="news"> +AN ARISTOCRATIC BRITISHER<br /> + +<small>TRIFLES WITH</small><br /> + +A PURE AMERICAN GIRL<br /> + +INTERVIEW WITH THE VICTIM<br /> + +<small>OF HIS</small><br /> + +HEARTLESS LEVITY</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>But this some one else was, I am inclined +to think in spite of her excellently +executed portrait, merely a brilliant stroke +of modern journalism, the <cite>Yell</cite> having +got wind of the sudden retreat of Chatteris +and inventing a reason in preference +to discovering one. Wensleydale tells me +the true impetus to bolt was the merest +trifle. The daughter of the millionaire, +being a bright and spirited girl, had undergone +interviewing on the subject of her +approaching marriage, on marriage in general, +on social questions of various sorts, +and on the relations of the British and +American peoples, and he seems to have +found the thing in his morning paper. +It took him suddenly and he lost his head. +And once he started, he seems to have +lacked the power of mind to turn about +and come back. The affair was a mess, +the family paid some more of his bills and +shirked others, and Chatteris turned up in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +London again after a time, with somewhat +diminished glory and a series of letters +on Imperial Affairs, each headed with +the quotation: “What do they know of +England who only England know?”</p> + +<p>Of course people of England learnt +nothing of the real circumstances of the +case, but it was fairly obvious that he had +gone to America and come back empty-handed.</p> + +<p>And that was how, in the course of +some years, he came to Adeline Glendower, +of whose special gifts as his helper +and inspiration you have already heard +from Mrs. Bunting. When he became +engaged to her, the family, which had long +craved to forgive him—Lady Poynting +Mallow as a matter of fact had done so—brightened +wonderfully. And after considerable +obscure activities he declared +himself a philanthropic Liberal with open +spaces in his platform, and in a position,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +and ready as a beginning, to try the quality +of the conservative South.</p> + +<p>He was away making certain decisive +arrangements, in Paris and elsewhere, at +the time of the landing of the Sea Lady. +Before the matter was finally settled it +was necessary that something should be +said to a certain great public character, +and then he was to return and tell Adeline. +And every one was expecting him +daily, including, it is now indisputable, the +Sea Lady.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The meeting of Miss Glendower and +her affianced lover on his return from +Paris was one of those scenes in this story +for which I have scarcely an inkling of the +true details. He came to Folkestone and +stopped at the Métropole, the Bunting +house being full and the Métropole being +the nearest hotel to Sandgate; and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +walked down in the afternoon and asked +for Adeline, which was pretty rather than +correct. I gather that they met in the +drawing-room, and as Chatteris closed the +door behind him, I imagine there was +something in the nature of a caress.</p> + +<p>I must confess I envy the freedom of +the novelist who can take you behind such +a locked door as this and give you all that +such persons say and do. But with the +strongest will in the world to blend the +little scraps of fact I have into a continuous +sequence of events, I falter at this +occasion. After all, I never saw Adeline +at all until after all these things were over, +and what is she now? A rather tall, a +rather restless and active woman, very +keen and obvious in public affairs—with +something gone out of her. Melville once +saw a gleam of that, but for the most part +Melville never liked her; she had a wider +grasp of things than he, and he was a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +afraid of her; she was in some inexplicable +way neither a pretty woman nor a “dear +lady” nor a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">grande dame</i> nor totally insignificant, +and a heretic therefore in Melville’s +scheme of things. He gives me +small material for that earlier Adeline. +“She posed,” he says; she was “political,” +and she was always reading Mrs. Humphry +Ward.</p> + +<p>The last Melville regarded as the most +heinous offence. It is not the least of my +cousin’s weaknesses that he regards this +great novelist as an extremely corrupting +influence for intelligent girls. She makes +them good and serious in the wrong way, +he says. Adeline, he asserts, was absolutely +built on her. She was always attempting +to be the incarnation of <cite>Marcella</cite>. +It was he who had perverted Mrs. +Bunting’s mind to adopt this fancy. But +I don’t believe for a moment in this +idea of girls building themselves on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +heroines in fiction. These are matters of +elective affinity, and unless some bullying +critic or preacher sends us astray, +we take each to our own novelist as +the souls in the Swedenborgian system +take to their hells. Adeline took to the +imaginary <cite>Marcella</cite>. There was, Melville +says, the strongest likeness in their mental +atmosphere. They had the same defects, +a bias for superiority—to use his expressive +phrase—the same disposition towards +arrogant benevolence, that same obtuseness +to little shades of feeling that leads +people to speak habitually of the “Lower +Classes,” and to think in the vein of that +phrase. They certainly had the same virtues, +a conscious and conscientious integrity, +a hard nobility without one touch of +magic, an industrious thoroughness. More +than in anything else, Adeline delighted +in her novelist’s thoroughness, her freedom +from impressionism, the patient resolution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +with which she went into the corners and +swept under the mat of every incident. +And it would be easy to argue from that, +that Adeline behaved as Mrs. Ward’s +most characteristic heroine behaved, on an +analogous occasion.</p> + +<p><cite>Marcella</cite> we know—at least after her +heart was changed—would have clung +to him. There would have been a moment +of high emotion in which thoughts—of +the highest class—mingled with +the natural ambition of two people in +the prime of life and power. Then she +would have receded with a quick movement +and listened with her beautiful +hand pensive against her cheek, while +Chatteris began to sum up the forces +against him—to speculate on the action +of this group and that. Something +infinitely tender and maternal +would have spoken in her, pledging her +to the utmost help that love and a woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +can give. She would have produced +in Chatteris that exquisite mingled impression +of grace, passion, self-yielding, +which in all its infinite variations and +repetitions made up for him the constant +poem of her beauty.</p> + +<p>But that is the dream and not the reality. +So Adeline might have dreamt of +behaving, but—she was not <cite>Marcella</cite>, +and only wanting to be, and he was not +only not Maxwell but he had no intention +of being Maxwell anyhow. If he had had +an opportunity of becoming Maxwell he +would probably have rejected it with extreme +incivility. So they met like two +unheroic human beings, with shy and +clumsy movements and, I suppose, fairly +honest eyes. Something there was in the +nature of a caress, I believe, and then I +incline to fancy she said “Well?” and I +think he must have answered, “It’s all +right.” After that, and rather allusively,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +with a backward jerk of the head at intervals +as it were towards the great personage, +Chatteris must have told her particulars. +He must have told her that he +was going to contest Hythe and that the +little difficulty with the Glasgow commission +agent who wanted to run the Radical +ticket as a “Man of Kent” had been settled +without injury to the party (such as it +is). Assuredly they talked politics, because +soon after, when they came into the +garden side by side to where Mrs. Bunting +and the Sea Lady sat watching the +girls play croquet, Adeline was in full +possession of all these facts. I fancy that +for such a couple as they were, such intimation +of success, such earnest topics, replaced, +to a certain extent at any rate, the +vain repetition of vulgar endearments.</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady appears to have been +the first to see them. “Here he is,” she +said abruptly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Whom?” said Mrs. Bunting, glancing +up at eyes that were suddenly eager, +and then following their glance towards +Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“Your other son,” said the Sea Lady, +jesting unheeded.</p> + +<p>“It’s Harry and Adeline!” cried Mrs. +Bunting. “Don’t they make a handsome +couple?”</p> + +<p>But the Sea Lady made no reply, and +leaned back, scrutinising their advance. +Certainly they made a handsome pair. +Coming out of the veranda into the blaze +of the sun and across the trim lawn towards +the shadow of the ilex trees, they were lit, +as it were, with a more glorious limelight, +and displayed like actors on a stage more +spacious than the stage of any theatre. +The figure of Chatteris must have come +out tall and fair and broad, a little sunburnt, +and I gather even then a little preoccupied, +as indeed he always seemed to be in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +those latter days. And beside him Adeline, +glancing now up at him and now towards +the audience under the trees, dark +and a little flushed, rather tall—though +not so tall as <cite>Marcella</cite> seems to have +been—and, you know, without any instructions +from any novel-writer in the +world, glad.</p> + +<p>Chatteris did not discover that there +was any one but Buntings under the tree +until he was close at hand. Then the abrupt +discovery of this stranger seems to +have checked whatever he was prepared to +say for his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">début</i>, and Adeline took the +centre of the stage. Mrs. Bunting was +standing up, and all the croquet players—except +Mabel, who was winning—converged +on Chatteris with cries of welcome. +Mabel remained in the midst of what I +understand is called a tea-party, loudly demanding +that they should see her “play it +out.” No doubt if everything had gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +well she would have given a most edifying +exhibition of what croquet can sometimes +be.</p> + +<p>Adeline swam forward to Mrs. Bunting +and cried with a note of triumph in +her voice: “It is all settled. Everything +is settled. He has won them all and he +is to contest Hythe.”</p> + +<p>Quite involuntarily her eyes must have +met the Sea Lady’s.</p> + +<p>It is of course quite impossible to say +what she found there—or indeed what +there was to find there then. For a moment +they faced riddles, and then the Sea +Lady turned her eyes with a long deferred +scrutiny to the man’s face, which she probably +saw now closely for the first time. +One wonders whether it is just possible +that there may have been something, if it +were no more than a gleam of surprise +and enquiry, in that meeting of their eyes. +Just for a moment she held his regard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +and then it shifted enquiringly to Mrs. +Bunting.</p> + +<p>That lady intervened effusively with an +“Oh! I forgot,” and introduced them. I +think they went through that without another +meeting of the foils of their regard.</p> + +<p>“You back?” said Fred to Chatteris, +touching his arm, and Chatteris confirmed +this happy guess.</p> + +<p>The Bunting girls seemed to welcome +Adeline’s enviable situation rather than +Chatteris as an individual. And Mabel’s +voice could be heard approaching. +“Oughtn’t they to see me play it out, Mr. +Chatteris?”</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Harry, my boy!” cried Mr. +Bunting, who was cultivating a bluff manner. +“How’s Paris?”</p> + +<p>“How’s the fishing?” said Harry.</p> + +<p>And so they came into a vague circle +about this lively person who had “won +them all”—except Parker, of course, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +remained in her own proper place and was, +I am certain, never to be won by anybody.</p> + +<p>There was a handing and shifting of +garden chairs.</p> + +<p>No one seemed to take the slightest +notice of Adeline’s dramatic announcement. +The Buntings were not good at +thinking of things to say. She stood in +the midst of the group like a leading lady +when the other actors have forgotten their +parts. Then every one woke up to this, as +it were, and they went off in a volley. “So +it’s really all settled,” said Mrs. Bunting; +and Betty Bunting said, “There <em>is</em> to be +an election then!” and Nettie said, “What +fun!” Mr. Bunting remarked with a +knowing air, “So you saw him then?” and +Fred flung “Hooray!” into the tangle of +sounds.</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady of course said nothing.</p> + +<p>“We’ll give ’em a jolly good fight for +it, anyhow,” said Mr. Bunting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, I hope we shall do that,” said +Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“We shall do more than that,” said +Adeline.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Betty Bunting, “we +shall.”</p> + +<p>“I knew they would let him,” said +Adeline.</p> + +<p>“If they had any sense,” said Mr. +Bunting.</p> + +<p>Then came a pause, and Mr. Bunting +was emboldened to lift up his voice and +utter politics. “They are getting sense,” +he said. “They are learning that a party +must have men, men of birth and training. +Money and the mob—they’ve tried +to keep things going by playing to fads +and class jealousies. And the Irish. And +they’ve had their lesson. How? Why,—we’ve +stood aside. We’ve left ’em to +faddists and fomenters—and the Irish. +And here they are! It’s a revolution in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +the party. We’ve let it down. Now we +must pick it up again.”</p> + +<p>He made a gesture with his fat little +hand, one of those fat pink little hands +that appear to have neither flesh nor bones +inside them but only sawdust or horse-hair. +Mrs. Bunting leaned back in her +chair and smiled at him indulgently.</p> + +<p>“It is no common election,” said Mr. +Bunting. “It is a great issue.”</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady had been regarding him +thoughtfully. “What is a great issue?” +she asked. “I don’t quite understand.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bunting spread himself to explain +to her. “This,” he said to begin with. +Adeline listened with a mingling of interest +and impatience, attempting ever and +again to suppress him and to involve Chatteris +by a tactful interposition. But Chatteris +appeared disinclined to be involved. +He seemed indeed quite interested in Mr. +Bunting’s view of the case.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently the croquet quartette went +back—at Mabel’s suggestion—to their +game, and the others continued their +political talk. It became more personal +at last, dealing soon quite specifically with +all that Chatteris was doing and more +particularly all that Chatteris was to do. +Mrs. Bunting suddenly suppressed Mr. +Bunting as he was offering advice, and +Adeline took the burden of the talk again. +She indicated vast purposes. “This election +is merely the opening of a door,” she +said. When Chatteris made modest disavowals +she smiled with a proud and +happy consciousness of what she meant +to make of him.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bunting supplied footnotes +to make it all clear to the Sea Lady. +“He’s so modest,” she said at one point, +and Chatteris pretended not to hear and +went rather pink. Ever and again he +attempted to deflect the talk towards the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +Sea Lady and away from himself, but he +was hampered by his ignorance of her +position.</p> + +<p>And the Sea Lady said scarcely anything +but watched Chatteris and Adeline, +and more particularly Chatteris in relation +to Adeline.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE SIXTH</small><br /> + +SYMPTOMATIC</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>My cousin Melville is never very clear +about his dates. Now this is greatly to +be regretted, because it would be very +illuminating indeed if one could tell just +how many days elapsed before he came +upon Chatteris in intimate conversation +with the Sea Lady. He was going along +the front of the Leas with some books +from the Public Library that Miss Glendower +had suddenly wished to consult, +and which she, with that entire ignorance +of his lack of admiration for her +which was part of her want of charm for +him, had bidden him bring her. It was +in one of those sheltered paths just under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +the brow which give such a pleasant and +characteristic charm to Folkestone, that +he came upon a little group about the +Sea Lady’s bath chair. Chatteris was +seated in one of the wooden seats that are +embedded in the bank, and was leaning +forward and looking into the Sea Lady’s +face; and she was speaking with a smile +that struck Melville even at the time as +being a little special in its quality—and +she seems to have been capable of many +charming smiles. Parker was a little distance +away, where a sort of bastion projects +and gives a wide view of the pier +and harbour and the coast of France, regarding +it all with a qualified disfavour, +and the bath chairman was crumpled up +against the bank lost in that wistful melancholy +that the constant perambulation +of broken humanity necessarily engenders.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-149.jpg" width="400" height="540" alt="A little group about the Sea Lady’s bath chair." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A little group about the Sea Lady’s bath chair.</span> +</div> + +<p>My cousin slackened his pace a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +and came up and joined them. The conversation +hung at his approach. Chatteris +sat back a little, but there seemed no resentment +and he sought a topic for the +three to discuss in the books Melville carried.</p> + +<p>“Books?” he said.</p> + +<p>“For Miss Glendower,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“What are they about?” asked the +Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“Land tenure,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“That’s hardly my subject,” said the +Sea Lady, and Chatteris joined in her +smile as if he saw a jest.</p> + +<p>There was a little pause.</p> + +<p>“You are contesting Hythe?” said +Melville.</p> + +<p>“Fate points that way,” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“They threaten a dissolution for September.”</p> + +<p>“It will come in a month,” said Chatteris,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +with the inimitable tone of one who +knows.</p> + +<p>“In that case we shall soon be busy.”</p> + +<p>“And <em>I</em> may canvass,” said the Sea +Lady. “I never have——”</p> + +<p>“Miss Waters,” explained Chatteris, +“has been telling me she means to help +us.” He met Melville’s eye frankly.</p> + +<p>“It’s rough work, Miss Waters,” said +Melville.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind that. It’s fun. And I +want to help. I really do want to help—Mr. +Chatteris.”</p> + +<p>“You know, that’s encouraging.”</p> + +<p>“I could go around with you in my +bath chair?”</p> + +<p>“It would be a picnic,” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“I mean to help anyhow,” said the Sea +Lady.</p> + +<p>“You know the case for the plaintiff?” +asked Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked at him.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got your arguments?”</p> + +<p>“I shall ask them to vote for Mr. +Chatteris, and afterwards when I see +them I shall remember them and smile +and wave my hand. What else is +there?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Chatteris, and shut the +lid on Melville. “I wish I had an argument +as good.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of people are they here?” +asked Melville. “Isn’t there a smuggling +interest to conciliate?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t asked that,” said Chatteris. +“Smuggling is over and past, you know. +Forty years ago. It always has been forty +years ago. They trotted out the last of +the smugglers,—interesting old man, full of +reminiscences,—when there was a count of +the Saxon Shore. He remembered smuggling—forty +years ago. Really, I doubt +if there ever was any smuggling. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +existing coast guard is a sacrifice to a vain +superstition.”</p> + +<p>“Why!” cried the Sea Lady. “Only +about five weeks ago I saw quite near +here——”</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly and caught Melville’s +eye. He grasped her difficulty.</p> + +<p>“In a paper?” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“Yes, in a paper,” she said, seizing the +rope he threw her.</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“There is smuggling still,” said the +Sea Lady, with an air of some one who +decides not to tell an anecdote that is suddenly +found to be half forgotten.</p> + +<p>“There’s no doubt it happens,” said +Chatteris, missing it all. “But it doesn’t +appear in the electioneering. I certainly +sha’n’t agitate for a faster revenue cutter. +However things may be in that respect, I +take the line that they are very well as +they are. That’s my line, of course.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +And he looked out to sea. The eyes of +Melville and the Sea Lady had an intimate +moment.</p> + +<p>“There, you know, is just a specimen +of the sort of thing we do,” said Chatteris. +“Are you prepared to be as intricate as +that?”</p> + +<p>“Quite,” said the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>My cousin was reminded of an anecdote.</p> + +<p>The talk degenerated into anecdotes +of canvassing, and ran shallow. My cousin +was just gathering that Mrs. Bunting and +Miss Bunting had been with the Sea Lady +and had gone into the town to a shop, +when they returned. Chatteris rose to +greet them and explained—what had been +by no means apparent before—that he +was on his way to Adeline, and after a few +further trivialities he and Melville went +on together.</p> + +<p>A brief silence fell between them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Who is that Miss Waters?” asked +Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“Friend of Mrs. Bunting,” prevaricated +Melville.</p> + +<p>“So I gather.… She seems a very +charming person.”</p> + +<p>“She is.”</p> + +<p>“She’s interesting. Her illness seems +to throw her up. It makes a passive thing +of her, like a picture or something that’s—imaginary. +Imagined—anyhow. She +sits there and smiles and responds. Her +eyes—have something intimate. And +yet——”</p> + +<p>My cousin offered no assistance.</p> + +<p>“Where did Mrs. Bunting find her.”</p> + +<p>My cousin had to gather himself together +for a second or so.</p> + +<p>“There’s something,” he said deliberately, +“that Mrs. Bunting doesn’t seem +disposed——”</p> + +<p>“What can it be?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s bound to be all right,” said Melville +rather weakly.</p> + +<p>“It’s strange, too. Mrs. Bunting is +usually so disposed——”</p> + +<p>Melville left that to itself.</p> + +<p>“That’s what one feels,” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Mystery.”</p> + +<p>My cousin shares with me a profound +detestation of that high mystic method of +treating women. He likes women to be +finite—and nice. In fact, he likes everything +to be finite—and nice. So he +merely grunted.</p> + +<p>But Chatteris was not to be stopped +by that. He passed to a critical note. +“No doubt it’s all illusion. All women +are impressionists, a patch, a light. You +get an effect. And that is all you are +meant to get, I suppose. She gets an +effect. But how—that’s the mystery. It’s +not merely beauty. There’s plenty of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +beauty in the world. But not of these +effects. The eyes, I fancy.”</p> + +<p>He dwelt on that for a moment.</p> + +<p>“There’s really nothing in eyes, you +know, Chatteris,” said my cousin Melville, +borrowing an alien argument and a tone +of analytical cynicism from me. “Have +you ever looked at eyes through a hole in +a sheet?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Chatteris. +“I don’t mean the mere physical eye.… +Perhaps it’s the look of health—and the +bath chair. A bold discord. You don’t +know what’s the matter, Melville?”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“I gather from Bunting it’s a disablement—not +a deformity.”</p> + +<p>“He ought to know.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that. You don’t +happen to know the nature of her disablement?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell at all,” said Melville in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +speculative tone. It struck him he was +getting to prevaricate better.</p> + +<p>The subject seemed exhausted. They +spoke of a common friend whom the +sight of the Métropole suggested. Then +they did not talk at all for a time, until +the stir and interest of the band stand +was passed. Then Chatteris threw out a +thought.</p> + +<p>“Complex business—feminine motives,” +he remarked.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“This canvassing. <em>She</em> can’t be interested +in philanthropic Liberalism.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a difference in the type. And +besides, it’s a personal matter.”</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily, is it? Surely there’s +not such an intellectual gap between the +sexes! If <em>you</em> can get interested——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know.”</p> + +<p>“Besides, it’s not a question of principles. +It’s the fun of electioneering.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Fun!”</p> + +<p>“There’s no knowing what won’t interest +the feminine mind,” said Melville, +and added, “or what will.”</p> + +<p>Chatteris did not answer.</p> + +<p>“It’s the district visiting instinct, I +suppose,” said Melville. “They all have +it. It’s the canvassing. All women like +to go into houses that don’t belong to +them.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” said Chatteris shortly, +and failing a reply from Melville, he gave +way to secret meditations, it would seem +still of a fairly agreeable sort.</p> + +<p>The twelve o’clock gun thudded from +Shornecliffe Camp.</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” said Chatteris, and quickened +his steps.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>They found Adeline busy amidst her +papers. As they entered she pointed reproachfully, +yet with the protrusion of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +certain Marcella-like undertone of sweetness, +at the clock. The apologies of Chatteris +were effusive and winning, and involved +no mention of the Sea Lady on +the Leas.</p> + +<p>Melville delivered his books and left +them already wading deeply into the details +of the district organisation that the +local Liberal organiser had submitted.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>A little while after the return of Chatteris, +my cousin Melville and the Sea Lady +were under the ilex at the end of the sea +garden and—disregarding Parker (as every +one was accustomed to do), who was in +a garden chair doing some afternoon work +at a proper distance—there was nobody +with them at all. Fred and the girls +were out cycling—Fred had gone with +them at the Sea Lady’s request—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +Miss Glendower and Mrs. Bunting were +at Hythe calling diplomatically on some +rather horrid local people who might +be serviceable to Harry in his electioneering.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bunting was out fishing. He was +not fond of fishing, but he was in many +respects an exceptionally resolute little +man, and he had taken to fishing every +day in the afternoon after luncheon in +order to break himself of what Mrs. Bunting +called his “ridiculous habit” of getting +sea-sick whenever he went out in a boat. +He said that if fishing from a boat with +pieces of mussels for bait after luncheon +would not break the habit nothing would, +and certainly it seemed at times as if it +were going to break everything that was +in him. But the habit escaped. This, +however, is a digression.</p> + +<p>These two, I say, were sitting in the +ample shade under the evergreen oak, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +Melville, I imagine, was in those fine +faintly patterned flannels that in the year +1899 combined correctness with ease. He +was no doubt looking at the shaded face +of the Sea Lady, framed in a frame of +sunlit yellow-green lawn and black-green +ilex leaves—at least so my impulse for +verisimilitude conceives it—and she at +first was pensive and downcast that afternoon +and afterwards she was interested +and looked into his eyes. Either she must +have suggested that he might smoke or +else he asked. Anyhow, his cigarettes +were produced. She looked at them with +an arrested gesture, and he hung for a +moment, doubtful, on her gesture.</p> + +<p>“I suppose <em>you</em>—” he said.</p> + +<p>“I never learned.”</p> + +<p>He glanced at Parker and then met +the Sea Lady’s regard.</p> + +<p>“It’s one of the things I came for,” +she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took the only course.</p> + +<p>She accepted a cigarette and examined +it thoughtfully. “Down there,” she said, +“it’s just one of the things— You will +understand we get nothing but saturated +tobacco. Some of the mermen— There’s +something they have picked up from the +sailors. Quids, I think they call it. But +that’s too horrid for words!”</p> + +<p>She dismissed the unpleasant topic by +a movement, and lapsed into thought.</p> + +<p>My cousin clicked his match-box.</p> + +<p>She had a momentary doubt and +glanced towards the house. “Mrs. Bunting?” +she asked. Several times, I understand, +she asked the same thing.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t mind—” said Melville, +and stopped.</p> + +<p>“She won’t think it improper,” he +amplified, “if nobody else thinks it improper.”</p> + +<p>“There’s nobody else,” said the Sea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +Lady, glancing at Parker, and my cousin +lit the match.</p> + +<p>My cousin has an indirect habit of +mind. With all general and all personal +things his desperation to get at them +obliquely amounts almost to a passion; he +could no more go straight to a crisis than +a cat could to a stranger. He came off at +a tangent now as he was sitting forward +and scrutinising her first very creditable +efforts to draw. “I just wonder,” he +said, “exactly what it was you <em>did</em> come +for.”</p> + +<p>She smiled at him over a little jet of +smoke. “Why, this,” she said.</p> + +<p>“And hairdressing?”</p> + +<p>“And dressing.”</p> + +<p>She smiled again after a momentary +hesitation. “And all this sort of thing,” +she said, as if she felt she had answered +him perhaps a little below his +deserts. Her gesture indicated the house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +and the lawn and—my cousin Melville +wondered just exactly how much else.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_ii">“Am I doing it right?” asked the Sea +Lady.</a></p> + +<p>“Beautifully,” said my cousin with a +faint sigh in his voice. “What do you +think of it?”</p> + +<p>“It was worth coming for,” said the +Sea Lady, smiling into his eyes.</p> + +<p>“But did you really just come——?”</p> + +<p>She filled in his gap. “To see what +life was like on land here?… Isn’t that +enough?”</p> + +<p>Melville’s cigarette had failed to light. +He regarded its blighted career pensively.</p> + +<p>“Life,” he said, “isn’t all—this sort of +thing.”</p> + +<p>“This sort of thing?”</p> + +<p>“Sunlight. Cigarette smoking. Talk. +Looking nice.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s made up——”</p> + +<p>“Not altogether.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>“For example?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>you</em> know.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“You know,” said Melville, and would +not look at her.</p> + +<p>“I decline to know,” she said after a +little pause.</p> + +<p>“Besides—” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“You told Mrs. Bunting—” It occurred +to him that he was telling tales, +but that scruple came too late.</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Something about a soul.”</p> + +<p>She made no immediate answer. He +looked up and her eyes were smiling. +“Mr. Melville,” she said, innocently, +“what <em>is</em> a soul?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said my cousin readily, and +then paused for a space. “A soul,” said +he, and knocked an imaginary ash from his +extinct cigarette.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>“A soul,” he repeated, and glanced at +Parker.</p> + +<p>“A soul, you know,” he said again, and +looked at the Sea Lady with the air of a +man who is handling a difficult matter with +skilful care.</p> + +<p>“Come to think of it,” he said, “it’s +a rather complicated matter to explain——”</p> + +<p>“To a being without one?”</p> + +<p>“To any one,” said my cousin Melville, +suddenly admitting his difficulty.</p> + +<p>He meditated upon her eyes for a +moment.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” he said, “you know what a +soul is perfectly well.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered, “I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“You know as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that may be different.”</p> + +<p>“You came to get a soul.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I don’t want one. Why—if +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>one hasn’t one——?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, <em>there!”</em> And my cousin shrugged +his shoulders. “But really you know— It’s +just the generality of it that makes it +hard to define.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody has a soul?”</p> + +<p>“Every one.”</p> + +<p>“Except me?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not certain of that.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Bunting?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Bunting?”</p> + +<p>“Every one.”</p> + +<p>“Has Miss Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“Lots.”</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady mused. She went off +at a tangent abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Melville,” she said, “what is a +union of souls?”</p> + +<p>Melville flicked his extinct cigarette +suddenly into an elbow shape and then +threw it away. The phrase may have +awakened some reminiscence. “It’s an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +extra,” he said. “It’s a sort of flourish.… +And sometimes it’s like leaving +cards by footmen—a substitute for the +real presence.”</p> + +<p>There came a gap. He remained +downcast, trying to find a way towards +whatever it was that was in his mind +to say. Conceivably, he did not clearly +know what that might be until he came +to it. The Sea Lady abandoned an attempt +to understand him in favour of a +more urgent topic.</p> + +<p>“Do you think Miss Glendower and +Mr. Chatteris——?”</p> + +<p>Melville looked up at her. He noticed +she had hung on the latter name. “Decidedly,” +he said. “It’s just what they +<em>would</em> do.”</p> + +<p>Then he spoke again. “Chatteris?” +he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I thought so,” said Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Sea Lady regarded him gravely. +They scrutinised each other with an unprecedented +intimacy. Melville was suddenly +direct. It was a discovery that it +seemed he ought to have made all along. +He felt quite unaccountably bitter; he +spoke with a twitch of the mouth and his +voice had a note of accusation. “You +want to talk about him.”</p> + +<p>She nodded—still grave.</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>I</em> don’t.” He changed his +note. “But I will if you wish it.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you would.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>you</em> know,” said Melville, discovering +his extinct cigarette was within +reach of a vindictive heel.</p> + +<p>She said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“I saw him first,” she apologised, +“some years ago.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“In the South Seas—near Tonga.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And that is really what you came +for?”</p> + +<p>This time her manner was convincing. +She admitted, “Yes.”</p> + +<p>Melville was carefully impartial. “He’s +sightly,” he admitted, “and well-built and +a decent chap—a decent chap. But I +don’t see why you——”</p> + +<p>He went off at a tangent. “He didn’t +see you——?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no.”</p> + +<p>Melville’s pose and tone suggested a +mind of extreme liberality. “I don’t see +why you came,” he said. “Nor what you +mean to do. You see”—with an air of +noting a trifling but valid obstacle—“there’s +Miss Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“Is there?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well, isn’t there?”</p> + +<p>“That’s just it,” she said.</p> + +<p>“And besides after all, you know, why +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>should you——?”</p> + +<p>“I admit it’s unreasonable,” she said. +“But why reason about it? It’s a matter +of the imagination——”</p> + +<p>“For him?”</p> + +<p>“How should I know how it takes +him? That is what I <em>want</em> to know.”</p> + +<p>Melville looked her in the eyes again. +“You know, you’re not playing fair,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“To her?”</p> + +<p>“To any one.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because you are immortal—and unincumbered. +Because you can do everything +you want to do—and we cannot. I +don’t know why we cannot, but we cannot. +Here we are, with our short lives and our +little souls to save, or lose, fussing for our +little concerns. And you, out of the elements, +come and beckon——”</p> + +<p>“The elements have their rights,” she +said. And then: “The elements are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +elements, you know. That is what you +forget.”</p> + +<p>“Imagination?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. That’s <em>the</em> element. Those +elements of your chemists——”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Are all imagination. There isn’t any +other.” She went on: “And all the elements +of your life, the life you imagine +you are living, the little things you must +do, the little cares, the extraordinary little +duties, the day by day, the hypnotic limitations—all +these things are a fancy that +has taken hold of you too strongly for you +to shake off. You daren’t, you mustn’t, +you can’t. To us who watch you——”</p> + +<p>“You watch us?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. We watch you, and sometimes +we envy you. Not only for the +dry air and the sunlight, and the shadows +of trees, and the feeling of morning, and +the pleasantness of many such things, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +because your lives begin and end—because +you look towards an end.”</p> + +<p>She reverted to her former topic. +“But you are so limited, so tied! The +little time you have, you use so poorly. +You begin and you end, and all the time +between it is as if you were enchanted; +you are afraid to do this that would be +delightful to do, you must do that, though +you know all the time it is stupid and disagreeable. +Just think of the things—even +the little things—you mustn’t do. Up +there on the Leas in this hot weather all +the people are sitting in stuffy ugly clothes—ever +so much too much clothes, hot +tight boots, you know, when they have the +most lovely pink feet, some of them—we +<em>see</em>,—and they are all with little to talk +about and nothing to look at, and bound +not to do all sorts of natural things and +bound to do all sorts of preposterous +things. Why are they bound? Why are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +they letting life slip by them? Just as +if they wouldn’t all of them presently +be dead! Suppose you were to go up +there in a bathing dress and a white cotton +hat——”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be proper!” cried Melville.</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-177.jpg" width="400" height="402" alt="“Why not?”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Why not?”</span> +</div> + +<p>“It would be outrageous!”</p> + +<p>“But any one may see you like that on +the beach!”</p> + +<p>“That’s different.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t different. You dream it’s +different. And in just the same way you +dream all the other things are proper or +improper or good or bad to do. Because +you are in a dream, a fantastic, +unwholesome little dream. So small, so +infinitely small! I saw you the other +day dreadfully worried by a spot of ink +on your sleeve—almost the whole afternoon.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>My cousin looked distressed. She +abandoned the ink-spot.</p> + +<p>“Your life, I tell you, is a dream—a +dream, and you can’t wake out of it——”</p> + +<p>“And if so, why do you tell me?”</p> + +<p>She made no answer for a space.</p> + +<p>“Why do you tell me?” he insisted.</p> + +<p>He heard the rustle of her movement +as she bent towards him.</p> + +<p>She came warmly close to him. She +spoke in gently confidential undertone, as +one who imparts a secret that is not to be +too lightly given. “Because,” she said, +“there are better dreams.”</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>For a moment it seemed to Melville +that he had been addressed by something +quite other than the pleasant lady in the +bath chair before him. “But how—?” +he began and stopped. He remained silent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +with a perplexed face. She leaned +back and glanced away from him, and +when at last she turned and spoke again, +specific realities closed in on him once +more.</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t I,” she asked, “if I +want to?”</p> + +<p>“Shouldn’t what?”</p> + +<p>“If I fancy Chatteris.”</p> + +<p>“One might think of obstacles,” he +reflected.</p> + +<p>“He’s not hers,” she said.</p> + +<p>“In a way, he’s trying to be,” said +Melville.</p> + +<p>“Trying to be! He has to be what +he is. Nothing can make him hers. If +you weren’t dreaming you would see +that.” My cousin was silent. “She’s +not <em>real</em>,” she went on. “She’s a +mass of fancies and vanities. She gets +everything out of books. She gets herself +out of a book. You can see her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +doing it here.… What is she seeking? +What is she trying to do? All this work, +all this political stuff of hers? She talks +of the condition of the poor! What is +the condition of the poor? A dreary +tossing on the bed of existence, a perpetual +fear of consequences that perpetually +distresses them. Lives of anxiety +they lead, because they do not know what +a dream the whole thing is. Suppose +they were not anxious and afraid.… +And what does she care for the condition +of the poor, after all? It is only a point +of departure in her dream. In her heart +she does not want their dreams to be +happier, in her heart she has no passion +for them, only her dream is that she +should be prominently doing good, asserting +herself, controlling their affairs +amidst thanks and praise and blessings. +<em>Her</em> dream! Of serious things!—a rout +of phantoms pursuing a phantom ignis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +fatuus—the afterglow of a mirage. Vanity +of vanities——”</p> + +<p>“It’s real enough to her.”</p> + +<p>“As real as she can make it, you +know. But she isn’t real herself. She +begins badly.”</p> + +<p>“And he, you know——”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t believe in it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure.”</p> + +<p>“I am—now.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a complicated being.”</p> + +<p>“He will ravel out,” said the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“I think you misjudge him about that +work of his, anyhow,” said Melville. +“He’s a man rather divided against himself.” +He added abruptly, “We all are.” +He recovered himself from the generality. +“It’s vague, I admit, a sort of vague wish +to do something decent, you know, that +he has——”</p> + +<p>“A sort of vague wish,” she conceded; +“but——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He means well,” said Melville, clinging +to his proposition.</p> + +<p>“He means nothing. Only very dimly +he suspects——”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“What you too are beginning to suspect.… +That other things may be conceivable +even if they are not possible. +That this life of yours is not everything. +That it is not to be taken too seriously. +Because … there are better dreams!”</p> + +<p>The song of the sirens was in her +voice; my cousin would not look at her +face. “I know nothing of any other +dreams,” he said. “One has oneself and +this life, and that is enough to manage. +What other dreams can there be? Anyhow, +we are in the dream—we have to +accept it. Besides, you know, that’s going +off the question. We were talking +of Chatteris, and why you have come +for him. Why should you come, why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +should any one outside come—into this +world?”</p> + +<p>“Because we are permitted to come—we +immortals. And why, if we choose to +do so, and taste this life that passes and +continues, as rain that falls to the ground, +why should we not do it? Why should +we abstain?”</p> + +<p>“And Chatteris?”</p> + +<p>“If he pleases me.”</p> + +<p>He roused himself to a Titanic effort +against an oppression that was coming +over him. He tried to get the thing +down to a definite small case, an incident, +an affair of considerations. “But look +here, you know,” he said. “What precisely +do you mean to do if you get him? +You don’t seriously intend to keep up the +game to that extent. You don’t mean—positively, +in our terrestrial fashion, you +know—to marry him?”</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady laughed at his recovery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +of the practical tone. “Well, why not?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“And go about in a bath chair, and— No, +that’s not it. What <em>is</em> it?”</p> + +<p>He looked up into her eyes, and it +was like looking into deep water. Down +in that deep there stirred impalpable +things. She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>“No!” she said, “I sha’n’t marry him +and go about in a bath chair. And grow +old as all earthly women must. (It’s the +dust, I think, and the dryness of the air, +and the way you begin and end.) You +burn too fast, you flare and sink and die. +This life of yours!—the illnesses and the +growing old! When the skin wears +shabby, and the light is out of the hair, +and the teeth— Not even for love would +I face it. No.… But then you know—” +Her voice sank to a low whisper. “<em>There +are better dreams.</em>”</p> + +<p>“What dreams?” rebelled Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +“What do you mean? What are you? +What do you mean by coming into this +life—you who pretend to be a woman—and +whispering, whispering … to us who +are in it, to us who have no escape.”</p> + +<p>“But there is an escape,” said the Sea +Lady.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“For some there is an escape. When +the whole life rushes to a moment—” +And then she stopped. Now there is +clearly no sense in this sentence to my +mind, even from a lady of an essentially +imaginary sort, who comes out of the sea. +How can a whole life rush to a moment? +But whatever it was she really did say, +there is no doubt she left it half unsaid.</p> + +<p>He glanced up at her abrupt pause, +and she was looking at the house.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“Do … ris! Do … ris! Are +you there?” It was Mrs. Bunting’s voice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +floating athwart the lawn, the voice of +the ascendant present, of invincibly sensible +things. The world grew real again to +Melville. He seemed to wake up, to start +back from some delusive trance that crept +upon him.</p> + +<p>He looked at the Sea Lady as if he +were already incredulous of the things +they had said, as if he had been asleep and +dreamed the talk. Some light seemed to +go out, some fancy faded. His eye rested +upon the inscription, “Flamps, Bath Chair +Proprietor,” just visible under her arm.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got perhaps a little more serious +than—” he said doubtfully, and then, +“What you have been saying—did you +exactly mean——?”</p> + +<p>The rustle of Mrs. Bunting’s advance +became audible, and Parker moved and +coughed.</p> + +<p>He was quite sure they had been +“more serious than——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Another time perhaps——”</p> + +<p>Had all these things really been said, or +was he under some fantastic hallucination?</p> + +<p>He had a sudden thought. “Where’s +your cigarette?” he asked.</p> + +<p>But her cigarette had ended long ago.</p> + +<p>“And what have you been talking +about so long?” sang Mrs. Bunting, with +an almost motherly hand on the back of +Melville’s chair.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Melville, at a loss for once, +and suddenly rising from his chair to face +her, and then to the Sea Lady with an +artificially easy smile, “What <em>have</em> we +been talking about?”</p> + +<p>“All sorts of things, I dare say,” said +Mrs. Bunting, in what might almost be +called an arch manner. And she honoured +Melville with a special smile—one of those +smiles that are morally almost winks.</p> + +<p>My cousin caught all the archness full +in the face, and for four seconds he stared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +at Mrs. Bunting in amazement. He +wanted breath. Then they all laughed +together, and Mrs. Bunting sat down +pleasantly and remarked, quite audibly to +herself, “As if I couldn’t guess.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-189.jpg" width="400" height="454" alt="The waiter retires amazed." title="" /> +<span class="caption">The waiter retires amazed.</span> +</div> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>I gather that after this talk Melville +fell into an extraordinary net of doubting. +In the first place, and what was most distressing, +he doubted whether this conversation +could possibly have happened at all, +and if it had whether his memory had not +played him some trick in modifying and +intensifying the import of it all. My +cousin occasionally dreams conversations +of so sober and probable a sort as to +mingle quite perplexingly with his real +experiences. Was this one of these occasions? +He found himself taking up and +scrutinising, as it were, first this remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +sentence and then that. Had she +really said this thing and quite in this +way? His memory of their conversation +was never quite the same for two days together. +Had she really and deliberately +foreshadowed for Chatteris some obscure +and mystical submergence?</p> + +<p>What intensified and complicated his +doubts most, was the Sea Lady’s subsequent +serene freedom from allusion to +anything that might or might not have +passed. She behaved just as she had always +behaved; neither an added intimacy +nor that distance that follows indiscreet +confidences appeared in her manner.</p> + +<p>And amidst this crop of questions +arose presently quite a new set of doubts, +as if he were not already sufficiently +equipped. The Sea Lady alleged she had +come to the world that lives on land, for +Chatteris.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p><p>And then——?</p> + +<p>He had not hitherto looked ahead to +see precisely what would happen to Chatteris, +to Miss Glendower, to the Buntings +or any one when, as seemed highly probable, +Chatteris was “got.” There were +other dreams, there was another existence, +an elsewhere—and Chatteris was to go +there! So she said! But it came into +Melville’s mind with a quite disproportionate +force and vividness that once, long +ago, he had seen a picture of a man and a +mermaid, rushing downward through deep +water.… Could it possibly be that sort +of thing in the year eighteen hundred +and ninety-nine? Conceivably, if she had +said these things, did she mean them, and +if she meant them, and this definite campaign +of capture was in hand, what was +an orderly, sane-living, well-dressed bachelor +of the world to do?</p> + +<p>Look on—until things ended in a +catastrophe?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>One figures his face almost aged. He +appears to have hovered about the house +on the Sandgate Riviera to a scandalous +extent, failing always to get a sufficiently +long and intimate tête-à-tête with the Sea +Lady to settle once for all his doubts as to +what really had been said and what he had +dreamed or fancied in their talk. Never +had he been so exceedingly disturbed as +he was by the twist this talk had taken. +Never had his habitual pose of humorous +acquiescence in life been quite so difficult +to keep up. He became positively absent-minded. +“You know if it’s like that, it’s +serious,” was the burden of his private +mutterings. His condition was palpable +even to Mrs. Bunting. But she misunderstood +his nature. She said something. +Finally, and quite abruptly, he set off to +London in a state of frantic determination +to get out of it all. The Sea Lady wished +him good-bye in Mrs. Bunting’s presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +as if there had never been anything unusual +between them.</p> + +<p>I suppose one may contrive to understand +something of his disturbance. He +had made quite considerable sacrifices to +the world. He had, at great pains, found +his place and his way in it, he had imagined +he had really “got the hang of it,” as +people say, and was having an interesting +time. And then, you know, to encounter +a voice, that subsequently insists upon +haunting you with “<em>There are better +dreams</em>”; to hear a tale that threatens +complications, disasters, broken hearts, and +not to have the faintest idea of the proper +thing to do.</p> + +<p>But I do not think he would have +bolted from Sandgate until he had really +got some more definite answer to the question, +“<em>What</em> better dreams?” until he had +surprised or forced some clearer illumination +from the passive invalid, if Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +Bunting one morning had not very tactfully +dropped a hint.</p> + +<p>You know Mrs. Bunting, and you can +imagine what she tactfully hinted. Just +at that time, what with her own girls and +the Glendower girls, her imagination was +positively inflamed for matrimony; she +was a matrimonial fanatic; she would have +married anybody to anything just for the +fun of doing it, and the idea of pairing +off poor Melville to this mysterious immortal +with a scaly tail seems to have +appeared to her the most natural thing +in the world.</p> + +<p><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Apropos</i> of nothing whatever I fancy +she remarked, “Your opportunity is now, +Mr. Melville.”</p> + +<p>“My opportunity!” cried Melville, trying +madly not to understand in the face of +her pink resolution.</p> + +<p>“You’ve a monopoly now,” she cried. +“But when we go back to London with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +her there will be ever so many people running +after her.”</p> + +<p>I fancy Melville said something about +carrying the thing too far. He doesn’t +remember what he did say. I don’t think +he even knew at the time.</p> + +<p>However, he fled back to London in +August, and was there so miserably at loose +ends that he had not the will to get out of +the place. On this passage in the story he +does not dwell, and such verisimilitude as +may be, must be supplied by my imagination. +I imagine him in his charmingly +appointed flat,—a flat that is light without +being trivial, and artistic with no want of +dignity or sincerity,—finding a loss of interest +in his books, a loss of beauty in the +silver he (not too vehemently) collects. I +imagine him wandering into that dainty little +bed-room of his and around into the +dressing-room, and there, rapt in a blank +contemplation of the seven-and-twenty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +pairs of trousers (all creasing neatly in their +proper stretchers) that are necessary to his +conception of a wise and happy man. For +every occasion he has learnt, in a natural +easy progress to knowledge, the exquisitely +appropriate pair of trousers, the permissible +upper garment, the becoming +gesture and word. He was a man who +had mastered his world. And then, you +know, the whisper:—</p> + +<p>“<em>There are better dreams.</em>”</p> + +<p>“What dreams?” I imagine him asking, +with a defensive note. Whatever +transparence the world might have had, +whatever suggestion of something beyond +there, in the sea garden at Sandgate, I +fancy that in Melville’s apartments in +London it was indisputably opaque.</p> + +<p>And “Damn it!” he cried, “if these +dreams are for Chatteris, why should she +tell me? Suppose I had the chance of +them— Whatever they are——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>He reflected, with a terrible sincerity +in the nature of his will.</p> + +<p>“No!” And then again, “No!</p> + +<p>“And if one mustn’t have ’em, why +should one know about ’em and be worried +by them? If she comes to do mischief, +why shouldn’t she do mischief without +making me an accomplice?”</p> + +<p>He walks up and down and stops at +last and stares out of his window on the +jaded summer traffic going Haymarket +way.</p> + +<p>He sees nothing of that traffic. He +sees the little sea garden at Sandgate and +that little group of people very small and +bright and something—something hanging +over them. “It isn’t fair on them—or me—or +anybody!”</p> + +<p>Then you know, quite suddenly, I imagine +him swearing.</p> + +<p>I imagine him at his luncheon, a meal +he usually treats with a becoming gravity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +I imagine the waiter marking the kindly +self-indulgence of his clean-shaven face, +and advancing with that air of intimate +participation the good waiter shows to +such as he esteems. I figure the respectful +pause, the respectful enquiry.</p> + +<p>“Oh, anything!” cries Melville, and +the waiter retires amazed.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>To add to Melville’s distress, as petty +discomforts do add to all genuine trouble, +his club-house was undergoing an operation, +and was full of builders and decorators; +they had gouged out its windows +and gagged its hall with scaffolding, and +he and his like were guests of a stranger +club that had several members who blew. +They seemed never to do anything but +blow and sigh and rustle papers and go to +sleep about the place; they were like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +blight-spots on the handsome plant of +this host-club, and it counted for little +with Melville, in the state he was in, that +all the fidgety breathers were persons of +eminent position. But it was this temporary +dislocation of his world that brought +him unexpectedly into a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">quasi</i> confidential +talk with Chatteris one afternoon, for +Chatteris was one of the less eminent and +amorphous members of this club that was +sheltering Melville’s club.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-206.jpg" width="400" height="449" alt="They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and +rustle papers." title="" /> +<span class="caption">They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and +rustle papers.</span> +</div> + +<p>Melville had taken up <cite>Punch</cite>—he was +in that mood when a man takes up anything—and +was reading, he did not know +exactly what. Presently he sighed, looked +up, and discovered Chatteris entering the +room.</p> + +<p>He was surprised to see Chatteris, +startled and just faintly alarmed, and Chatteris +it was evident was surprised and disconcerted +to see him. Chatteris stood in +as awkward an attitude as he was capable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +of, staring unfavourably, and for a moment +or so he gave no sign of recognition. +Then he nodded and came forward +reluctantly. His every movement suggested +the will without the wit to escape. +“You here?” he said.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing away from +Hythe at this time?” asked Melville.</p> + +<p>“I came here to write a letter,” said +Chatteris.</p> + +<p>He looked about him rather helplessly. +Then he sat down beside Melville and demanded +a cigarette. Suddenly he plunged +into intimacy.</p> + +<p>“It is doubtful whether I shall contest +Hythe,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>He lit his cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Would you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it,” said Melville. “But +then it’s not my line.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Is it mine?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it a little late in the day to drop +it?” said Melville. “You’ve been put up +for it now. Every one’s at work. Miss +Glendower——”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t seem to want to go on.”</p> + +<p>“My dear man!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a bit of overwork perhaps. I’m +off colour. Things have gone flat. That’s +why I’m up here.”</p> + +<p>He did a very absurd thing. He +threw away a quarter-smoked cigarette +and almost immediately demanded another.</p> + +<p>“You’ve been a little immoderate with +your statistics,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>Chatteris said something that struck +Melville as having somehow been said before. +“Election, progress, good of humanity, +public spirit. None of these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +things interest me really,” he said. “At +least, not just now.”</p> + +<p>Melville waited.</p> + +<p>“One gets brought up in an atmosphere +in which it’s always being whispered +that one should go for a career. +You learn it at your mother’s knee. They +never give you time to find out what you +really want, they keep on shoving you at +that. They form your character. They +rule your mind. They rush you into it.”</p> + +<p>“They didn’t rush me,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“They rushed me, anyhow. And here +I am!”</p> + +<p>“You don’t want a career?”</p> + +<p>“Well— Look what it is.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! if you look at what things +are!”</p> + +<p>“First of all, the messing about to get +into the House. These confounded parties +mean nothing—absolutely nothing. +They aren’t even decent factions. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +blither to damned committees of damned +tradesmen whose sole idea for this world +is to get overpaid for their self-respect; +you whisper and hobnob with local solicitors +and get yourself seen about with +them; you ask about the charities and institutions, +and lunch and chatter and +chum with every conceivable form of +human conceit and pushfulness and trickery——”</p> + +<p>He broke off. “It isn’t as if <em>they</em> +were up to anything! They’re working +in their way, just as you are working in +your way. It’s the same game with all +of them. They chase a phantom gratification, +they toil and quarrel and envy, +night and day, in the perpetual attempt to +persuade themselves in spite of everything +that they are real and a success——”</p> + +<p>He stopped and smoked.</p> + +<p>Melville was spiteful. “Yes,” he admitted, +“but I thought <em>your</em> little movement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +was to be something more than +party politics and self-advancement——?”</p> + +<p>He left his sentence interrogatively +incomplete.</p> + +<p>“The condition of the poor,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Chatteris, regarding him +with a sort of stony admission in his blue +eyes.</p> + +<p>Melville dodged the look. “At Sandgate,” +he said, “there was, you know, a +certain atmosphere of belief——”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Chatteris for the second +time.</p> + +<p>“That’s the devil of it!” said Chatteris +after a pause.</p> + +<p>“If I don’t believe in the game I’m +playing, if I’m left high and dry on this +shoal, with the tide of belief gone past +me, it isn’t <em>my</em> planning, anyhow. I know +the decent thing I ought to do. I mean +to do it; in the end I mean to do it; I’m +talking in this way to relieve my mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +I’ve started the game and I must see it +out; I’ve put my hand to the plough and +I mustn’t go back. That’s why I came to +London—to get it over with myself. It +was running up against you, set me off. +You caught me at the crisis.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“But for all that, the thing is as I +said—none of these things interest me +really. It won’t alter the fact that I am +committed to fight a phantom election +about nothing in particular, for a party +that’s been dead ten years. And if the +ghosts win, go into the Parliament as a +constituent spectre.… There it is—as +a mental phenomenon!”</p> + +<p>He reiterated his cardinal article. +“The interest is dead,” he said, “the will +has no soul.”</p> + +<p>He became more critical. He bent a +little closer to Melville’s ear. “It isn’t +really that I don’t believe. When I say I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +don’t believe in these things I go too far. +I do. I know, the electioneering, the intriguing +is a means to an end. There is +work to be done, sound work, and important +work. Only——”</p> + +<p>Melville turned an eye on him over +his cigarette end.</p> + +<p>Chatteris met it, seemed for a moment +to cling to it. He became absurdly confidential. +He was evidently in the direst +need of a confidential ear.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to do it. When I sit +down to it, square myself down in the +chair, you know, and say, now for the rest +of my life this is IT—this is your life, +Chatteris; there comes a sort of terror, +Melville.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Melville, and turned away. +Then he turned on Chatteris with the air +of a family physician, and tapped his shoulder +three times as he spoke. “You’ve had +too much statistics, Chatteris,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>He let that soak in. Then he turned +about towards his interlocutor, and toyed +with a club ash tray. “It’s every day +has overtaken you,” he said. “You can’t +see the wood for the trees. You forget +the spacious design you are engaged upon, +in the heavy details of the moment. You +are like a painter who has been working +hard upon something very small and exacting +in a corner. You want to step back +and look at the whole thing.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Chatteris, “that isn’t +quite it.”</p> + +<p>Melville indicated that he knew better.</p> + +<p>“I keep on, stepping back and looking +at it,” said Chatteris. “Just lately I’ve +scarcely done anything else. I’ll admit it’s +a spacious and noble thing—political work +done well—only— I admire it, but it +doesn’t grip my imagination. That’s where +the trouble comes in.”</p> + +<p>“What <em>does</em> grip your imagination?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +asked Melville. He was absolutely certain +the Sea Lady had been talking this paralysis +into Chatteris, and he wanted to see +just how far she had gone. “For example,” +he tested, “are there—by any +chance—other dreams?”</p> + +<p>Chatteris gave no sign at the phrase. +Melville dismissed his suspicion. “What +do you mean—other dreams?” asked +Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“Is there conceivably another way—another +sort of life—some other aspect——?”</p> + +<p>“It’s out of the question,” said Chatteris. +He added, rather remarkably, “Adeline’s +awfully good.”</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville acquiesced silently +in Adeline’s goodness.</p> + +<p>“All this, you know, is a mood. My +life is made for me—and it’s a very good +life. It’s better than I deserve.”</p> + +<p>“Heaps,” said Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Much,” said Chatteris defiantly.</p> + +<p>“Ever so much,” endorsed Melville.</p> + +<p>“Let’s talk of other things,” said Chatteris. +“It’s what even the street boys call +<em>mawbid</em> nowadays to doubt for a moment +the absolute final all-this-and-nothing-else-in-the-worldishness +of whatever you happen +to be doing.”</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville, however, could +think of no other sufficiently interesting +topic. “You left them all right at Sandgate?” +he asked, after a pause.</p> + +<p>“Except little Bunting.”</p> + +<p>“Seedy?”</p> + +<p>“Been fishing.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. Breezes and the spring +tides.… And Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>Chatteris shot a suspicious glance at +him. He affected the offhand style. “<em>She’s</em> +quite well,” he said. “Looks just as charming +as ever.”</p> + +<p>“She really means that canvassing?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She’s spoken of it again.”</p> + +<p>“She’ll do a lot for you,” said Melville, +and left a fine wide pause.</p> + +<p>Chatteris assumed the tone of a man +who gossips.</p> + +<p>“Who is this Miss Waters?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“A very charming person,” said Melville +and said no more.</p> + +<p>Chatteris waited and his pretence of +airy gossip vanished. He became very +much in earnest.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said. “Who is this +Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>“How should <em>I</em> know?” prevaricated +Melville.</p> + +<p>“Well, you do know. And the others +know. Who is she?”</p> + +<p>Melville met his eyes. “Won’t they +tell you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s just it,” said Chatteris.</p> + +<p>“Why do you want to know?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t I know?”</p> + +<p>“There’s a sort of promise to keep it +dark.”</p> + +<p>“Keep <em>what</em> dark?”</p> + +<p>My cousin gestured.</p> + +<p>“It can’t be anything wrong?” My +cousin made no sign.</p> + +<p>“She may have had experiences?”</p> + +<p>My cousin reflected a moment on the +possibilities of the deep-sea life. “She +has had them,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care, if she has.”</p> + +<p>There came a pause.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Melville,” said Chatteris, +“I want to know this. Unless it’s a +thing to be specially kept from me.… +I don’t like being among a lot of people +who treat me as an outsider. What is +this something about Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>“What does Miss Glendower say?”</p> + +<p>“Vague things. She doesn’t like her +and she won’t say why. And Mrs. Bunting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +goes about with discretion written +all over her. And she herself looks at +you— And that maid of hers looks— The +thing’s worrying me.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask the lady herself?”</p> + +<p>“How can I, till I know what it is? +Confound it! I’m asking <em>you</em> plainly +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Melville, and at the moment +he had really decided to tell Chatteris. +But he hung upon the manner of +presentation. He thought in the moment +to say, “The truth is, she is a mermaid.” +Then as instantly he perceived +how incredible this would be. He always +suspected Chatteris of a capacity for +being continental and romantic. The +man might fly out at him for saying such +a thing of a lady.</p> + +<p>A dreadful doubt fell upon Melville. +As you know, he had never seen that tail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +with his own eyes. In these surroundings +there came to him such an incredulity of +the Sea Lady as he had not felt even +when first Mrs. Bunting told him of her. +All about him was an atmosphere of solid +reality, such as one can breathe only in a +first-class London club. Everywhere ponderous +arm-chairs met the eye. There +were massive tables in abundance and +match-boxes of solid rock. The matches +were of some specially large, heavy sort. +On a ponderous elephant-legged green +baize table near at hand were several +copies of the <cite>Times</cite>, the current <cite>Punch</cite>, +an inkpot of solid brass, and a paper +weight of lead. <em>There are other dreams!</em> +It seemed impossible. The breathing of +an eminent person in a chair in the far +corner became very distinct in that interval. +It was heavy and resolute like the +sound of a stone-mason’s saw. It insisted +upon itself as the touchstone of reality.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +It seemed to say that at the first whisper +of a thing so utterly improbable as a mermaid +it would snort and choke.</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t believe me if I told +you,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“Well, tell me—anyhow.”</p> + +<p>My cousin looked at an empty chair +beside him. It was evidently stuffed with +the very best horse-hair that money could +procure, stuffed with infinite skill and an +almost religious care. It preached in the +open invitation of its expanded arms that +man does not live by bread alone—inasmuch +as afterwards he needs a nap. An +utterly dreamless chair!</p> + +<p>Mermaids?</p> + +<p>He felt that he was after all quite possibly +the victim of a foolish delusion, +hypnotised by Mrs. Bunting’s beliefs. Was +there not some more plausible interpretation, +some phrase that would lie out bridgeways +from the plausible to the truth?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s no good,” he groaned at last.</p> + +<p>Chatteris had been watching him furtively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t care a hang,” he said, +and shied his second cigarette into the +massively decorated fireplace. “It’s no +affair of mine.”</p> + +<p>Then quite abruptly he sprang to his +feet and gesticulated with an ineffectual +hand.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t,” he said, and seemed +to intend to say many regrettable things. +Meanwhile until his intention ripened he +sawed the air with his ineffectual hand. I +fancy he ended by failing to find a thing +sufficiently regrettable to express the pungency +of the moment. He flung about +and went towards the door.</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” he said to the back of the +newspaper of the breathing member.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t want to,” he said to the +respectful waiter at the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>The hall-porter heard that he didn’t +care—he was damned if he did!</p> + +<p>“He might be one of these here +guests,” said the hall-porter, greatly +shocked. “That’s what comes of lettin’ +’em in so young.”</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Melville overcame an impulse to follow +him.</p> + +<p>“Confound the fellow!” said he.</p> + +<p>And then as the whole outburst came +into focus, he said with still more emphasis, +“Confound the fellow!”</p> + +<p>He stood up and became aware that +the member who had been asleep was now +regarding him with malevolent eyes. He +perceived it was a hard and invincible +malevolence, and that no petty apologetics +of demeanour could avail against it. He +turned about and went towards the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>The interview had done my cousin +good. His misery and distress had lifted. +He was presently bathed in a profound +moral indignation, and that is the very +antithesis of doubt and unhappiness. +The more he thought it over, the more +his indignation with Chatteris grew. That +sudden unreasonable outbreak altered all +the perspectives of the case. He wished +very much that he could meet Chatteris +again and discuss the whole matter from +a new footing.</p> + +<p>“Think of it!” He thought so vividly +and so verbally that he was nearly +talking to himself as he went along. It +shaped itself into an outspoken discourse +in his mind.</p> + +<p>“Was there ever a more ungracious, +ungrateful, unreasonable creature than this +same Chatteris? He was the spoiled child +of Fortune; things came to him, things +were given to him, his very blunders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +brought more to him than other men’s successes. +Out of every thousand men, nine +hundred and ninety-nine might well find +food for envy in this way luck had served +him. Many a one has toiled all his life and +taken at last gratefully the merest fraction +of all that had thrust itself upon this +insatiable thankless young man. Even +I,” thought my cousin, “might envy him—in +several ways. And then, at the mere +first onset of duty, nay!—at the mere first +whisper of restraint, this insubordination, +this protest and flight!</p> + +<p>“Think!” urged my cousin, “of the +common lot of men. Think of the many +who suffer from hunger——”</p> + +<p>(It was a painful Socialistic sort of line +to take, but in his mood of moral indignation +my cousin pursued it relentlessly.)</p> + +<p>“Think of many who suffer from hunger, +who lead lives of unremitting toil, +who go fearful, who go squalid, and withal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +strive, in a sort of dumb, resolute way, their +utmost to do their duty, or at any rate +what they think to be their duty. Think +of the chaste poor women in the world! +Think again of the many honest souls +who aspire to the service of their kind, +and are so hemmed about and preoccupied +that they may not give it! And +then this pitiful creature comes, with his +mental gifts, his gifts of position and opportunity, +the stimulus of great ideas, and +a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiancée</i>, who is not only rich and beautiful—she +<em>is</em> beautiful!—but also the best +of all possible helpers for him. And he +turns away. It isn’t good enough. It +takes no hold upon his imagination, if you +please. It isn’t beautiful enough for him, +and that’s the plain truth of the matter. +What does the man <em>want?</em> What does +he expect?…”</p> + +<p>My cousin’s moral indignation took +him the whole length of Piccadilly, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +along by Rotten Row, and along the +flowery garden walks almost into Kensington +High Street, and so around by the Serpentine +to his home, and it gave him such +an appetite for dinner as he had not had +for many days. Life was bright for him +all that evening, and he sat down at last, +at two o’clock in the morning, before a +needlessly lit, delightfully fusillading fire +in his flat to smoke one sound cigar before +he went to bed.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said suddenly, “I am not +<em>mawbid</em> either. I take the gifts the gods +will give me. I try to make myself happy, +and a few other people happy, too, to do a +few little duties decently, and that is +enough for me. I don’t look too deeply +into things, and I don’t look too widely +about things. A few old simple ideals——</p> + +<p>“H’m.</p> + +<p>“Chatteris is a dreamer, with an impossible, +extravagant discontent. What does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +he dream of?… Three parts he is a +dreamer and the fourth part—spoiled +child.”</p> + +<p>“Dreamer.…”</p> + +<p>“Other dreams.…”</p> + +<p>“What other dreams could she +mean?”</p> + +<p>My cousin fell into profound musings. +Then he started, looked about him, +saw the time by his Rathbone clock, got +up suddenly and went to bed.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH</small><br /> + +THE CRISIS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The crisis came about a week from +that time—I say about because of Melville’s +conscientious inexactness in these +matters. And so far as the crisis goes, I +seem to get Melville at his best. He was +keenly interested, keenly observant, and +his more than average memory took some +excellent impressions. To my mind, at +any rate, two at least of these people come +out, fuller and more convincingly than +anywhere else in this painfully disinterred +story. He has given me here an Adeline +I seem to believe in, and something much +more like Chatteris than any of the broken +fragments I have had to go upon, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +amplify and fudge together so far. And +for all such transient lucidities in this +mysterious story, the reader no doubt will +echo my Heaven be thanked!</p> + +<p>Melville was called down to participate +in the crisis at Sandgate by a +telegram from Mrs. Bunting, and his +first exponent of the situation was Fred +Bunting.</p> + +<p>“<em>Come down. Urgent. Please</em>,” was +the irresistible message from Mrs. Bunting. +My cousin took the early train and +arrived at Sandgate in the forenoon.</p> + +<p>He was told that Mrs. Bunting was upstairs +with Miss Glendower and that she +implored him to wait until she could leave +her charge. “Miss Glendower not well, +then?” said Melville. “No, sir, not at all +well,” said the housemaid, evidently awaiting +a further question. “Where are the +others?” he asked casually. The three +younger young ladies had gone to Hythe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +said the housemaid, with a marked omission +of the Sea Lady. Melville has an intense +dislike of questioning servants on points at +issue, so he asked nothing at all concerning +Miss Waters. This general absence +of people from the room of familiar occupation +conveyed the same suggested warning +of crisis as the telegram. The housemaid +waited an instant longer and withdrew.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment in the drawing-room +and then walked out upon the +veranda. He perceived a richly caparisoned +figure advancing towards him. It +was Fred Bunting. He had been taking +advantage of the general desertion of +home to bathe from the house. He was +wearing an umbrageous white cotton hat +and a striped blanket, and a more aggressively +manly pipe than any fully adult +male would ever dream of smoking, hung +from the corner of his mouth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said. “The mater sent +for you?”</p> + +<p>Melville admitted the truth of this +theory.</p> + +<p>“There’s ructions,” said Fred, and removed +the pipe. The act offered conversation.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>“Gone.”</p> + +<p>“Back?”</p> + +<p>“Lord, no! Catch her! She’s gone +to Lummidge’s Hotel. With her maid. +Took a suite.”</p> + +<p>“Why——”</p> + +<p>“The mater made a row with her.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever for?”</p> + +<p>“Harry.”</p> + +<p>My cousin stared at the situation.</p> + +<p>“It broke out,” said Fred.</p> + +<p>“What broke out?”</p> + +<p>“The row. Harry’s gone daft on her, +Addy says.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>“On Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>“Rather. Mooney. Didn’t care for +his electioneering—didn’t care for his ordinary +nourishment. Loose ends. Didn’t +mention it to Adeline, but she began to +see it. Asked questions. Next day, +went off. London. She asked what +was up. Three days’ silence. Then—wrote +to her.”</p> + +<p>Fred intensified all this by raising his +eyebrows, pulling down the corners of his +mouth and nodding portentously. “Eh?” +he said, and then to make things clearer: +“Wrote a letter.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t write to her about Miss +Waters?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know what he wrote about. +Don’t suppose he mentioned her name, +but I dare say he made it clear enough. +All I know is that everything in the house +felt like elastic pulled tighter than it ought +to be for two whole days—everybody in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +sort of complicated twist—and then there +was a snap. All that time Addy was writing +letters to him and tearing ’em up, and +no one could quite make it out. Everyone +looked blue except the Sea Lady. +She kept her own lovely pink. And at +the end of that time the mater began asking +things, Adeline chucked writing, gave +the mater half a hint, mater took it all in +in an instant and the thing burst.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Glendower didn’t——?”</p> + +<p>“No, the mater did. Put it pretty +straight too—as the mater can.… <em>She</em> +didn’t deny it. Said she couldn’t help +herself, and that he was as much hers as +Adeline’s. I <em>heard</em> that,” said Fred shamelessly. +“Pretty thick, eh?—considering +he’s engaged. And the mater gave it her +pretty straight. Said, ‘I’ve been very +much deceived in you, Miss Waters—very +much indeed.’ I heard her.…”</p> + +<p>“And then?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Asked her to go. Said she’d requited +us ill for taking her up when +nobody but a fisherman would have +looked at her.”</p> + +<p>“She said that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, words to that effect.”</p> + +<p>“And Miss Waters went?”</p> + +<p>“In a first-class cab, maid and boxes in +another, all complete. Perfect lady.… +Couldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it—the +tail, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“And Miss Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“Addy? Oh, she’s been going it. +Comes downstairs and does the pale-faced +heroine and goes upstairs and does the +broken-hearted part. <em>I</em> know. It’s all +very well. You never had sisters. You +know——”</p> + +<p>Fred held his pipe elaborately out of +the way and protruded his face to a confidential +nearness.</p> + +<p>“I believe they half like it,” said Fred,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +in a confidential half whisper. “Such a +go, you know. Mabel pretty near as bad. +And the girls. All making the very most +they can of it. Me! I think Chatteris +was the only man alive to hear ’em. <em>I</em> +couldn’t get up emotion as they do, if my +feet were being flayed. Cheerful home, +eh? For holidays.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s—the principal gentleman?” +asked Melville a little grimly. “In London?”</p> + +<p>“Unprincipled gentleman, I call him,” +said Fred. “He’s stopping down here at +the Métropole. Stuck.”</p> + +<p>“Down here? Stuck?”</p> + +<p>“Rather. Stuck and set about.”</p> + +<p>My cousin tried for sidelights. “What’s +his attitude?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Slump,” said Fred with intensity.</p> + +<p>“This little blow-off has rather astonished +him,” he explained. “When he +wrote to say that the election didn’t interest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +him for a bit, but he hoped to pull +around——”</p> + +<p>“You said you didn’t know what he +wrote.”</p> + +<p>“I do that much,” said Fred. “He +no more thought they’d have spotted that +it meant Miss Waters than a baby. But +women are so thundering sharp, you +know. They’re born spotters. How it’ll +all end——”</p> + +<p>“But why has he come to the Métropole?”</p> + +<p>“Middle of the stage, I suppose,” said +Fred.</p> + +<p>“What’s his attitude?”</p> + +<p>“Says he’s going to see Adeline and +explain everything—and doesn’t do it.… +Puts it off. And Adeline, as far as I can +gather, says that if he doesn’t come down +soon, she’s hanged if she’ll see him, much +as her heart may be broken, and all that, +if she doesn’t. You know.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Naturally,” said Melville, rather inconsecutively. +“And he doesn’t?”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t stir.”</p> + +<p>“Does he see—the other lady?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t know. We can’t watch +him. But if he does he’s clever——”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“There’s about a hundred blessed relatives +of his in the place—came like crows +for a corpse. I never saw such a lot. +Talk about a man of good old family—it’s +decaying! I never saw such a high old +family in my life. Aunts they are chiefly.”</p> + +<p>“Aunts?”</p> + +<p>“Aunts. Say, they’ve rallied round him. +How they got hold of it I don’t know. +Like vultures. Unless the mater— But +they’re here. They’re all at him—using +their influence with him, threatening to +cut off legacies and all that. There’s one +old girl at Bate’s, Lady Poynting Mallow—least +bit horsey, but about as all right as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +any of ’em—who’s been down here twice. +Seems a trifle disappointed in Adeline. +And there’s two aunts at Wampach’s—you +know the sort that stop at Wampach’s—regular +hothouse flowers—a watering-potful +of real icy cold water would +kill both of ’em. And there’s one come +over from the Continent, short hair, short +skirts—regular terror—she’s at the Pavilion. +They’re all chasing round saying, +‘Where is this woman-fish sort of thing? +Let me peek!’”</p> + +<p>“Does that constitute the hundred +relatives?”</p> + +<p>“Practically. The Wampachers are +sending for a Bishop who used to be his +schoolmaster——”</p> + +<p>“No stone unturned, eh?”</p> + +<p>“None.”</p> + +<p>“And has he found out yet——”</p> + +<p>“That she’s a mermaid? I don’t believe +he has. The pater went up to tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +him. Of course, he was a bit out of +breath and embarrassed. And Chatteris +cut him down. ‘At least let me hear +nothing against her,’ he said. And the +pater took that and came away. Good +old pater. Eh?”</p> + +<p>“And the aunts?”</p> + +<p>“They’re taking it in. Mainly they +grasp the fact that he’s going to jilt Adeline, +just as he jilted the American girl. +The mermaid side they seem to boggle at. +Old people like that don’t take to a new +idea all at once. The Wampach ones are +shocked—but curious. They don’t believe +for a moment she really is a mermaid, +but they want to know all about it. +And the one down at the Pavilion simply +said, ‘Bosh! How can she breathe under +water? Tell me that, Mrs. Bunting. +She’s some sort of person you have picked +up, I don’t know how, but mermaid she +<em>cannot</em> be.’ They’d be all tremendously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +down on the mater, I think, for picking +her up, if it wasn’t that they can’t do +without her help to bring Addy round +again. Pretty mess all round, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the aunts will tell him?”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“About the tail.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they will.”</p> + +<p>“And what then?”</p> + +<p>“Heaven knows! Just as likely they +won’t.”</p> + +<p>My cousin meditated on the veranda +tiles for a space.</p> + +<p>“It amuses me,” said Fred Bunting.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said my cousin Melville, +“what am I supposed to do? Why have +I been asked to come?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Stir it up a bit, I expect. +Everybody do a bit—like the +Christmas pudding.”</p> + +<p>“But—” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been bathing,” said Fred. “Nobody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +asked me to take a hand and I +didn’t. It won’t be a good pudding without +me, but there you are! There’s only +one thing I can see to do——”</p> + +<p>“It might be the right thing. What +is it?”</p> + +<p>“Punch Chatteris’s head.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how that would help matters.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it wouldn’t help matters,” said +Fred, adding with an air of conclusiveness, +“There it is!” Then adjusting the +folds of his blanket to a greater dignity, +and replacing his long extinct large pipe +between his teeth, he went on his way. +The tail of his blanket followed him reluctantly +through the door. His bare feet +padded across the hall and became inaudible +on the carpet of the stairs.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-239.jpg" width="400" height="493" alt="Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Fred!” said Melville, going doorward +with a sudden afterthought for fuller +particulars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Fred had gone.</p> + +<p>Instead, Mrs. Bunting appeared.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>She appeared with traces of recent +emotion. “I telegraphed,” she said. +“We are in dreadful trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Waters, I gather——”</p> + +<p>“She’s gone.”</p> + +<p>She went towards the bell and stopped. +“They’ll get luncheon as usual,” she said. +“You will be wanting your luncheon.”</p> + +<p>She came towards him with rising +hands. “You can <em>not</em> imagine,” she said. +“That poor child!”</p> + +<p>“You must tell me,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“I simply do not know what to do. +I don’t know where to turn.” She came +nearer to him. She protested. “All that +I did, Mr. Melville, I did for the best. I +saw there was trouble. I could see that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +had been deceived, and I stood it as long +as I could. I <em>had</em> to speak at last.”</p> + +<p>My cousin by leading questions and +interrogative silences developed her story +a little.</p> + +<p>“And every one,” she said, “blames +me. Every one.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody blames everybody who +does anything, in affairs of this sort,” said +Melville. “You mustn’t mind that.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try not to,” she said bravely. +“<em>You</em> know, Mr. Melville——”</p> + +<p>He laid his hand on her shoulder for +a moment. “Yes,” he said very impressively, +and I think Mrs. Bunting felt +better.</p> + +<p>“We all look to you,” she said. “I don’t +know what I should do without you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” said Melville. “How do +things stand? What am I to do?”</p> + +<p>“Go to him,” said Mrs. Bunting, “and +put it all right.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But suppose—” began Melville +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Go to her. Make her see what it +would mean for him and all of us.”</p> + +<p>He tried to get more definite instructions. +“Don’t make difficulties,” implored +Mrs. Bunting. “Think of that poor girl +upstairs. Think of us all.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said Melville, thinking of +Chatteris and staring despondently out of +the window.</p> + +<p>“Bunting, I gather——”</p> + +<p>“It is you or no one,” said Mrs. +Bunting, sailing over his unspoken words. +“Fred is too young, and Randolph—! +He’s not diplomatic. He—he hectors.”</p> + +<p>“Does he?” exclaimed Melville.</p> + +<p>“You should see him abroad. Often—many +times I have had to interfere.… +No, it is you. You know Harry so well. +He trusts you. You can say things to +him—no one else could say.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That reminds me. Does <em>he</em> know——”</p> + +<p>“We don’t know. How can we know? +We know he is infatuated, that is all. He +is up there in Folkestone, and she is in +Folkestone, and they may be meeting——”</p> + +<p>My cousin sought counsel with himself.</p> + +<p>“Say you will go?” said Mrs. Bunting, +with a hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go,” said Melville, “but I don’t +see what I can do!”</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bunting clasped his hand in +both of her own plump shapely hands and +said she knew all along that he would, and +that for coming down so promptly to her +telegram she would be grateful to him so +long as she had a breath to draw, and then +she added, as if it were part of the same +remark, that he must want his luncheon.</p> + +<p>He accepted the luncheon proposition +in an incidental manner and reverted to +the question in hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Do you know what his attitude——”</p> + +<p>“He has written only to Addy.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t as if he had brought about +this crisis?”</p> + +<p>“It was Addy. He went away and +something in his manner made her write +and ask him the reason why. So soon as +she had his letter saying he wanted to rest +from politics for a little, that somehow he +didn’t seem to find the interest in life he +thought it deserved, she divined everything——”</p> + +<p>“Everything? Yes, but just what <em>is</em> everything?”</p> + +<p>“That <em>she</em> had led him on.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Waters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>My cousin reflected. So that was +what they considered to be everything! +“I wish I knew just where he stood,” he +said at last, and followed Mrs. Bunting +luncheonward. In the course of that meal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +which was <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i>, it became almost unsatisfactorily +evident what a great relief +Melville’s consent to interview Chatteris +was to Mrs. Bunting. Indeed, she seemed +to consider herself relieved from the greater +portion of her responsibility in the +matter, since Melville was bearing her +burden. She sketched out her defence +against the accusations that had no doubt +been levelled at her, explicitly and implicitly.</p> + +<p>“How was <em>I</em> to know?” she asked, +and she told over again the story of that +memorable landing, but with new, extenuating +details. It was Adeline herself +who had cried first, “She must be saved!” +Mrs. Bunting made a special point of +that. “And what else was there for me +to do?” she asked.</p> + +<p>And as she talked, the problem before +my cousin assumed graver and yet graver +proportions. He perceived more and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +more clearly the complexity of the situation +with which he was entrusted. In +the first place it was not at all clear that +Miss Glendower was willing to receive +back her lover except upon terms, and +the Sea Lady, he was quite sure, did +not mean to release him from any grip +she had upon him. They were preparing +to treat an elemental struggle as if it +were an individual case. It grew more +and more evident to him how entirely +Mrs. Bunting overlooked the essentially +abnormal nature of the Sea Lady, how +absolutely she regarded the business as a +mere every-day vacillation, a commonplace +outbreak of that jilting spirit which dwells, +covered deep, perhaps, but never entirely +eradicated, in the heart of man; and how +confidently she expected him, with a little +tactful remonstrance and pressure, to restore +the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">status quo ante</i>.</p> + +<p>As for Chatteris!—Melville shook his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +head at the cheese, and answered Mrs. +Bunting abstractedly.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>“She wants to speak to you,” said +Mrs. Bunting, and Melville with a certain +trepidation went upstairs. He went up +to the big landing with the seats, to save +Adeline the trouble of coming down. +She appeared dressed in a black and violet +tea gown with much lace, and her dark +hair was done with a simple carefulness +that suited it. She was pale, and +her eyes showed traces of tears, but she +had a certain dignity that differed from +her usual bearing in being quite unconscious.</p> + +<p>She gave him a limp hand and spoke +in an exhausted voice.</p> + +<p>“You know—all?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“All the outline, anyhow.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why has he done this to me?”</p> + +<p>Melville looked profoundly sympathetic +through a pause.</p> + +<p>“I feel,” she said, “that it isn’t coarseness.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“It is some mystery of the imagination +that I cannot understand. I should +have thought—his career at any rate—would +have appealed.…” She shook +her head and regarded a pot of ferns +fixedly for a space.</p> + +<p>“He has written to you?” asked Melville.</p> + +<p>“Three times,” she said, looking up.</p> + +<p>Melville hesitated to ask the extent of +that correspondence, but she left no need +for that.</p> + +<p>“I had to ask him,” she said. “He +kept it all from me, and I had to force it +from him before he would tell.”</p> + +<p>“Tell!” said Melville, “what?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What he felt for her and what he +felt for me.”</p> + +<p>“But did he——?”</p> + +<p>“He has made it clearer. But still +even now. No, I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>She turned slowly and watched Melville’s +face as she spoke: “You know, +Mr. Melville, that this has been an enormous +shock to me. I suppose I never +really knew him. I suppose I—idealised +him. I thought he cared for—our work +at any rate.… He <em>did</em> care for our +work. He believed in it. Surely he believed +in it.”</p> + +<p>“He does,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“And then— But how can he?”</p> + +<p>“He is—he is a man with rather a +strong imagination.”</p> + +<p>“Or a weak will?”</p> + +<p>“Relatively—yes.”</p> + +<p>“It is so strange,” she sighed. “It is +so inconsistent. It is like a child catching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +at a new toy. Do you know, Mr. Melville”—she +hesitated—“all this has made +me feel old. I feel very much older, +very much wiser than he is. I cannot +help it. I am afraid it is for all women +… to feel that sometimes.”</p> + +<p>She reflected profoundly. “For <em>all</em> +women— The child, man! I see now +just what Sarah Grand meant by that.”</p> + +<p>She smiled a wan smile. “I feel just +as if he had been a naughty child. And +I—I worshipped him, Mr. Melville,” she +said, and her voice quivered.</p> + +<p>My cousin coughed and turned about +to stare hard out of the window. He was, +he perceived, much more shockingly inadequate +even than he had expected to be.</p> + +<p>“If I thought she could make him +happy!” she said presently, leaving a +hiatus of generous self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>“The case is—complicated,” said Melville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her voice went on, clear and a little +high, resigned, impenetrably assured.</p> + +<p>“But she would not. All his better +side, all his serious side— She would +miss it and ruin it all.”</p> + +<p>“Does he—” began Melville and +repented of the temerity of his question.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Does he—ask to be released?”</p> + +<p>“No.… He wants to come back +to me.”</p> + +<p>“And you——”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t come.”</p> + +<p>“But do you—do you want him +back?”</p> + +<p>“How can I say, Mr. Melville? He +does not say certainly even that he wants +to come back.”</p> + +<p>My cousin Melville looked perplexed. +He lived on the superficies of emotion, +and these complexities in matters he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +always assumed were simple, put him +out.</p> + +<p>“There are times,” she said, “when it +seems to me that my love for him is altogether +dead.… Think of the disillusionment—the +shock—the discovery of +such weakness.”</p> + +<p>My cousin lifted his eyebrows and +shook his head in agreement.</p> + +<p>“His feet—to find his feet were of +clay!”</p> + +<p>There came a pause.</p> + +<p>“It seems as if I have never loved +him. And then—and then I think of all +the things that still might be.”</p> + +<p>Her voice made him look up, and he +saw that her mouth was set hard and tears +were running down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>It occurred to my cousin, he says, that +he would touch her hand in a sympathetic +manner, and then it occurred to +him that he wouldn’t. Her words rang<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +in his thoughts for a space, and then he +said somewhat tardily, “He may still be +all those things.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he may,” she said slowly +and without colour. The weeping moment +had passed.</p> + +<p>“What is she?” she changed abruptly. +“What is this being, who has come between +him and all the realities of life? +What is there about her—? And why +should I have to compete with her, because +he—because he doesn’t know his +own mind?”</p> + +<p>“For a man,” said Melville, “to know +his own mind is—to have exhausted +one of the chief interests in life. After +that—! A cultivated extinct volcano—if +ever it was a volcano.”</p> + +<p>He reflected egotistically for a space. +Then with a secret start he came back to +consider her.</p> + +<p>“What is there,” she said, with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +deliberate attempt at clearness which was +one of her antipathetic qualities for Melville—“what +is there that she has, that she +offers, that <em>I</em>——?”</p> + +<p>Melville winced at this deliberate proposal +of appalling comparisons. All the +catlike quality in his soul came to his aid. +He began to edge away, and walk obliquely +and generally to shirk the issue. “My dear +Miss Glendower,” he said, and tried to +make that seem an adequate reply.</p> + +<p>“What <em>is</em> the difference?” she insisted.</p> + +<p>“There are impalpable things,” waived +Melville. “They are above reason and +beyond describing.”</p> + +<p>“But you,” she urged, “you take an +attitude, you must have an impression. +Why don’t you— Don’t you see, Mr. +Melville, this is very”—her voice caught +for a moment—“very vital for me. It +isn’t kind of you, if you have impressions— I’m +sorry, Mr. Melville, if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +seem to be trying to get too much from +you. I—I want to know.”</p> + +<p>It came into Melville’s head for a moment +that this girl had something in her, +perhaps, that was just a little beyond his +former judgments.</p> + +<p>“I must admit, I have a sort of impression,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“You are a man; you know him; you +know all sorts of things—all sorts of ways +of looking at things, I don’t know. If +you could go so far—as to be frank.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Melville and stopped.</p> + +<p>She hung over him as it were, as a +tense silence.</p> + +<p>“There <em>is</em> a difference,” he admitted, +and still went unhelped.</p> + +<p>“How can I put it? I think in certain +ways you contrast with her, in a way +that makes things easier for her. He has—I +know the thing sounds like cant, only +you know, <em>he</em> doesn’t plead it in defence—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +has a temperament, to which she sometimes +appeals more than you do.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know, but how?”</p> + +<p>“Well——”</p> + +<p>“Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“You are austere. You are restrained. +Life—for a man like Chatteris—is schooling. +He has something—something perhaps +more worth having than most of us +have—but I think at times—it makes life +harder for him than it is for a lot of us. +Life comes at him, with limitations and +regulations. He knows his duty well +enough. And you— You mustn’t mind +what I say too much, Miss Glendower—I +may be wrong.”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she said, “go on.”</p> + +<p>“You are too much—the agent general +of his duty.”</p> + +<p>“But surely!—what else——?”</p> + +<p>“I talked to him in London and then +I thought he was quite in the wrong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +Since that I’ve thought all sorts of things—even +that you might be in the wrong. +In certain minor things.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind my vanity now,” she +cried. “Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“You see you have defined things—very +clearly. You have made it clear to +him what you expect him to be, and what +you expect him to do. It is like having +built a house in which he is to live. For +him, to go to her is like going out of a +house, a very fine and dignified house, I +admit, into something larger, something +adventurous and incalculable. She is—she +has an air of being—<em>natural</em>. She is +as lax and lawless as the sunset, she is as +free and familiar as the wind. She doesn’t—if +I may put it in this way—she doesn’t +love and respect him when he is this, and +disapprove of him highly when he is that; +she takes him altogether. She has the +quality of the open sky, of the flight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +birds, of deep tangled places, she has the +quality of the high sea. That I think is +what she is for him, she is the Great Outside. +You—you have the quality——”</p> + +<p>He hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she insisted. “Let us get +the meaning.”</p> + +<p>“Of an edifice.… I don’t sympathise +with him,” said Melville. “I am a +tame cat and I should scratch and mew at +the door directly I got outside of things. +I don’t want to go out. The thought +scares me. But he is different.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, “he is different.”</p> + +<p>For a time it seemed that Melville’s +interpretation had hold of her. She stood +thoughtful. Slowly other aspects of the +thing came into his mind.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” she said, thinking as she +looked at him. “Yes. Yes. That is the +impression. That is the quality. But in +reality— There are other things in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +the world beside effects and impressions. +After all, that is—an analogy. It is +pleasant to go out of houses and dwellings +into the open air, but most of us, +nearly all of us must live in houses.”</p> + +<p>“Decidedly,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“He cannot— What can he do with +her? How can he live with her? What +life could they have in common?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a case of attraction,” said Melville, +“and not of plans.”</p> + +<p>“After all,” she said, “he must come +back—if I let him come back. He may +spoil everything now; he may lose his +election and be forced to start again, lower +and less hopefully; he may tear his heart +to pieces——”</p> + +<p>She stopped at a sob.</p> + +<p>“Miss Glendower,” said Melville abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you quite understand.”</p> + +<p>“Understand what?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You think he cannot marry this—this +being who has come among us?”</p> + +<p>“How could he?”</p> + +<p>“No—he couldn’t. You think his +imagination has wandered away from you—to +something impossible. That generally, +in an aimless way, he has cut himself +up for nothing, and made an inordinate +fool of himself, and that it’s simply a +business of putting everything back into +place again.”</p> + +<p>He paused and she said nothing. But +her face was attentive. “What you do +not understand,” he went on, “what no +one seems to understand, is that she +comes——”</p> + +<p>“Out of the sea.”</p> + +<p>“Out of some other world. She +comes, whispering that this life is a phantom +life, unreal, flimsy, limited, casting +upon everything a spell of disillusionment——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>“So that <em>he</em>——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and then she whispers, ‘There +are better dreams!’”</p> + +<p>The girl regarded him in frank perplexity.</p> + +<p>“She hints of these vague better +dreams, she whispers of a way——”</p> + +<p>“<em>What</em> way?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what way. But it is +something—something that tears at the +very fabric of this daily life.”</p> + +<p>“You mean——?”</p> + +<p>“She is a mermaid, she is a thing of +dreams and desires, a siren, a whisper and +a seduction. She will lure him with +her——”</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>“Where?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Into the deeps.”</p> + +<p>“The deeps?”</p> + +<p>They hung upon a long pause. Melville +sought vagueness with infinite solicitude,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +and could not find it. He blurted +out at last: “There can be but one way +out of this dream we are all dreaming, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“And that way?”</p> + +<p>“That way—” began Melville and +dared not say it.</p> + +<p>“You mean,” she said, with a pale +face, half awakened to a new thought, +“the way is——?”</p> + +<p>Melville shirked the word. He met +her eyes and nodded weakly.</p> + +<p>“But how—?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“At any rate”—he said hastily, seeking +some palliative phrase—“at any rate, +if she gets him, this little world of +yours— There will be no coming back +for him, you know.”</p> + +<p>“No coming back?” she said.</p> + +<p>“No coming back,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“But are you sure?” she doubted.</p> + +<p>“Sure?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That it is so?”</p> + +<p>“That desire is desire, and the deep +the deep—yes.”</p> + +<p>“I never thought—” she began and +stopped.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Melville,” she said, “you know I +don’t understand. I thought—I scarcely +know what I thought. I thought he was +trivial and foolish to let his thoughts go +wandering. I agreed—I see your point—as +to the difference in our effect upon +him. But this—this suggestion that for +him she may be something determining +and final— After all, she——”</p> + +<p>“She is nothing,” he said. “She is +the hand that takes hold of him, the shape +that stands for things unseen.”</p> + +<p>“What things unseen?”</p> + +<p>My cousin shrugged his shoulders. +“Something we never find in life,” he said. +“Something we are always seeking.”</p> + +<p>“But what?” she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>Melville made no reply. She scrutinised +his face for a time, and then looked +out at the sunlight again.</p> + +<p>“Do you want him back?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Do you want him back?”</p> + +<p>“I feel as if I had never wanted him +before.”</p> + +<p>“And now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.… But—if he will not come +back?”</p> + +<p>“He will not come back,” said Melville, +“for the work.”</p> + +<p>“I know.”</p> + +<p>“He will not come back for his self-respect—or +any of those things.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Those things, you know, are only +fainter dreams. All the palace you have +made for him is a dream. But——”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“He might come back—” he said, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +looked at her and stopped. He tells me +he had some vague intention of startling +her, rousing her, wounding her to some +display of romantic force, some insurgence +of passion, that might yet win Chatteris +back, and then in that moment, and like +a blow, it came to him how foolish such a +fancy had been. There she stood impenetrably +herself, limitedly intelligent, well-meaning, +imitative, and powerless. Her +pose, her face, suggested nothing but a +clear and reasonable objection to all that +had come to her, a critical antagonism, a +steady opposition. And then, amazingly, +she changed. She looked up, and suddenly +held out both her hands, and there +was something in her eyes that he had +never seen before.</p> + +<p>Melville took her hands mechanically, +and for a second or so they stood looking +with a sort of discovery into each +other’s eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Tell him,” she said, with an astounding +perfection of simplicity, “to come +back to me. There can be no other thing +than what I am. Tell him to come back +to me!”</p> + +<p>“And——?”</p> + +<p>“Tell him <em>that</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Forgiveness?”</p> + +<p>“No! Tell him I want him. If he +will not come for that he will not come +at all. If he will not come back for that”—she +halted for a moment—“I do not +want him. No! I do not want him. He +is not mine and he may go.”</p> + +<p>His passive hold of her hands became +a pressure. Then they dropped apart +again.</p> + +<p>“You are very good to help us,” she +said as he turned to go.</p> + +<p>He looked at her. “You are very +good to help me,” she said, and then: +“Tell him whatever you like if only he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +will come back to me!… No! Tell +him what I have said.” He saw she +had something more to say, and stopped. +“You know, Mr. Melville, all this is like +a book newly opened to me. Are you +sure——?”</p> + +<p>“Sure?”</p> + +<p>“Sure of what you say—sure of what +she is to him—sure that if he goes on he +will—” She stopped.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“It means—” she said and stopped +again.</p> + +<p>“No adventure, no incident, but a +going out from all that this life has to +offer.”</p> + +<p>“You mean,” she insisted, “you +mean——?”</p> + +<p>“Death,” said Melville starkly, and +for a space both stood without a word.</p> + +<p>She winced, and remained looking +into his eyes. Then she spoke again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Mr. Melville, tell him to come back +to me.”</p> + +<p>“And——?”</p> + +<p>“Tell him to come back to me, or”—a +sudden note of passion rang in her voice—“if +I have no hold upon him, let him +go his way.”</p> + +<p>“But—” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“I know,” she cried, with her face set, +“I know. But if he is mine he will come +to me, and if he is not— Let him dream +his dream.”</p> + +<p>Her clenched hand tightened as she +spoke. He saw in her face she would +say no more, that she wanted urgently +to leave it there. He turned again towards +the staircase. He glanced at her +and went down.</p> + +<p>As he looked up from the bend of +the stairs she was still standing in the +light.</p> + +<p>He was moved to proclaim himself in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +some manner her adherent, but he could +think of nothing better than: “Whatever +I can do I will.” And so, after a curious +pause, he departed, rather stumblingly, +from her sight.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>After this interview it was right and +proper that Melville should have gone at +once to Chatteris, but the course of +events in the world does occasionally display +a lamentable disregard for what is +right and proper. Points of view were +destined to crowd upon him that day—for +the most part entirely unsympathetic +points of view. He found Mrs. Bunting +in the company of a boldly trimmed bonnet +in the hall, waiting, it became clear, +to intercept him.</p> + +<p>As he descended, in a state of extreme +preoccupation, the boldly trimmed bonnet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +revealed beneath it a white-faced, resolute +person in a duster and sensible boots. +This stranger, Mrs. Bunting made apparent, +was Lady Poynting Mallow, one of +the more representative of the Chatteris +aunts. Her ladyship made a few enquiries +about Adeline with an eye that took Melville’s +measure, and then, after agreeing to +a number of the suggestions Mrs. Bunting +had to advance, proposed that he should +escort her back to her hotel. He was +much too exercised with Adeline to discuss +the proposal. “I walk,” she said. +“And we go along the lower road.”</p> + +<p>He found himself walking.</p> + +<p>She remarked, as the Bunting door +closed behind them, that it was always a +comfort to have to do with a man; and +there was a silence for a space.</p> + +<p>I don’t think at that time Melville +completely grasped the fact that he had a +companion. But presently his meditations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +were disturbed by her voice. He +started.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said.</p> + +<p>“That Bunting woman is a fool,” repeated +Lady Poynting Mallow.</p> + +<p>There was a slight interval for consideration.</p> + +<p>“She’s an old friend of mine,” said +Melville.</p> + +<p>“Quite possibly,” said Lady Poynting +Mallow.</p> + +<p>The position seemed a little awkward +to Melville for a moment. He flicked a +fragment of orange peel into the road. +“I want to get to the bottom of all this,” +said Lady Poynting Mallow. “Who <em>is</em> +this other woman?”</p> + +<p>“What other woman?”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tertium quid</i>,” said Lady Poynting +Mallow, with a luminous incorrectness.</p> + +<p>“Mermaid, I gather,” said Melville.</p> + +<p>“What’s the objection to her?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Tail.”</p> + +<p>“Fin and all?”</p> + +<p>“Complete.”</p> + +<p>“You’re sure of it?”</p> + +<p>“Certain.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know?”</p> + +<p>“I’m certain,” repeated Melville with +a quite unusual testiness.</p> + +<p>The lady reflected.</p> + +<p>“Well, there are worse things in the +world than a fishy tail,” she said at +last.</p> + +<p>Melville saw no necessity for a reply. +“H’m,” said Lady Poynting Mallow, apparently +by way of comment on his silence, +and for a space they went on.</p> + +<p>“That Glendower girl is a fool too,” +she added after a pause.</p> + +<p>My cousin opened his mouth and shut +it again. How can one answer when +ladies talk in this way? But if he did +not answer, at any rate his preoccupation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +was gone. He was now acutely aware of +the determined person at his side.</p> + +<p>“She has means?” she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“No. I know all about her. The +other?”</p> + +<p>“The mermaid?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the mermaid. Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>she</em>—Very considerable means. +Galleons. Phœnician treasure ships, +wrecked frigates, submarine reefs——”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s all right. And now will +you tell me, Mr. Melville, why shouldn’t +Harry have her? What if she is a mermaid? +It’s no worse than an American +silver mine, and not nearly so raw and ill-bred.”</p> + +<p>“In the first place there’s his engagement——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>that!”</em></p> + +<p>“And in the next there’s the Sea +Lady.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But I thought she——”</p> + +<p>“She’s a mermaid.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no objection. So far as I can +see, she’d make an excellent wife for him. +And, as a matter of fact, down here she’d +be able to help him in just the right way. +The member here—he’ll be fighting—this +Sassoon man—makes a lot of capital out +of deep-sea cables. Couldn’t be better. +Harry could dish him easily. That’s all +right. Why shouldn’t he have her?”</p> + +<p>She stuck her hands deeply into the +pockets of her dust-coat, and a china-blue +eye regarded Melville from under the +brim of the boldly trimmed bonnet.</p> + +<p>“You understand clearly she is a +properly constituted mermaid with a real +physical tail?”</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Lady Poynting Mallow.</p> + +<p>“Apart from any question of Miss +Glendower——”</p> + +<p>“That’s understood.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I think that such a marriage would +be impossible.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>My cousin played round the question. +“She’s an immortal, for example, with a +past.”</p> + +<p>“Simply makes her more interesting.”</p> + +<p>Melville tried to enter into her point +of view. “You think,” he said, “she +would go to London for him, and marry +at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and pay +for a mansion in Park Lane and visit just +anywhere he liked?”</p> + +<p>“That’s precisely what she would do. +Just now, with a Court that is waking +up——”</p> + +<p>“It’s precisely what she won’t do,” said +Melville.</p> + +<p>“But any woman would do it who +had the chance.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a mermaid.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She’s a fool,” said Lady Poynting +Mallow.</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t even mean to marry +him; it doesn’t enter into her code.”</p> + +<p>“The hussy! What does she mean?”</p> + +<p>My cousin made a gesture seaward. +“That!” he said. “She’s a mermaid.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Out there.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“There!”</p> + +<p>Lady Poynting Mallow scanned the +sea as if it were some curious new object. +“It’s an amphibious outlook for +the family,” she said after reflection. +“But even then—if she doesn’t care for +society and it makes Harry happy—and +perhaps after they are tired of—rusticating——”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you fully realise that +she is a mermaid,” said Melville; “and +Chatteris, you know, breathes air.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That <em>is</em> a difficulty,” admitted Lady +Poynting Mallow, and studied the sunlit +offing for a space.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be +managed for all that,” she considered +after a pause.</p> + +<p>“It can’t be,” said Melville with arid +emphasis.</p> + +<p>“She cares for him?”</p> + +<p>“She’s come to fetch him.”</p> + +<p>“If she wants him badly he might +make terms. In these affairs it’s always +one or other has to do the buying. She’d +have to <em>marry</em>—anyhow.”</p> + +<p>My cousin regarded her impenetrably +satisfied face.</p> + +<p>“He could have a yacht and a diving +bell,” she suggested; “if she wanted him +to visit her people.”</p> + +<p>“They are pagan demigods, I believe, +and live in some mythological way in the +Mediterranean.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Dear Harry’s a pagan himself—so +that doesn’t matter, and as for being +mythological—all good families are. He +could even wear a diving dress if one +could be found to suit him.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that anything of the +sort is possible for a moment.”</p> + +<p>“Simply because you’ve never been a +woman in love,” said Lady Poynting +Mallow with an air of vast experience.</p> + +<p>She continued the conversation. “If +it’s sea water she wants it would be quite +easy to fit up a tank wherever they lived, +and she could easily have a bath chair +like a sitz bath on wheels.… Really, +Mr. Milvain——”</p> + +<p>“Melville.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Melville, I don’t see where your +‘impossible’ comes in.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen the lady?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I’ve been in Folkestone +two days doing nothing?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You don’t mean you’ve called on her?”</p> + +<p>“Dear, no! It’s Harry’s place to +settle that. But I’ve seen her in her +bath chair on the Leas, and I’m certain +I’ve never seen any one who looked so +worthy of dear Harry. <em>Never!</em>”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said Melville. “Apart +from any other considerations, you know, +there’s Miss Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never regarded her as a suitable +wife for Harry.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly not. Still—she exists.”</p> + +<p>“So many people do,” said Lady +Poynting Mallow.</p> + +<p>She evidently regarded that branch of +the subject as dismissed.</p> + +<p>They pursued their way in silence.</p> + +<p>“What I wanted to ask you, Mr. +Milvain——”</p> + +<p>“Melville.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Melville, is just precisely where +you come into this business?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m a friend of Miss Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“Who wants him back.”</p> + +<p>“Frankly—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she devoted to him?”</p> + +<p>“I presume as she’s engaged——”</p> + +<p>“She ought to be devoted to him—yes. +Well, why can’t she see that she +ought to release him for his own good?”</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t see it’s for his good. +Nor do I.”</p> + +<p>“Simply an old-fashioned prejudice +because the woman’s got a tail. Those +old frumps at Wampach’s are quite of +your opinion.”</p> + +<p>Melville shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“And so I suppose you’re going to +bully and threaten on account of Miss +Glendower.… You’ll do no good.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask what you are going to +do?”</p> + +<p>“What a good aunt always does.”</p> + +<p>“And that?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Let him do what he likes.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose he wants to drown himself?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Mr. Milvain, Harry isn’t a +fool.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve told you she’s a mermaid.”</p> + +<p>“Ten times.”</p> + +<p>A constrained silence fell between +them.</p> + +<p>It became apparent they were near the +Folkestone Lift.</p> + +<p>“You’ll do no good,” said Lady Poynting +Mallow.</p> + +<p>Melville’s escort concluded at the lift +station. There the lady turned upon him.</p> + +<p>“I’m greatly obliged to you for coming, +Mr. Milvain,” she said; “and very +glad to hear your views of this matter. +It’s a peculiar business, but I hope we’re +sensible people. You think over what I +have said. As a friend of Harry’s. You +<em>are</em> a friend of Harry’s?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>“We’ve known each other some +years.”</p> + +<p>“I feel sure you will come round to +my point of view sooner or later. It is +so obviously the best thing for him.”</p> + +<p>“There’s Miss Glendower.”</p> + +<p>“If Miss Glendower is a womanly +woman, she will be ready to make any +sacrifice for his good.”</p> + +<p>And with that they parted.</p> + +<p>In the course of another minute Melville +found himself on the side of the road +opposite the lift station, regarding the +ascending car. The boldly trimmed bonnet, +vivid, erect, assertive, went gliding +upward, a perfect embodiment of sound +common sense. His mind was lapsing +once again into disorder; he was stunned, +as it were, by the vigour of her ladyship’s +view. Could any one not absolutely right +be quite so clear and emphatic? And if +so, what became of all that oppression of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +foreboding, that sinister promise of an +escape, that whisper of “other dreams,” +that had dominated his mind only a short +half-hour before?</p> + +<p>He turned his face back to Sandgate, +his mind a theatre of warring doubts. +Quite vividly he could see the Sea Lady as +Lady Poynting Mallow saw her, as something +pink and solid and smart and wealthy, +and, indeed, quite abominably vulgar, and +yet quite as vividly he recalled her as she +had talked to him in the garden, her face +full of shadows, her eyes of deep mystery, +and the whisper that made all the world +about him no more than a flimsy, thin +curtain before vague and wonderful, and +hitherto, quite unsuspected things.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Chatteris was leaning against the railings. +He started violently at Melville’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +hand upon his shoulder. They made awkward +greetings.</p> + +<p>“The fact is,” said Melville, “I—I +have been asked to talk to you.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t apologise,” said Chatteris. +“I’m glad to have it out with some +one.”</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence.</p> + +<p>They stood side by side—looking down +upon the harbour. Behind, the evening +band played remotely and the black little +promenaders went to and fro under the +tall electric lights. I think Chatteris decided +to be very self-possessed at first—a +man of the world.</p> + +<p>“It’s a gorgeous night,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Glorious,” said Melville, playing up +to the key set.</p> + +<p>He clicked his cutter on a cigar. +“There was something you wanted me +to tell you——”</p> + +<p>“I know all that,” said Chatteris with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +the shoulder towards Melville becoming +obtrusive. “I know everything.”</p> + +<p>“You have seen and talked to her?”</p> + +<p>“Several times.”</p> + +<p>There was perhaps a minute’s pause.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked +Melville.</p> + +<p>Chatteris made no answer and Melville +did not repeat his question.</p> + +<p>Presently Chatteris turned about. +“Let’s walk,” he said, and they paced +westward, side by side.</p> + +<p>He made a little speech. “I’m sorry +to give everybody all this trouble,” he +said with an air of having prepared his +sentences; “I suppose there is no question +that I have behaved like an ass. I +am profoundly sorry. Largely it is my +own fault. But you know—so far as the +overt kick-up goes—there is a certain +amount of blame attaches to our outspoken +friend Mrs. Bunting.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m afraid there is,” Melville admitted.</p> + +<p>“You know there are times when one +is under the necessity of having moods. +It doesn’t help them to drag them into +general discussion.”</p> + +<p>“The mischief’s done.”</p> + +<p>“You know Adeline seems to have +objected to the presence of—this sea +lady at a very early stage. Mrs. Bunting +overruled her. Afterwards when there +was trouble she seems to have tried to +make up for it.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know Miss Glendower had +objected.”</p> + +<p>“She did. She seems to have seen—ahead.”</p> + +<p>Chatteris reflected. “Of course all +that doesn’t excuse me in the least. But +it’s a sort of excuse for <em>your</em> being dragged +into this bother.”</p> + +<p>He said something less distinctly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +about a “stupid bother” and “private +affairs.”</p> + +<p>They found themselves drawing near +the band and already on the outskirts of +its territory of votaries. Its cheerful +rhythms became insistent. The canopy +of the stand was a focus of bright light, +music-stands and instruments sent out +beams of reflected brilliance, and a luminous +red conductor in the midst of the +lantern guided the ratatoo-tat, ratatoo-tat +of a popular air. Voices, detached fragments +of conversation, came to our talkers +and mingled impertinently with their +thoughts.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t ’ave no truck with ’im, +not after that,” said a young person to +her friend.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get out of this,” said Chatteris +abruptly.</p> + +<p>They turned aside from the high path +of the Leas to the head of some steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +that led down the declivity. In a few +moments it was as if those imposing +fronts of stucco, those many-windowed +hotels, the electric lights on the tall masts, +the band-stand and miscellaneous holiday +British public, had never existed. It is +one of Folkestone’s best effects, that +black quietness under the very feet of a +crowd. They no longer heard the band +even, only a remote suggestion of music +filtered to them over the brow. The +black-treed slopes fell from them to the +surf below, and out at sea were the lights +of many ships. Away to the westward +like a swarm of fire-flies hung the lights +of Hythe. The two men sat down on a +vacant seat in the dimness. For a time +neither spoke. Chatteris impressed Melville +with an air of being on the defensive. +He murmured in a meditative +undertone, “I wouldn’t ’ave no truck with +’im not after that.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I will admit by every standard,” he +said aloud, “that I have been flappy and +feeble and wrong. Very. In these things +there is a prescribed and definite course. +To hesitate, to have two points of view, +is condemned by all right-thinking people.… +Still—one has the two points of +view.… You have come up from +Sandgate?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see Miss Glendower?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Talked to her?… I suppose— What +do you think of her?”</p> + +<p>His cigar glowed into an expectant +brightness while Melville hesitated at his +answer, and showed his eyes thoughtful +upon Melville’s face.</p> + +<p>“I’ve never thought her—” Melville +sought more diplomatic phrasing. “I’ve +never found her exceptionally attractive +before. Handsome, you know, but not—winning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +But this time, she seemed … +rather splendid.”</p> + +<p>“She is,” said Chatteris, “she is.”</p> + +<p>He sat forward and began flicking +imaginary ash from the end of his cigar.</p> + +<p>“She <em>is</em> splendid,” he admitted. “You—only +begin to imagine. You don’t, my +dear man, know that girl. She is not—quite—in +your line. She is, I assure you, +the straightest and cleanest and clearest +human being I have ever met. She believes +so firmly, she does right so simply, +there is a sort of queenly benevolence, a +sort of integrity of benevolence——”</p> + +<p>He left the sentence unfinished, as +if unfinished it completely expressed his +thought.</p> + +<p>“She wants you to go back to her,” +said Melville bluntly.</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Chatteris and flicked +again at that ghostly ash. “She has written +that.… That’s just where her complete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +magnificence comes in. She doesn’t +fence and fool about, as the she-women +do. She doesn’t squawk and say, ‘You’ve +insulted me and everything’s at an end;’ +and she doesn’t squawk and say, ‘For +God’s sake come back to me!’ <em>She</em> +doesn’t say, she ‘won’t ’ave no truck with +me not after this.’ She writes—straight. +I don’t believe, Melville, I half knew her +until all this business came up. She +comes out.… Before that it was, as you +said, and I quite perceive—I perceived +all along—a little too—statistical.”</p> + +<p>He became meditative, and his cigar +glow waned and presently vanished altogether.</p> + +<p>“You are going back?”</p> + +<p>“By Jove! <em>Yes.</em>”</p> + +<p>Melville stirred slightly and then they +both sat rigidly quiet for a space. Then +abruptly Chatteris flung away his extinct +cigar. He seemed to fling many other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +things away with that dim gesture. “Of +course,” he said, “I shall go back.</p> + +<p>“It is not my fault,” he insisted, “that +this trouble, this separation, has ever +arisen. I was moody, I was preoccupied, +I know—things had got into my head. +But if I’d been left alone.…</p> + +<p>“I have been forced into this position,” +he summarised.</p> + +<p>“You understand,” said Melville, “that—though +I think matters are indefined +and distressing just now—I don’t attach +blame—anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“You’re open-minded,” said Chatteris. +“That’s just your way. And I can imagine +how all this upset and discomfort +distresses you. You’re awfully good to +keep so open-minded and not to consider +me an utter outcast, an ill-regulated disturber +of the order of the world.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a distressing state of affairs,” said +Melville. “But perhaps I understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +the forces pulling at you—better than you +imagine.”</p> + +<p>“They’re very simple, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“And yet——?”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>He seemed to hesitate at a dangerous +topic. “The other,” he said.</p> + +<p>Melville’s silence bade him go on.</p> + +<p>He plunged from his prepared attitude. +“What is it? Why should—this +being—come into my life, as she has done, +if it <em>is</em> so simple? What is there about +her, or me, that has pulled me so astray? +She has, you know. Here we are at sixes +and sevens! It’s not the situation, it’s the +mental conflict. Why am I pulled about? +She has got into my imagination. How? +I haven’t the remotest idea.”</p> + +<p>“She’s beautiful,” meditated Melville.</p> + +<p>“She’s beautiful certainly. But so is +Miss Glendower.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She’s very beautiful. I’m not blind, +Chatteris. She’s beautiful in a different +way.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but that’s only the name for the +effect. <em>Why</em> is she very beautiful?”</p> + +<p>Melville shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“She’s not beautiful to every one.”</p> + +<p>“You mean?”</p> + +<p>“Bunting keeps calm.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—<em>he</em>——!”</p> + +<p>“And other people don’t seem to see +it—as I do.”</p> + +<p>“Some people seem to see no beauty +at all, as we do. With emotion, that is.”</p> + +<p>“Why do we?”</p> + +<p>“We see—finer.”</p> + +<p>“Do we? Is it finer? Why should +it be finer to see beauty where it is fatal +to us to see it? Why? Unless we are to +believe there is no reason in things, why +should this—impossibility, be beautiful to +any one anyhow? Put it as a matter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +reason, Melville. Why should <em>her</em> smile +be so sweet to me, why should <em>her</em> voice +move me! Why her’s and not Adeline’s? +Adeline has straight eyes and clear eyes +and fine eyes, and all the difference there +can be, what is it? An infinitesimal curving +of the lid, an infinitesimal difference +in the lashes—and it shatters everything—in +this way. Who could measure the difference, +who could tell the quality that +makes me <em>swim</em> in the sound of her voice.… +The difference? After all, it’s a +visible thing, it’s a material thing! It’s in +my eyes. By Jove!” he laughed abruptly. +“Imagine old Helmholtz trying to gauge +it with a battery of resonators, or Spencer +in the light of Evolution and the Environment +explaining it away!”</p> + +<p>“These things are beyond measurement,” +said Melville.</p> + +<p>“Not if you measure them by their +effect,” said Chatteris. “And anyhow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +why do they take us? That is the question +I can’t get away from just now.”</p> + +<p>My cousin meditated, no doubt with +his hands deep in his trousers’ pockets. +“It is illusion,” he said. “It is a sort of +glamour. After all, look at it squarely. +What is she? What can she give you? +She promises you vague somethings.… +She is a snare, she is deception. She is +the beautiful mask of death.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Chatteris. “I know.”</p> + +<p>And then again, “I know.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing for me to learn +about that,” he said. “But why—why +should the mask of death be beautiful? +After all— We get our duty by good +hard reasoning. Why should reason and +justice carry everything? Perhaps after +all there are things beyond our reason, +perhaps after all desire has a claim on +us?”</p> + +<p>He stopped interrogatively and Melville<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +was profound. “I think,” said my +cousin at last, “Desire <em>has</em> a claim on us. +Beauty, at any rate——</p> + +<p>“I mean,” he explained, “we are human +beings. We are matter with minds +growing out of ourselves. We reach +downward into the beautiful wonderland +of matter, and upward to something—” +He stopped, from sheer dissatisfaction +with the image. “In another direction, +anyhow,” he tried feebly. He jumped at +something that was not quite his meaning. +“Man is a sort of half-way house—he must +compromise.”</p> + +<p>“As you do?”</p> + +<p>“Well. Yes. I try to strike a balance.”</p> + +<p>“A few old engravings—good, I suppose—a +little luxury in furniture and +flowers, a few things that come within +your means. Art—in moderation, and a +few kindly acts of the pleasanter sort, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +certain respect for truth; duty—also in +moderation. Eh? It’s just that even +balance that I cannot contrive. I cannot +sit down to the oatmeal of this daily +life and wash it down with a temperate +draught of beauty and water. Art!… +I suppose I’m voracious, I’m one of the +unfit—for the civilised stage. I’ve sat +down once, I’ve sat down twice, to perfectly +sane, secure, and reasonable things.… +It’s not my way.”</p> + +<p>He repeated, “It’s not my way.”</p> + +<p>Melville, I think, said nothing to that. +He was distracted from the immediate +topic by the discussion of his own way +of living. He was lost in egotistical +comparisons. No doubt he was on the +verge of saying, as most of us would +have been under the circumstances: “I +don’t think you quite understand my position.”</p> + +<p>“But, after all, what is the good of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +talking in this way?” exclaimed Chatteris +abruptly. “I am simply trying to elevate +the whole business by dragging in these +wider questions. It’s justification, when +I didn’t mean to justify. I have to choose +between life with Adeline and this woman +out of the sea.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Death.”</p> + +<p>“How do I know she is Death?”</p> + +<p>“But you said you had made your +choice!”</p> + +<p>“I have.”</p> + +<p>He seemed to recollect.</p> + +<p>“I have,” he corroborated. “I told +you. I am going back to see Miss Glendower +to-morrow.</p> + +<p>“Yes.” He recalled further portions +of what I believe was some prepared and +ready-phrased decision—some decision +from which the conversation had drifted. +“The need of my life is discipline, the +habit of persistence, of ignoring side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +issues and wandering thoughts. Discipline!”</p> + +<p>“And work.”</p> + +<p>“Work, if you like to put it so; it’s +the same thing. The trouble so far has +been I haven’t worked hard enough. I’ve +stopped to speak to the woman by the +wayside. I’ve paltered with compromise, +and the other thing has caught me.… +I’ve got to renounce it, that is all.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that your work is contemptible.”</p> + +<p>“By Jove! No. It’s—arduous. It +has its dusty moments. There are places +to climb that are not only steep but +muddy——”</p> + +<p>“The world wants leaders. It gives +a man of your class a great deal. Leisure. +Honour. Training and high traditions——”</p> + +<p>“And it expects something back. I +know. I am wrong—have been wrong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +anyhow. This dream has taken me wonderfully. +And I must renounce it. After +all it is not so much—to renounce a +dream. It’s no more than deciding to +live. There are big things in the world +for men to do.”</p> + +<p>Melville produced an elaborate conceit. +“If there is no Venus Anadyomene,” +he said, “there is Michael and his +Sword.”</p> + +<p>“The stern angel in armour! But +then he had a good palpable dragon to +slash and not his own desires. And our +way nowadays is to do a deal with the +dragons somehow, raise the minimum +wage and get a better housing for the +working classes by hook or by crook.”</p> + +<p>Melville does not think that was a fair +treatment of his suggestion.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Chatteris, “I’ve no doubt +about the choice. I’m going to fall in—with +the species; I’m going to take my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +place in the ranks in that great battle for +the future which is the meaning of life. +I want a moral cold bath and I mean to +take one. This lax dalliance with dreams +and desires must end. I will make a time +table for my hours and a rule for my life, +I will entangle my honour in controversies, +I will give myself to service, as a +man should do. Clean-handed work, +struggle, and performance.”</p> + +<p>“And there is Miss Glendower, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“Rather!” said Chatteris, with a faint +touch of insincerity. “Tall and straight-eyed +and capable. By Jove! if there’s to +be no Venus Anadyomene, at any rate +there will be a Pallas Athene. It is she +who plays the reconciler.”</p> + +<p>And then he said these words: “It +won’t be so bad, you know.”</p> + +<p>Melville restrained a movement of impatience, +he tells me, at that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Chatteris, he says, broke into a +sort of speech. “The case is tried,” he +said, “the judgment has been given. I +am that I am. I’ve been through it all +and worked it out. I am a man and I +must go a man’s way. There is Desire, the +light and guide of the world, a beacon on +a headland blazing out. Let it burn! Let +it burn! The road runs near it and by it—and +past.… I’ve made my choice. +I’ve got to be a man, I’ve got to live a +man and die a man and carry the burden +of my class and time. There it is! I’ve +had the dream, but you see I keep hold +of reason. Here, with the flame burning, +I renounce it. I make my choice.… +Renunciation! Always—renunciation! +That is life for all of us. We have desires, +only to deny them, senses that we +all must starve. We can live only as a +part of ourselves. Why should <em>I</em> be exempt. +For me, she is evil. For me she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +is death.… Only why have I seen her +face? Why have I heard her voice?…”</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>They walked out of the shadows and +up a long sloping path until Sandgate, as +a little line of lights, came into view below. +Presently they came out upon the brow +and walked together (the band playing +with a remote and sweetening indistinctness +far away behind them) towards the +cliff at the end. They stood for a little +while in silence looking down. Melville +made a guess at his companion’s +thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Why not come down to-night?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“On a night like this!” Chatteris +turned about suddenly and regarded the +moonlight and the sea. He stood quite +still for a space, and that cold white radiance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +gave an illusory strength and decision +to his face. “No,” he said at last, and the +word was almost a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Go down to the girl below there. +End the thing. She will be there, thinking +of you——”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Chatteris, “no.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not ten yet,” Melville tried +again.</p> + +<p>Chatteris thought. “No,” he answered, +“not to-night. To-morrow, in the light of +everyday.</p> + +<p>“I want a good, gray, honest day,” +he said, “with a south-west wind.… +These still, soft nights! How can you +expect me to do anything of that sort +to-night?”</p> + +<p>And then he murmured as if he +found the word a satisfying word to repeat, +“Renunciation.”</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” he said with the most astonishing +transition, “but this is a night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +out of fairyland! Look at the lights of +those windows below there and then up—up +into this enormous blue of sky. And +there, as if it were fainting with moonlight—shines +one star.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><small>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH</small><br /> + +MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + + +<p>Just precisely what happened after +that has been the most impossible thing +to disinter. I have given all the things +that Melville remembered were said, I +have linked them into a conversation +and checked them by my cousin’s afterthoughts, +and finally I have read the +whole thing over to him. It is of course +no verbatim rendering, but it is, he says, +closely after the manner of their talk, the +gist was that, and things of that sort were +said. And when he left Chatteris, he +fully believed that the final and conclusive +thing was said. And then he says it +came into his head that, apart from and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +outside this settlement, there still remained +a tangible reality, capable of action, +the Sea Lady. What was she going +to do? The thought toppled him back +into a web of perplexities again. It carried +him back into a state of inconclusive +interrogation past Lummidge’s Hotel.</p> + +<p>The two men had gone back to the +Métropole and had parted with a firm +handclasp outside the glare of the big +doorway. Chatteris went straight in, Melville +fancies, but he is not sure. I understand +Melville had some private thinking +to do on his own account, and I conceive +him walking away in a state of profound +preoccupation. Afterwards the fact that +the Sea Lady was not to be abolished by +renunciations, cropped up in his mind, +and he passed back along the Leas, as I +have said. His inconclusive interrogations +elicited at the utmost that Lummidge’s +Private and Family Hotel is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +singularly like any other hotel of its +class. Its windows tell no secrets. And +there Melville’s narrative ends.</p> + +<p>With that my circumstantial record +necessarily comes to an end also. There +are sources, of course, and glimpses. Parker +refuses, unhappily—as I explained. +The chief of these sources are, first, +Gooch, the valet employed by Chatteris; +and, secondly, the hall-porter of Lummidge’s +Private and Family Hotel.</p> + +<p>The valet’s evidence is precise, but has +an air of being irrelevant. He witnesses +that at a quarter past eleven he went up +to ask Chatteris if there was anything +more to do that night, and found him +seated in an arm-chair before the open +window, with his chin upon his hands, +staring at nothing—which, indeed, as +Schopenhauer observes in his crowning +passage, is the whole of human life.</p> + +<p>“More to do?” said Chatteris.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yessir,” said the valet.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Chatteris, “absolutely +nothing.” And the valet, finding this answer +quite satisfactory, wished him goodnight +and departed.</p> + +<p>Probably Chatteris remained in this +attitude for a considerable time—half an +hour, perhaps, or more. Slowly, it would +seem, his mood underwent a change. At +some definite moment it must have been +that his lethargic meditation gave way to +a strange activity, to a sort of hysterical +reaction against all his resolves and renunciations. +His first action seems to me +grotesque—and grotesquely pathetic. He +went into his dressing-room, and in the +morning “his clo’es,” said the valet, “was +shied about as though ’e’d lost a ticket.” +This poor worshipper of beauty and the +dream shaved! He shaved and washed +and he brushed his hair, and, his valet +testifies, one of the brushes got “shied”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +behind the bed. Even this throwing about +of brushes seems to me to have done little +or nothing to palliate his poor human preoccupation +with the toilette. He changed +his gray flannels—which suited him very +well—for his white ones, which suited +him extremely. He must deliberately and +conscientiously have made himself quite +“lovely,” as a schoolgirl would have put it.</p> + +<p>And having capped his great “renunciation” +by these proceedings, he seems to +have gone straight to Lummidge’s Private +and Family Hotel and demanded to see +the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>She had retired.</p> + +<p>This came from Parker, and was delivered +in a chilling manner by the hall-porter.</p> + +<p>Chatteris swore at the hall-porter. +“Tell her I’m here,” he said.</p> + +<p>“She’s retired,” said the hall-porter +with official severity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Will you tell her I’m here?” said +Chatteris, suddenly white.</p> + +<p>“What name, sir?” said the hall-porter, +in order, as he explains, “to avoid a +frackass.”</p> + +<p>“Chatteris. Tell her I must see her +now. Do you hear, <em>now?</em>”</p> + +<p>The hall-porter went to Parker, and +came half-way back. He wished to goodness +he was not a hall-porter. The manager +had gone out—it was a stagnant hour. +He decided to try Parker again; he raised +his voice.</p> + +<p>The Sea Lady called to Parker from +the inner room. There was an interval of +tension.</p> + +<p>I gather that the Sea Lady put on a +loose wrap, and the faithful Parker either +carried her or sufficiently helped her from +her bedroom to the couch in the little +sitting-room. In the meanwhile the hall-porter +hovered on the stairs, praying for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +the manager—prayers that went unanswered—and +Chatteris fumed below. Then +we have a glimpse of the Sea Lady.</p> + +<p>“I see her just in the crack of the +door,” said the porter, “as that maid of +hers opened it. She was raised up on her +hands, and turned so towards the door. +Looking exactly like this——”</p> + +<p>And the hall-porter, who has an Irish +type of face, a short nose, long upper lip, +and all the rest of it, and who has also +neglected his dentist, projected his face +suddenly, opened his eyes very wide, and +slowly curved his mouth into a fixed +smile, and so remained until he judged the +effect on me was complete.</p> + +<p>Parker, a little flushed, but resolutely +flattening everything to the quality of the +commonplace, emerged upon him suddenly. +Miss Waters could see Mr. Chatteris +for a few minutes. She was emphatic +with the “Miss Waters,” the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +emphatic for all the insurgent stress of +the goddess, protestingly emphatic. And +Chatteris went up, white and resolved, to +that smiling expectant presence. No one +witnessed their meeting but Parker—assuredly +Parker could not resist seeing that, +but Parker is silent—Parker preserves a +silence that rubies could not break.</p> + +<p>All I know, is this much from the +porter:</p> + +<p>“When I said she was up there and +would see him,” he says, “the way he +rooshed up was outrageous. This is a +Private Family Hotel. Of course one +sees things at times even here, but——</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t find the manager to tell +’im,” said the hall-porter. “And what +was <em>I</em> authorised to do?</p> + +<p>“For a bit they talked with the door +open, and then it was shut. That maid +of hers did it—I lay.”</p> + +<p>I asked an ignoble question.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Couldn’t ketch a word,” said the hall-porter. +“Dropped to whispers—instanter.”</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>And afterwards—</p> + +<p>It was within ten minutes of one that +Parker, conferring an amount of decorum +on the request beyond the power of any +other living being, descended to demand—of +all conceivable things—the bath +chair!</p> + +<p>“I got it,” said the hall-porter with +inimitable profundity.</p> + +<p>And then, having let me realise the +fulness of that, he said: “They never +used it!”</p> + +<p>“No?”</p> + +<p>“No! He carried her down in his arms.”</p> + +<p>“And out?”</p> + +<p>“And out!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was difficult to follow in his description +of the Sea Lady. She wore +her wrap, it seems, and she was “like a +statue”—whatever he may have meant by +that. Certainly not that she was impassive. +“Only,” said the porter, “she was +alive. One arm was bare, I know, and +her hair was down, a tossing mass of +gold.</p> + +<p>“He looked, you know, like a man +who’s screwed himself up.</p> + +<p>“She had one hand holding his hair—yes, +holding his hair, with her fingers in +among it.…</p> + +<p>“And when she see my face she threw +her head back laughing at me.</p> + +<p>“As much as to say, ‘<em>got</em> ’im!’</p> + +<p>“Laughed at me, she did. Bubblin’ +over.”</p> + +<p>I stood for a moment conceiving this +extraordinary picture. Then a question +occurred to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Did <em>he</em> laugh?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Gord bless you, sir, laugh? <em>No!</em>”</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The definite story ends in the warm +light outside Lummidge’s Private and +Family Hotel. One sees that bright solitude +of the Leas stretching white and +blank—deserted as only a seaside front in +the small hours can be deserted—and all +its electric light ablaze. And then the +dark line of the edge where the cliff drops +down to the undercliff and sea. And beyond, +moonlit, the Channel and its incessant +ships. Outside the front of the +hotel, which is one of a great array of +pallid white facades, stands this little black +figure of a hall-porter, staring stupidly +into the warm and luminous mystery of +the night that has swallowed Sea Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +and Chatteris together. And he is the +sole living thing in the picture.</p> + +<p>There is a little shelter set in the brow +of the Leas, wherein, during the winter +season, a string band plays. Close by +there are steps that go down precipitously +to the lower road below. Down these +it must have been they went together, +hastening downward out of this life of +ours to unknown and inconceivable things. +So it is I seem to see them, and surely +though he was not in a laughing mood, +there was now no doubt nor resignation +in his face. Assuredly now he had found +himself, for a time at least he was sure of +himself, and that at least cannot be misery, +though it lead straight through a few +swift strides to death.</p> + +<p>They went down through the soft +moonlight, tall and white and splendid, +interlocked, with his arms about her, his +brow to her white shoulder and her hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +about his face. And she, I suppose, smiled +above him and caressed him and whispered +to him. For a moment they must have +glowed under the warm light of the lamp +that is half-way down the steps there, and +then the shadows closed about them. He +must have crossed the road with her, +through the laced moonlight of the tree +shadows, and through the shrubs and +bushes of the undercliff, into the shadeless +moon glare of the beach. There was +no one to see that last descent, to tell +whether for a moment he looked back before +he waded into the phosphorescence, +and for a little swam with her, and presently +swam no longer, and so was no +more to be seen by any one in this gray +world of men.</p> + +<p>Did he look back, I wonder? They +swam together for a little while, the man +and the sea goddess who had come for +him, with the sky above them and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +water about them all, warmly filled with +the moonlight and set with shining stars. +It was no time for him to think of truth, +nor of the honest duties he had left behind +him, as they swam together into the unknown. +And of the end I can only guess +and dream. Did there come a sudden +horror upon him at the last, a sudden perception +of infinite error, and was he drawn +down, swiftly and terribly, a bubbling repentance, +into those unknown deeps? Or +was she tender and wonderful to the last, +and did she wrap her arms about him and +draw him down, down until the soft waters +closed above him into a gentle ecstasy of +death?</p> + +<p>Into these things we cannot pry or +follow, and on the margin of the softly +breathing water the story of Chatteris +must end. For the tailpiece to that, let us +put that policeman who in the small hours +before dawn came upon the wrap the Sea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +Lady had been wearing just as the tide +overtook it. It was not the sort of garment +low people sometimes throw away—it +was a soft and costly wrap. I seem to +see him perplexed and dubious, wrap in +charge over his arm and lantern in hand, +scanning first the white beach and black +bushes behind him and then staring out to +sea. It was the inexplicable abandonment +of a thoroughly comfortable and desirable +thing.</p> + +<p>“What were people up to?” one figures +him asking, this simple citizen of a +plain and observed world. “What do +such things mean?</p> + +<p>“To throw away such an excellent +wrap…!”</p> + +<p>In all the southward heaven there were +only a planet and the sinking moon, and +from his feet a path of quivering light +must have started and run up to the extreme +dark edge before him of the sky.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +Ever and again the darkness east and west +of that glory would be lit by a momentary +gleam of phosphorescence; and far out +the lights of ships were shining bright and +yellow. Across its shimmer a black fishing +smack was gliding out of mystery into +mystery. Dungeness shone from the west +a pin-point of red light, and in the east +the tireless glare of that great beacon on +Gris-nez wheeled athwart the sky and vanished +and came again.</p> + +<p>I picture the interrogation of his lantern +going out for a little way, a stain of +faint pink curiosity upon the mysterious +vast serenity of night.</p> + + +<p class="center r6">THE END</p> + +<hr class="l1"/> + +<div class="tnote"> +<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2> + + +<p>A few obvious printer's errors have been silently corrected.</p> + +<p>Otherwise spelling, hyphenation, interpunction and grammar have been +preserved as in the original.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sea Lady, by Herbert George Wells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 35920-h.htm or 35920-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/9/2/35920/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Sea Lady + +Author: Herbert George Wells + +Illustrator: Lewis Baumer + +Release Date: April 20, 2011 [EBook #35920] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE SEA LADY + + + + [Illustration: "Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady. + (See page 150.)] + + + + THE SEA LADY + + BY + H. G. WELLS + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + 1902 + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1902 + BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + + _Published September, 1902_ + + Copyright 1901 by H. G. Wells + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I.--THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY 1 + + II.--SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS 30 + + III.--THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS JOURNALISTS 71 + + IV.--THE QUALITY OF PARKER 90 + + V.--THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF MR. HARRY CHATTERIS 101 + + VI.--SYMPTOMATIC 133 + + VII.--THE CRISIS 204 + + VIII.--MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT 285 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + FACING + PAGE + + "Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady _Frontispiece_ + + "Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts" 81 + + She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings 90 + + A little group about the Sea Lady's bath chair 134 + + "Why not?" 160 + + The waiter retires amazed 170 + + They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and + rustle papers 180 + + Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity 216 + + + + +THE SEA LADY + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY + + +I + +Such previous landings of mermaids as have left a record, have all a +flavour of doubt. Even the very circumstantial account of that Bruges +Sea Lady, who was so clever at fancy work, gives occasion to the +sceptic. I must confess that I was absolutely incredulous of such things +until a year ago. But now, face to face with indisputable facts in my +own immediate neighbourhood, and with my own second cousin Melville (of +Seaton Carew) as the chief witness to the story, I see these old legends +in a very different light. Yet so many people concerned themselves with +the hushing up of this affair, that, but for my sedulous enquiries, I am +certain it would have become as doubtful as those older legends in a +couple of score of years. Even now to many minds---- + +The difficulties in the way of the hushing-up process were no doubt +exceptionally great in this case, and that they did contrive to do so +much, seems to show just how strong are the motives for secrecy in all +such cases. There is certainly no remoteness nor obscurity about the +scene of these events. They began upon the beach just east of Sandgate +Castle, towards Folkestone, and they ended on the beach near Folkestone +pier not two miles away. The beginning was in broad daylight on a bright +blue day in August and in full sight of the windows of half a dozen +houses. At first sight this alone is sufficient to make the popular want +of information almost incredible. But of that you may think differently +later. + +Mrs. Randolph Bunting's two charming daughters were bathing at the time +in company with their guest, Miss Mabel Glendower. It is from the latter +lady chiefly, and from Mrs. Bunting, that I have pieced together the +precise circumstances of the Sea Lady's arrival. From Miss Glendower, +the elder of two Glendower girls, for all that she is a principal in +almost all that follows, I have obtained, and have sought to obtain, no +information whatever. There is the question of the lady's feelings--and +in this case I gather they are of a peculiarly complex sort. Quite +naturally they would be. At any rate, the natural ruthlessness of the +literary calling has failed me. I have not ventured to touch them.... + +The villa residences to the east of Sandgate Castle, you must +understand, are particularly lucky in having gardens that run right +down to the beach. There is no intervening esplanade or road or path +such as cuts off ninety-nine out of the hundred of houses that face the +sea. As you look down on them from the western end of the Leas, you see +them crowding the very margin. And as a great number of high groins +stand out from the shore along this piece of coast, the beach is +practically cut off and made private except at very low water, when +people can get around the ends of the groins. These houses are +consequently highly desirable during the bathing season, and it is the +custom of many of their occupiers to let them furnished during the +summer to persons of fashion and affluence. + +The Randolph Buntings were such persons--indisputably. It is true of +course that they were not Aristocrats, or indeed what an unpaid herald +would freely call "gentle." They had no right to any sort of arms. But +then, as Mrs. Bunting would sometimes remark, they made no pretence of +that sort; they were quite free (as indeed everybody is nowadays) from +snobbery. They were simple homely Buntings--Randolph Buntings--"good +people" as the saying is--of a widely diffused Hampshire stock addicted +to brewing, and whether a suitably remunerated herald could or could not +have proved them "gentle" there can be no doubt that Mrs. Bunting was +quite justified in taking in the _Gentlewoman_, and that Mr. Bunting and +Fred were sedulous gentlemen, and that all their ways and thoughts were +delicate and nice. And they had staying with them the two Miss +Glendowers, to whom Mrs. Bunting had been something of a mother, ever +since Mrs. Glendower's death. + +The two Miss Glendowers were half sisters, and gentle beyond dispute, a +county family race that had only for a generation stooped to trade, and +risen at once Antaeus-like, refreshed and enriched. The elder, Adeline, +was the rich one--the heiress, with the commercial blood in her veins. +She was really very rich, and she had dark hair and grey eyes and +serious views, and when her father died, which he did a little before +her step-mother, she had only the later portion of her later youth left +to her. She was nearly seven-and-twenty. She had sacrificed her earlier +youth to her father's infirmity of temper in a way that had always +reminded her of the girlhood of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. But after +his departure for a sphere where his temper has no doubt a wider +scope--for what is this world for if it is not for the Formation of +Character?--she had come out strongly. It became evident she had always +had a mind, and a very active and capable one, an accumulated fund of +energy and much ambition. She had bloomed into a clear and critical +socialism, and she had blossomed at public meetings; and now she was +engaged to that really very brilliant and promising but rather +extravagant and romantic person, Harry Chatteris, the nephew of an earl +and the hero of a scandal, and quite a possible Liberal candidate for +the Hythe division of Kent. At least this last matter was under +discussion and he was about, and Miss Glendower liked to feel she was +supporting him by being about too, and that was chiefly why the Buntings +had taken a house in Sandgate for the summer. Sometimes he would come +and stay a night or so with them, sometimes he would be off upon +affairs, for he was known to be a very versatile, brilliant, first-class +political young man--and Hythe very lucky to have a bid for him, all +things considered. And Fred Bunting was engaged to Miss Glendower's less +distinguished, much less wealthy, seventeen-year old and possibly +altogether more ordinary half-sister, Mabel Glendower, who had discerned +long since when they were at school together that it wasn't any good +trying to be clear when Adeline was about. + +The Buntings did not bathe "mixed," a thing indeed that was still only +very doubtfully decent in 1898, but Mr. Randolph Bunting and his son +Fred came down to the beach with them frankly instead of hiding away or +going for a walk according to the older fashion. (This, notwithstanding +that Miss Mabel Glendower, Fred's _fiancee_ to boot, was of the bathing +party.) They formed a little procession down under the evergreen oaks in +the garden and down the ladder and so to the sea's margin. + +Mrs. Bunting went first, looking as it were for Peeping Tom with her +glasses, and Miss Glendower, who never bathed because it made her feel +undignified, went with her--wearing one of those simple, costly "art" +morning costumes Socialists affect. Behind this protecting van came, one +by one, the three girls, in their beautiful Parisian bathing dresses and +headdresses--though these were of course completely muffled up in huge +hooded gowns of towelling--and wearing of course stockings and +shoes--they bathed in stockings and shoes. Then came Mrs. Bunting's maid +and the second housemaid and the maid the Glendower girls had brought, +carrying towels, and then at a little interval the two men carrying +ropes and things. (Mrs. Bunting always put a rope around each of her +daughters before ever they put a foot in the water and held it until +they were safely out again. But Mabel Glendower would not have a rope.) + +Where the garden ends and the beach begins Miss Glendower turned aside +and sat down on the green iron seat under the evergreen oak, and having +found her place in "Sir George Tressady"--a book of which she was +naturally enough at that time inordinately fond--sat watching the others +go on down the beach. There they were a very bright and very pleasant +group of prosperous animated people upon the sunlit beach, and beyond +them in streaks of grey and purple, and altogether calm save for a +pattern of dainty little wavelets, was that ancient mother of surprises, +the Sea. + +As soon as they reached the high-water mark where it is no longer +indecent to be clad merely in a bathing dress, each of the young ladies +handed her attendant her wrap, and after a little fun and laughter Mrs. +Bunting looked carefully to see if there were any jelly fish, and then +they went in. And after a minute or so, it seems Betty, the elder Miss +Bunting, stopped splashing and looked, and then they all looked, and +there, about thirty yards away was the Sea Lady's head, as if she were +swimming back to land. + +Naturally they concluded that she must be a neighbour from one of the +adjacent houses. They were a little surprised not to have noticed her +going down into the water, but beyond that her apparition had no shadow +of wonder for them. They made the furtive penetrating observations usual +in such cases. They could see that she was swimming very gracefully and +that she had a lovely face and very beautiful arms, but they could not +see her wonderful golden hair because all that was hidden in a +fashionable Phrygian bathing cap, picked up--as she afterwards admitted +to my second cousin--some nights before upon a Norman _plage_. Nor could +they see her lovely shoulders because of the red costume she wore. + +They were just on the point of feeling their inspection had reached the +limit of really nice manners and Mabel was pretending to go on splashing +again and saying to Betty, "She's wearing a red dress. I wish I could +see--" when something very terrible happened. + +The swimmer gave a queer sort of flop in the water, threw up her arms +and--vanished! + +It was the sort of thing that seems for an instant to freeze everybody, +just one of those things that everyone has read of and imagined and very +few people have seen. + +For a space no one did anything. One, two, three seconds passed and then +for an instant a bare arm flashed in the air and vanished again. + +Mabel tells me she was quite paralysed with horror, she did nothing all +the time, but the two Miss Buntings, recovering a little, screamed out, +"Oh, she's drowning!" and hastened to get out of the sea at once, a +proceeding accelerated by Mrs. Bunting, who with great presence of mind +pulled at the ropes with all her weight and turned about and continued +to pull long after they were many yards from the water's edge and indeed +cowering in a heap at the foot of the sea wall. Miss Glendower became +aware of a crisis and descended the steps, "Sir George Tressady" in one +hand and the other shading her eyes, crying in her clear resolute voice, +"She must be saved!" The maids of course were screaming--as became +them--but the two men appear to have acted with the greatest presence of +mind. "Fred, Nexdoors ledder!" said Mr. Randolph Bunting--for the +next-door neighbour instead of having convenient stone steps had a high +wall and a long wooden ladder, and it had often been pointed out by Mr. +Bunting if ever an accident should happen to anyone there was _that_! In +a moment it seems they had both flung off jacket and vest, collar, tie +and shoes, and were running the neighbour's ladder out into the water. + +"Where did she go, Ded?" said Fred. + +"Right out hea!" said Mr. Bunting, and to confirm his word there flashed +again an arm and "something dark"--something which in the light of all +that subsequently happened I am inclined to suppose was an unintentional +exposure of the Lady's tail. + +Neither of the two gentlemen are expert swimmers--indeed so far as I can +gather, Mr. Bunting in the excitement of the occasion forgot almost +everything he had ever known of swimming--but they waded out valiantly +one on each side of the ladder, thrust it out before them and committed +themselves to the deep, in a manner casting no discredit upon our nation +and race. + +Yet on the whole I think it is a matter for general congratulation that +they were not engaged in the rescue of a genuinely drowning person. At +the time of my enquiries whatever soreness of argument that may once +have obtained between them had passed, and it is fairly clear that while +Fred Bunting was engaged in swimming hard against the long side of the +ladder and so causing it to rotate slowly on its axis, Mr. Bunting had +already swallowed a very considerable amount of sea-water and was +kicking Fred in the chest with aimless vigour. This he did, as he +explains, "to get my legs down, you know. Something about that ladder, +you know, and they _would_ go up!" + +And then quite unexpectedly the Sea Lady appeared beside them. One +lovely arm supported Mr. Bunting about the waist and the other was over +the ladder. She did not appear at all pale or frightened or out of +breath, Fred told me when I cross-examined him, though at the time he +was too violently excited to note a detail of that sort. Indeed she +smiled and spoke in an easy pleasant voice. + +"Cramp," she said, "I have cramp." Both the men were convinced of that. + +Mr. Bunting was on the point of telling her to hold tight and she would +be quite safe, when a little wave went almost entirely into his mouth +and reduced him to wild splutterings. + +"_We'll_ get you in," said Fred, or something of that sort, and so they +all hung, bobbing in the water to the tune of Mr. Bunting's trouble. + +They seem to have rocked so for some time. Fred says the Sea Lady +looked calm but a little puzzled and that she seemed to measure the +distance shoreward. "You _mean_ to save me?" she asked him. + +He was trying to think what could be done before his father drowned. +"We're saving you now," he said. + +"You'll take me ashore?" + +As she seemed so cool he thought he would explain his plan of +operations, "Trying to get--end of ladder--kick with my legs. Only a few +yards out of our depth--if we could only----" + +"Minute--get my breath--moufu' sea-water," said Mr. Bunting. _Splash!_ +wuff!... + +And then it seemed to Fred that a little miracle happened. There was a +swirl of the water like the swirl about a screw propeller, and he +gripped the Sea Lady and the ladder just in time, as it seemed to him, +to prevent his being washed far out into the Channel. His father +vanished from his sight with an expression of astonishment just forming +on his face and reappeared beside him, so far as back and legs are +concerned, holding on to the ladder with a sort of death grip. And then +behold! They had shifted a dozen yards inshore, and they were in less +than five feet of water and Fred could feel the ground. + +At its touch his amazement and dismay immediately gave way to the purest +heroism. He thrust ladder and Sea Lady before him, abandoned the ladder +and his now quite disordered parent, caught her tightly in his arms, and +bore her up out of the water. The young ladies cried "Saved!" the maids +cried "Saved!" Distant voices echoed "Saved, Hooray!" Everybody in fact +cried "Saved!" except Mrs. Bunting, who was, she says, under the +impression that Mr. Bunting was in a fit, and Mr. Bunting, who seems to +have been under an impression that all those laws of nature by which, +under Providence, we are permitted to float and swim, were in suspense +and that the best thing to do was to kick very hard and fast until the +end should come. But in a dozen seconds or so his head was up again and +his feet were on the ground and he was making whale and walrus noises, +and noises like a horse and like an angry cat and like sawing, and was +wiping the water from his eyes; and Mrs. Bunting (except that now and +then she really _had_ to turn and say "_Ran_dolph!") could give her +attention to the beautiful burthen that clung about her son. + +And it is a curious thing that the Sea Lady was at least a minute out of +the water before anyone discovered that she was in any way different +from--other ladies. I suppose they were all crowding close to her and +looking at her beautiful face, or perhaps they imagined that she was +wearing some indiscreet but novel form of dark riding habit or something +of that sort. Anyhow not one of them noticed it, although it must have +been before their eyes as plain as day. Certainly it must have blended +with the costume. And there they stood, imagining that Fred had rescued +a lovely lady of indisputable fashion, who had been bathing from some +neighbouring house, and wondering why on earth there was nobody on the +beach to claim her. And she clung to Fred and, as Miss Mabel Glendower +subsequently remarked in the course of conversation with him, Fred clung +to her. + +"I had cramp," said the Sea Lady, with her lips against Fred's cheek and +one eye on Mrs. Bunting. "I am sure it was cramp.... I've got it still." + +"I don't see anybody--" began Mrs. Bunting. + +"Please carry me in," said the Sea Lady, closing her eyes as if she were +ill--though her cheek was flushed and warm. "Carry me in." + +"Where?" gasped Fred. + +"Carry me into the house," she whispered to him. + +"Which house?" + +Mrs. Bunting came nearer. + +"_Your_ house," said the Sea Lady, and shut her eyes for good and became +oblivious to all further remarks. + +"She-- But I don't understand--" said Mrs. Bunting, addressing +everybody.... + +And then it was they saw it. Nettie, the younger Miss Bunting, saw it +first. She pointed, she says, before she could find words to speak. Then +they all saw it! Miss Glendower, I believe, was the person who was last +to see it. At any rate it would have been like her if she had been. + +"Mother," said Nettie, giving words to the general horror. "_Mother!_ +She has a _tail_!" + +And then the three maids and Mabel Glendower screamed one after the +other. "Look!" they cried. "A tail!" + +"Of all--" said Mrs. Bunting, and words failed her. + +"_Oh!_" said Miss Glendower, and put her hand to her heart. + +And then one of the maids gave it a name. "It's a mermaid!" screamed the +maid, and then everyone screamed, "It's a mermaid." + +Except the mermaid herself; she remained quite passive, pretending to be +insensible partly on Fred's shoulder and altogether in his arms. + + +II + +That, you know, is the tableau so far as I have been able to piece it +together again. You must imagine this little knot of people upon the +beach, and Mr. Bunting, I figure, a little apart, just wading out of the +water and very wet and incredulous and half drowned. And the neighbour's +ladder was drifting quietly out to sea. + +Of course it was one of those positions that have an air of being +conspicuous. + +Indeed it was conspicuous. It was some way below high water and the +group stood out perhaps thirty yards down the beach. Nobody, as Mrs. +Bunting told my cousin Melville, knew a bit _what_ to do and they all +had even an exaggerated share of the national hatred of being seen in a +puzzle. The mermaid seemed content to remain a beautiful problem +clinging to Fred, and by all accounts she was a reasonable burthen for +a man. It seems that the very large family of people who were stopping +at the house called Koot Hoomi had appeared in force, and they were all +staring and gesticulating. They were just the sort of people the +Buntings did not want to know--tradespeople very probably. Presently one +of the men--the particularly vulgar man who used to shoot at the +gulls--began putting down their ladder as if he intended to offer +advice, and Mrs. Bunting also became aware of the black glare of the +field glasses of a still more horrid man to the west. + +Moreover the popular author who lived next door, an irascible dark +square-headed little man in spectacles, suddenly turned up and began +bawling from his inaccessible wall top something foolish about his +ladder. Nobody thought of his silly ladder or took any trouble about it, +naturally. He was quite stupidly excited. To judge by his tone and +gestures he was using dreadful language and seemed disposed every moment +to jump down to the beach and come to them. + +And then to crown the situation, over the westward groin appeared Low +Excursionists! + +First of all their heads came, and then their remarks. Then they began +to clamber the breakwater with joyful shouts. + +"Pip, Pip," said the Low Excursionists as they climbed--it was the year +of "pip, pip"--and, "What HO she bumps!" and then less generally, +"What's up _'ere_?" + +And the voices of other Low Excursionists still invisible answered, +"Pip, Pip." + +It was evidently a large party. + +"Anything wrong?" shouted one of the Low Excursionists at a venture. + +"My _dear_!" said Mrs. Bunting to Mabel, "what _are_ we to do?" And in +her description of the affair to my cousin Melville she used always to +make that the _clou_ of the story. "My DEAR! What ARE we to do?" + +I believe that in her desperation she even glanced at the water. But of +course to have put the mermaid back then would have involved the most +terrible explanations.... + +It was evident there was only one thing to be done. Mrs. Bunting said as +much. "The only thing," said she, "is to carry her indoors." + +And carry her indoors they did!... + +One can figure the little procession. In front Fred, wet and astonished +but still clinging and clung to, and altogether too out of breath for +words. And in his arms the Sea Lady. She had a beautiful figure, I +understand, until that horrible tail began (and the fin of it, Mrs. +Bunting told my cousin in a whispered confidence, went up and down and +with pointed corners for all the world like a mackerel's). It flopped +and dripped along the path--I imagine. She was wearing a very nice and +very long-skirted dress of red material trimmed with coarse white lace, +and she had, Mabel told me, a _gilet_, though that would scarcely show +as they went up the garden. And that Phrygian cap hid all her golden +hair and showed the white, low, level forehead over her sea-blue eyes. +From all that followed, I imagine her at the moment scanning the veranda +and windows of the house with a certain eagerness of scrutiny. + +Behind this staggering group of two I believe Mrs. Bunting came. Then +Mr. Bunting. Dreadfully wet and broken down Mr. Bunting must have been +by then, and from one or two things I have noticed since, I can't help +imagining him as pursuing his wife with, "Of course, my dear, _I_ +couldn't tell, you know!" + +And then, in a dismayed yet curious bunch, the girls in their wraps of +towelling and the maids carrying the ropes and things and, as if +inadvertently, as became them, most of Mr. and Fred Bunting's clothes. + +And then Miss Glendower, for once at least in no sort of pose whatever, +clutching "Sir George Tressady" and perplexed and disturbed beyond +measure. + +And then, as it were pursuing them all, "Pip, pip," and the hat and +raised eyebrows of a Low Excursionist still anxious to know "What's up?" +from the garden end. + +So it was, or at least in some such way, and to the accompaniment of the +wildest ravings about some ladder or other heard all too distinctly over +the garden wall--("Overdressed Snobbs take my _rare old English +adjective_ ladder...!")--that they carried the Sea Lady (who appeared +serenely insensible to everything) up through the house and laid her +down upon the couch in Mrs. Bunting's room. + +And just as Miss Glendower was suggesting that the very best thing they +could do would be to send for a doctor, the Sea Lady with a beautiful +naturalness sighed and came to. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND + +SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS + + +I + +There with as much verisimilitude as I can give it, is how the +Folkestone mermaid really came to land. There can be no doubt that the +whole affair was a deliberately planned intrusion upon her part. She +never had cramp, she couldn't have cramp, and as for drowning, nobody +was near drowning for a moment except Mr. Bunting, whose valuable life +she very nearly sacrificed at the outset of her adventure. And her next +proceeding was to demand an interview with Mrs. Bunting and to presume +upon her youthful and glowing appearance to gain the support, sympathy +and assistance of that good-hearted lady (who as a matter of fact was a +thing of yesterday, a mere chicken in comparison with her own immemorial +years) in her extraordinary raid upon Humanity. + +Her treatment of Mrs. Bunting would be incredible if we did not know +that, in spite of many disadvantages, the Sea Lady was an extremely well +read person. She admitted as much in several later conversations with my +cousin Melville. For a time there was a friendly intimacy--so Melville +always preferred to present it--between these two, and my cousin, who +has a fairly considerable amount of curiosity, learnt many very +interesting details about the life "out there" or "down there"--for the +Sea Lady used either expression. At first the Sea Lady was exceedingly +reticent under the gentle insistence of his curiosity, but after a time, +I gather, she gave way to bursts of cheerful confidence. "It is clear," +says my cousin, "that the old ideas of the submarine life as a sort of +perpetual game of 'who-hoop' through groves of coral, diversified by +moonlight hair-combings on rocky strands, need very extensive +modification." In this matter of literature, for example, they have +practically all that we have, and unlimited leisure to read it in. +Melville is very insistent upon and rather envious of that unlimited +leisure. A picture of a mermaid swinging in a hammock of woven seaweed, +with what bishops call a "latter-day" novel in one hand and a sixteen +candle-power phosphorescent fish in the other, may jar upon one's +preconceptions, but it is certainly far more in accordance with the +picture of the abyss she printed on his mind. Everywhere Change works +her will on things. Everywhere, and even among the immortals, Modernity +spreads. Even on Olympus I suppose there is a Progressive party and a +new Phaeton agitating to supersede the horses of his father by some +solar motor of his own. I suggested as much to Melville and he said +"Horrible! Horrible!" and stared hard at my study fire. Dear old +Melville! She gave him no end of facts about Deep Sea Reading. + +Of course they do not print books "out there," for the printer's ink +under water would not so much run as fly--she made that very plain; but +in one way or another nearly the whole of terrestrial literature, says +Melville, has come to them. "We know," she said. They form indeed a +distinct reading public, and additions to their vast submerged library +that circulates forever with the tides, are now pretty systematically +sought. The sources are various and in some cases a little odd. Many +books have been found in sunken ships. "Indeed!" said Melville. There is +always a dropping and blowing overboard of novels and magazines from +most passenger-carrying vessels--sometimes, but these are not as a rule +valuable additions--a deliberate shying overboard. But sometimes books +of an exceptional sort are thrown over when they are quite finished. +(Melville is a dainty irritable reader and no doubt he understood that.) +From the sea beaches of holiday resorts, moreover, the lighter sorts of +literature are occasionally getting blown out to sea. And so soon as the +Booms of our great Popular Novelists are over, Melville assured me, the +libraries find it convenient to cast such surplus copies of their +current works as the hospitals and prisons cannot take, below high-water +mark. + +"That's not generally known," said I. + +"_They_ know it," said Melville. + +In other ways the beaches yield. Young couples who "begin to sit +heapy," the Sea Lady told my cousin, as often as not will leave +excellent modern fiction behind them, when at last they return to their +proper place. There is a particularly fine collection of English work, +it seems, in the deep water of the English Channel; practically the +whole of the Tauchnitz Library is there, thrown overboard at the last +moment by conscientious or timid travellers returning from the +continent, and there was for a time a similar source of supply of +American reprints in the Mersey, but that has fallen off in recent +years. And the Deep Sea Mission for Fishermen has now for some years +been raining down tracts and giving a particularly elevated tone of +thought to the extensive shallows of the North Sea. The Sea Lady was +very precise on these points. + +When one considers the conditions of its accumulation, one is not +surprised to hear that the element of fiction is as dominant in this +Deep Sea Library as it is upon the counters of Messrs. Mudie; but my +cousin learnt that the various illustrated magazines, and particularly +the fashion papers, are valued even more highly than novels, are looked +for far more eagerly and perused with envious emotion. Indeed on that +point my cousin got a sudden glimpse of one of the motives that had +brought this daring young lady into the air. He made some sort of +suggestion. "We should have taken to dressing long ago," she said, and +added, with a vague quality of laughter in her tone, "it isn't that +we're unfeminine, Mr. Melville. Only--as I was explaining to Mrs. +Bunting, one must consider one's circumstances--how _can_ one _hope_ to +keep anything nice under water? Imagine lace!" + +"Soaked!" said my cousin Melville. + +"Drenched!" said the Sea Lady. + +"Ruined!" said my cousin Melville. + +"And then you know," said the Sea Lady very gravely, "one's hair!" + +"Of course," said Melville. "Why!--you can never get it _dry_!" + +"That's precisely it," said she. + +My cousin Melville had a new light on an old topic. "And that's why--in +the old time----?" + +"Exactly!" she cried, "exactly! Before there were so many Excursionists +and sailors and Low People about, one came out, one sat and brushed it +in the sun. And then of course it really _was_ possible to do it up. But +now----" + +She made a petulant gesture and looked gravely at Melville, biting her +lip the while. My cousin made a sympathetic noise. "The horrid modern +spirit," he said--almost automatically.... + +But though fiction and fashion appear to be so regrettably dominant in +the nourishment of the mer-mind, it must not be supposed that the most +serious side of our reading never reaches the bottom of the sea. There +was, for example, a case quite recently, the Sea Lady said, of the +captain of a sailing ship whose mind had become unhinged by the +huckstering uproar of the _Times_ and _Daily Mail_, and who had not only +bought a second-hand copy of the _Times_ reprint of the Encyclopaedia +Britannica, but also that dense collection of literary snacks and +samples, that All-Literature Sausage which has been compressed under the +weighty editing of Doctor Richard Garnett. It has long been notorious +that even the greatest minds of the past were far too copious and +confusing in their--as the word goes--lubrications. Doctor Garnett, it +is alleged, has seized the gist and presented it so compactly that +almost any business man now may take hold of it without hindrance to his +more serious occupations. The unfortunate and misguided seaman seems to +have carried the entire collection aboard with him, with the pretty +evident intention of coming to land in Sydney the wisest man alive--a +Hindoo-minded thing to do. The result might have been anticipated. The +mass shifted in the night, threw the whole weight of the science of the +middle nineteenth century and the literature of all time, in a +virulently concentrated state, on one side of his little vessel and +capsized it instantly.... + +The ship, the Sea Lady said, dropped into the abyss as if it were loaded +with lead, and its crew and other movables did not follow it down until +much later in the day. The captain was the first to arrive, said the Sea +Lady, and it is a curious fact, due probably to some preliminary +dippings into his purchase, that he came head first, instead of feet +down and limbs expanded in the customary way.... + +However, such exceptional windfalls avail little against the rain of +light literature that is constantly going on. The novel and the +newspaper remain the world's reading even at the bottom of the sea. As +subsequent events would seem to show, it must have been from the common +latter-day novel and the newspaper that the Sea Lady derived her ideas +of human life and sentiment and the inspiration of her visit. And if at +times she seemed to underestimate the nobler tendencies of the human +spirit, if at times she seemed disposed to treat Adeline Glendower and +many of the deeper things of life with a certain sceptical levity, if +she did at last indisputably subordinate reason and right feeling to +passion, it is only just to her, and to those deeper issues, that we +should ascribe her aberrations to their proper cause.... + + +II + +My cousin Melville, I was saying, did at one time or another get a +vague, a very vague conception of what that deep-sea world was like. But +whether his conception has any quality of truth in it is more than I +dare say. He gives me an impression of a very strange world indeed, a +green luminous fluidity in which these beings float, a world lit by +great shining monsters that drift athwart it, and by waving forests of +nebulous luminosity amidst which the little fishes drift like netted +stars. It is a world with neither sitting, nor standing, nor going, nor +coming, through which its inhabitants float and drift as one floats and +drifts in dreams. And the way they live there! "My dear man!" said +Melville, "it must be like a painted ceiling!..." + +I do not even feel certain that it is in the sea particularly that this +world of the Sea Lady is to be found. But about those saturated books +and drowned scraps of paper, you say? Things are not always what they +seem, and she told him all of that, we must reflect, one laughing +afternoon. + +She could appear, at times, he says, as real as you or I, and again came +mystery all about her. There were times when it seemed to him you might +have hurt her or killed her as you can hurt and kill anyone--with a +penknife for example--and there were times when it seemed to him you +could have destroyed the whole material universe and left her smiling +still. But of this ambiguous element in the lady, more is to be told +later. There are wider seas than ever keel sailed upon, and deeps that +no lead of human casting will ever plumb. When it is all summed up, I +have to admit, I do not know, I cannot tell. I fall back upon Melville +and my poor array of collected facts. At first there was amazingly +little strangeness about her for any who had to deal with her. There she +was, palpably solid and material, a lady out of the sea. + +This modern world is a world where the wonderful is utterly commonplace. +We are bred to show a quiet freedom from amazement, and why should we +boggle at material Mermaids, with Dewars solidifying all sorts of +impalpable things and Marconi waves spreading everywhere? To the +Buntings she was as matter of fact, as much a matter of authentic and +reasonable motives and of sound solid sentimentality, as everything else +in the Bunting world. So she was for them in the beginning, and so up to +this day with them her memory remains. + + +III + +The way in which the Sea Lady talked to Mrs. Bunting on that memorable +morning, when she lay all wet and still visibly fishy on the couch in +Mrs. Bunting's dressing-room, I am also able to give with some little +fulness, because Mrs. Bunting repeated it all several times, acting the +more dramatic speeches in it, to my cousin Melville in several of those +good long talks that both of them in those happy days--and particularly +Mrs. Bunting--always enjoyed so much. And with her very first speech, it +seems, the Sea Lady took her line straight to Mrs. Bunting's generous +managing heart. She sat up on the couch, drew the antimacassar modestly +over her deformity, and sometimes looking sweetly down and sometimes +openly and trustfully into Mrs. Bunting's face, and speaking in a soft +clear grammatical manner that stamped her at once as no mere mermaid +but a finished fine Sea Lady, she "made a clean breast of it," as Mrs. +Bunting said, and "fully and frankly" placed herself in Mrs. Bunting's +hands. + +"Mrs. Bunting," said Mrs. Bunting to my cousin Melville, in a dramatic +rendering of the Sea Lady's manner, "do permit me to apologise for this +intrusion, for I know it _is_ an intrusion. But indeed it has almost +been _forced_ upon me, and if you will only listen to my story, Mrs. +Bunting, I think you will find--well, if not a complete excuse for +me--for I can understand how exacting your standards must be--at any +rate _some_ excuse for what I have done--for what I _must_ call, Mrs. +Bunting, my deceitful conduct towards you. Deceitful it was, Mrs. +Bunting, for I never had cramp-- But then, Mrs. Bunting"--and here Mrs. +Bunting would insert a long impressive pause--"I never had a mother!" + +"And then and there," said Mrs. Bunting, when she told the story to my +cousin Melville, "the poor child burst into tears and confessed she had +been born ages and ages ago in some dreadful miraculous way in some +terrible place near Cyprus, and had no more right to a surname-- Well, +_there_--!" said Mrs. Bunting, telling the story to my cousin Melville +and making the characteristic gesture with which she always passed over +and disowned any indelicacy to which her thoughts might have tended. +"And all the while speaking with such a nice accent and moving in such a +ladylike way!" + +"Of course," said my cousin Melville, "there are classes of people in +whom one excuses-- One must weigh----" + +"Precisely," said Mrs. Bunting. "And you see it seems she deliberately +chose _me_ as the very sort of person she had always wanted to appeal +to. It wasn't as if she came to us haphazard--she picked us out. She had +been swimming round the coast watching people day after day, she said, +for quite a long time, and she said when she saw my face, watching the +girls bathe--you know how funny girls are," said Mrs. Bunting, with a +little deprecatory laugh, and all the while with a moisture of emotion +in her kindly eyes. "She took quite a violent fancy to me from the very +first." + +"I can _quite_ believe _that_, at any rate," said my cousin Melville +with unction. I know he did, although he always leaves it out of the +story when he tells it to me. But then he forgets that I have had the +occasional privilege of making a third party in these good long talks. + +"You know it's most extraordinary and exactly like the German story," +said Mrs. Bunting. "Oom--what is it?" + +"Undine?" + +"Exactly--yes. And it really seems these poor creatures are Immortal, +Mr. Melville--at least within limits--creatures born of the elements and +resolved into the elements again--and just as it is in the story--there's +always a something--they have no Souls! No Souls at all! Nothing! And +the poor child feels it. She feels it dreadfully. But in order to _get_ +souls, Mr. Melville, you know they have to come into the world of men. +At least so they believe down there. And so she has come to Folkestone. +To get a soul. Of course that's her great object, Mr. Melville, but +she's not at all fanatical or silly about it. Any more than _we_ are. Of +course _we_--people who feel deeply----" + +"Of course," said my cousin Melville, with, I know, a momentary +expression of profound gravity, drooping eyelids and a hushed voice. For +my cousin does a good deal with his soul, one way and another. + +"And she feels that if she comes to earth at all," said Mrs. Bunting, +"she _must_ come among _nice_ people and in a nice way. One can +understand her feeling like that. But imagine her difficulties! To be a +mere cause of public excitement, and silly paragraphs in the silly +season, to be made a sort of show of, in fact--she doesn't want _any_ of +it," added Mrs. Bunting, with the emphasis of both hands. + +"What _does_ she want?" asked my cousin Melville. + +"She wants to be treated exactly like a human being, to _be_ a human +being, just like you or me. And she asks to stay with us, to be one of +our family, and to learn how we live. She has asked me to advise her +what books to read that are really nice, and where she can get a +dress-maker, and how she can find a clergyman to sit under who would +really be likely to understand her case, and everything. She wants me to +advise her about it all. She wants to put herself altogether in my +hands. And she asked it all so nicely and sweetly. She wants me to +advise her about it all." + +"Um," said my cousin Melville. + +"You should have heard her!" cried Mrs. Bunting. + +"Practically it's another daughter," he reflected. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bunting, "and even that did not frighten me. She +admitted as much." + +"Still----" + +He took a step. + +"She has means?" he inquired abruptly. + +"Ample. She told me there was a box. She said it was moored at the end +of a groin, and accordingly dear Randolph watched all through luncheon, +and afterwards, when they could wade out and reach the end of the rope +that tied it, he and Fred pulled it in and helped Fitch and the +coachman carry it up. It's a curious little box for a lady to have, +well made, of course, but of wood, with a ship painted on the top and +the name of 'Tom' cut in it roughly with a knife; but, as she says, +leather simply will _not_ last down there, and one has to put up with +what one can get; and the great thing is it's _full_, perfectly full, +of gold coins and things. Yes, gold--and diamonds, Mr. Melville. You +know Randolph understands something-- Yes, well he says that box--oh! +I couldn't tell you _how_ much it isn't worth! And all the gold things +with just a sort of faint reddy touch.... But anyhow, she is rich, as +well as charming and beautiful. And really you know, Mr. Melville, +altogether-- Well, I'm going to help her, just as much as ever I can. +Practically, she's to be our paying guest. As you know--it's no great +secret between _us_--Adeline-- Yes.... She'll be the same. And I shall +bring her out and introduce her to people and so forth. It will be a +great help. And for everyone except just a few intimate friends, she is +to be just a human being who happens to be an invalid--temporarily an +invalid--and we are going to engage a good, trustworthy woman--the sort +of woman who isn't astonished at anything, you know--they're a little +expensive but they're to be got even nowadays--who will be her +maid--and make her dresses, her skirts at any rate--and we shall dress +her in long skirts--and throw something over It, you know----" + +"Over----?" + +"The tail, you know." + +My cousin Melville said "Precisely!" with his head and eyebrows. But +that was the point that hadn't been clear to him so far, and it took his +breath away. Positively--a tail! All sorts of incorrect theories went by +the board. Somehow he felt this was a topic not to be too urgently +pursued. But he and Mrs. Bunting were old friends. + +"And she really has ... a tail?" he asked. + +"Like the tail of a big mackerel," said Mrs. Bunting, and he asked no +more. + +"It's a most extraordinary situation," he said. + +"But what else _could_ I do?" asked Mrs. Bunting. + +"Of course the thing's a tremendous experiment," said my cousin +Melville, and repeated quite inadvertently, "_a tail!_" + +Clear and vivid before his eyes, obstructing absolutely the advance of +his thoughts, were the shiny clear lines, the oily black, the green and +purple and silver, and the easy expansiveness of a mackerel's +termination. + +"But really, you know," said my cousin Melville, protesting in the name +of reason and the nineteenth century--"a tail!" + +"I patted it," said Mrs. Bunting. + + +IV + +Certain supplementary aspects of the Sea Lady's first conversation with +Mrs. Bunting I got from that lady herself afterwards. + +The Sea Lady had made one queer mistake. "Your four charming daughters," +she said, "and your two sons." + +"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting--they had got through their preliminaries +by then--"I've only two daughters and one son!" + +"The young man who carried--who rescued me?" + +"Yes. And the other two girls are friends, you know, visitors who are +staying with me. On land one has visitors----" + +"I know. So I made a mistake?" + +"Oh yes." + +"And the other young man?" + +"You don't mean Mr. Bunting." + +"Who is Mr. Bunting?" + +"The other gentleman who----" + +"_No!_" + +"There was no one----" + +"But several mornings ago?" + +"Could it have been Mr. Melville?... _I_ know! You mean Mr. Chatteris! I +remember, he came down with us one morning. A tall young man with +fair--rather curlyish you might say--hair, wasn't it? And a rather +thoughtful face. He was dressed all in white linen and he sat on the +beach." + +"I fancy he did," said the Sea Lady. + +"He's not my son. He's--he's a friend. He's engaged to Adeline, to the +elder Miss Glendower. He was stopping here for a night or so. I daresay +he'll come again on his way back from Paris. Dear me! Fancy _my_ having +a son like that!" + +The Sea Lady was not quite prompt in replying. + +"What a stupid mistake for me to make!" she said slowly; and then with +more animation, "Of course, now I think, he's much too old to be your +son!" + +"Well, he's thirty-two!" said Mrs. Bunting with a smile. + +"It's preposterous." + +"I won't say _that_." + +"But I saw him only at a distance, you know," said the Sea Lady; and +then, "And so he is engaged to Miss Glendower? And Miss Glendower----?" + +"Is the young lady in the purple robe who----" + +"Who carried a book?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bunting, "that's the one. They've been engaged three +months." + +"Dear me!" said the Sea Lady. "She seemed-- And is he very much in love +with her?" + +"Of course," said Mrs. Bunting. + +"_Very_ much?" + +"Oh--of _course_. If he wasn't, he wouldn't----" + +"Of course," said the Sea Lady thoughtfully. + +"And it's such an excellent match in every way. Adeline's just in the +very position to help him----" + +And Mrs. Bunting it would seem briefly but clearly supplied an +indication of the precise position of Mr. Chatteris, not omitting even +that he was the nephew of an earl, as indeed why should she omit +it?--and the splendid prospects of his alliance with Miss Glendower's +plebeian but extensive wealth. The Sea Lady listened gravely. "He is +young, he is able, he may still be anything--anything. And she is so +earnest, so clever herself--always reading. She even reads Blue +Books--government Blue Books I mean--dreadful statistical schedulely +things. And the condition of the poor and all those things. She knows +more about the condition of the poor than any one I've ever met; what +they earn and what they eat, and how many of them live in a room. So +dreadfully crowded, you know--perfectly shocking.... She is just the +helper he needs. So dignified--so capable of giving political parties +and influencing people, so earnest! And you know she can talk to workmen +and take an interest in trades unions, and in quite astonishing things. +_I_ always think she's just _Marcella_ come to life." + +And from that the good lady embarked upon an illustrative but involved +anecdote of Miss Glendower's marvellous blue-bookishness.... + +"He'll come here again soon?" the Sea Lady asked quite carelessly in the +midst of it. + +The query was carried away and lost in the anecdote, so that later the +Sea Lady repeated her question even more carelessly. + +But Mrs. Bunting did not know whether the Sea Lady sighed at all or not. +She thinks not. She was so busy telling her all about everything that I +don't think she troubled very much to see how her information was +received. + +What mind she had left over from her own discourse was probably centred +on the tail. + + +V + +Even to Mrs. Bunting's senses--she is one of those persons who take +everything (except of course impertinence or impropriety) quite +calmly--it must, I think, have been a little astonishing to find herself +sitting in her boudoir, politely taking tea with a real live legendary +creature. They were having tea in the boudoir, because of callers, and +quite quietly because, in spite of the Sea Lady's smiling assurances, +Mrs. Bunting would have it she _must_ be tired and unequal to the +exertions of social intercourse. "After _such_ a journey," said Mrs. +Bunting. There were just the three, Adeline Glendower being the third; +and Fred and the three other girls, I understand, hung about in a +general sort of way up and down the staircase (to the great annoyance of +the servants who were thus kept out of it altogether) confirming one +another's views of the tail, arguing on the theory of mermaids, +revisiting the garden and beach and trying to invent an excuse for +seeing the invalid again. They were forbidden to intrude and pledged to +secrecy by Mrs. Bunting, and they must have been as altogether unsettled +and miserable as young people can be. For a time they played croquet in +a half-hearted way, each no doubt with an eye on the boudoir window. + +(And as for Mr. Bunting, he was in bed.) + +I gather that the three ladies sat and talked as any three ladies all +quite resolved to be pleasant to one another would talk. Mrs. Bunting +and Miss Glendower were far too well trained in the observances of good +society (which is as every one knows, even the best of it now, extremely +mixed) to make too searching enquiries into the Sea Lady's status and +way of life or precisely where she lived when she was at home, or whom +she knew or didn't know. Though in their several ways they wanted to +know badly enough. The Sea Lady volunteered no information, contenting +herself with an entertaining superficiality of touch and go, in the most +ladylike way. She professed herself greatly delighted with the sensation +of being in air and superficially quite dry, and was particularly +charmed with tea. + +"And don't you have _tea_?" cried Miss Glendower, startled. + +"How can we?" + +"But do you really mean----?" + +"I've never tasted tea before. How do you think we can boil a kettle?" + +"What a strange--what a wonderful world it must be!" cried Adeline. And +Mrs. Bunting said: "I can hardly _imagine_ it without tea. It's worse +than-- I mean it reminds me--of abroad." + +Mrs. Bunting was in the act of refilling the Sea Lady's cup. "I +suppose," she said suddenly, "as you're not used to it-- It won't affect +your diges--" She glanced at Adeline and hesitated. "But it's China +tea." + +And she filled the cup. + +"It's an inconceivable world to me," said Adeline. "Quite." + +Her dark eyes rested thoughtfully on the Sea Lady for a space. +"Inconceivable," she repeated, for, in that unaccountable way in which a +whisper will attract attention that a turmoil fails to arouse, the tea +had opened her eyes far more than the tail. + +The Sea Lady looked at her with sudden frankness. "And think how +wonderful all this must seem to _me_!" she remarked. + +But Adeline's imagination was aroused for the moment and she was not to +be put aside by the Sea Lady's terrestrial impressions. She pierced--for +a moment or so--the ladylike serenity, the assumption of a terrestrial +fashion of mind that was imposing so successfully upon Mrs. Bunting. "It +must be," she said, "the strangest world." And she stopped invitingly.... + +She could not go beyond that and the Sea Lady would not help her. + +There was a pause, a silent eager search for topics. Apropos of the +Niphetos roses on the table they talked of flowers and Miss Glendower +ventured: "You have your anemones too! How beautiful they must be amidst +the rocks!" + +And the Sea Lady said they were very pretty--especially the cultivated +sorts.... + +"And the fishes," said Mrs. Bunting. "How wonderful it must be to see +the fishes!" + +"Some of them," volunteered the Sea Lady, "will come and feed out of +one's hand." + +Mrs. Bunting made a little coo of approval. She was reminded of +chrysanthemum shows and the outside of the Royal Academy exhibition and +she was one of those people to whom only the familiar is really +satisfying. She had a momentary vision of the abyss as a sort of +diverticulum of Piccadilly and the Temple, a place unexpectedly rational +and comfortable. There was a kink for a time about a little matter of +illumination, but it recurred to Mrs. Bunting only long after. The Sea +Lady had turned from Miss Glendower's interrogative gravity of +expression to the sunlight. + +"The sunlight seems so golden here," said the Sea Lady. "Is it always +golden?" + +"You have that beautiful greenery-blue shimmer I suppose," said Miss +Glendower, "that one catches sometimes ever so faintly in aquaria----" + +"One lives deeper than that," said the Sea Lady. "Everything is +phosphorescent, you know, a mile or so down, and it's like--I hardly +know. As towns look at night--only brighter. Like piers and things like +that." + +"Really!" said Mrs. Bunting, with the Strand after the theatres in her +head. "Quite bright?" + +"Oh, quite," said the Sea Lady. + +"But--" struggled Adeline, "is it never put out?" + +"It's so different," said the Sea Lady. + +"That's why it is so interesting," said Adeline. + +"There are no nights and days, you know. No time nor anything of that +sort." + +"Now that's very queer," said Mrs. Bunting with Miss Glendower's teacup +in her hand--they were both drinking quite a lot of tea absent-mindedly, +in their interest in the Sea Lady. "But how do you tell when it's +Sunday?" + +"We don't--" began the Sea Lady. "At least not exactly--" And then--"Of +course one hears the beautiful hymns that are sung on the passenger +ships." + +"Of course!" said Mrs. Bunting, having sung so in her youth and quite +forgetting something elusive that she had previously seemed to catch. + +But afterwards there came a glimpse of some more serious divergence--a +glimpse merely. Miss Glendower hazarded a supposition that the sea +people also had their Problems, and then it would seem the natural +earnestness of her disposition overcame her proper attitude of ladylike +superficiality and she began to ask questions. There can be no doubt +that the Sea Lady was evasive, and Miss Glendower, perceiving that she +had been a trifle urgent, tried to cover her error by expressing a +general impression. + +"I can't see it," she said, with a gesture that asked for sympathy. "One +wants to see it, one wants to _be_ it. One needs to be born a +mer-child." + +"A mer-child?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Yes-- Don't you call your little ones----?" + +"_What_ little ones?" asked the Sea Lady. + +She regarded them for a moment with a frank wonder, the undying wonder +of the Immortals at that perpetual decay and death and replacement which +is the gist of human life. Then at the expression of their faces she +seemed to recollect. "Of course," she said, and then with a transition +that made pursuit difficult, she agreed with Adeline. "It _is_ +different," she said. "It _is_ wonderful. One feels so alike, you know, +and so different. That's just where it _is_ so wonderful. Do I look--? +And yet you know I have never had my hair up, nor worn a dressing gown +before today." + +"What do you wear?" asked Miss Glendower. "Very charming things, I +suppose." + +"It's a different costume altogether," said the Sea Lady, brushing away +a crumb. + +Just for a moment Mrs. Bunting regarded her visitor fixedly. She had, I +fancy, in that moment, an indistinct, imperfect glimpse of pagan +possibilities. But there, you know, was the Sea Lady in her wrapper, so +palpably a lady, with her pretty hair brought up to date and such a +frank innocence in her eyes, that Mrs. Bunting's suspicions vanished as +they came. + +(But I am not so sure of Adeline.) + + + + +CHAPTER THE THIRD + +THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS JOURNALISTS + + +I + +The remarkable thing is that the Buntings really carried out the +programme Mrs. Bunting laid down. For a time at least they positively +succeeded in converting the Sea Lady into a credible human invalid, in +spite of the galaxy of witnesses to the lady's landing and in spite of +the severe internal dissensions that presently broke out. In spite, +moreover, of the fact that one of the maids--they found out which only +long after--told the whole story under vows to her very superior young +man who told it next Sunday to a rising journalist who was sitting about +on the Leas maturing a descriptive article. The rising journalist was +incredulous. But he went about enquiring. In the end he thought it good +enough to go upon. He found in several quarters a vague but sufficient +rumour of a something; for the maid's young man was a conversationalist +when he had anything to say. + +Finally the rising journalist went and sounded the people on the two +chief Folkestone papers and found the thing had just got to them. They +were inclined to pretend they hadn't heard of it, after the fashion of +local papers when confronted by the abnormal, but the atmosphere of +enterprise that surrounded the rising journalist woke them up. He +perceived he had done so and that he had no time to lose. So while they +engaged in inventing representatives to enquire, he went off and +telephoned to the _Daily Gunfire_ and the _New Paper_. When they +answered he was positive and earnest. He staked his reputation--the +reputation of a rising journalist! + +"I swear there's something up," he said. "Get in first--that's all." + +He had some reputation, I say--and he had staked it. The _Daily Gunfire_ +was sceptical but precise, and the _New Paper_ sprang a headline "A +Mermaid at last!" + +You might well have thought the thing was out after that, but it wasn't. +There are things one doesn't believe even if they are printed in a +halfpenny paper. To find the reporters hammering at their doors, so to +speak, and fended off only for a time by a proposal that they should +call again; to see their incredible secret glaringly in print, did +indeed for a moment seem a hopeless exposure to both the Buntings and +the Sea Lady. Already they could see the story spreading, could imagine +the imminent rush of intimate enquiries, the tripod strides of a +multitude of cameras, the crowds watching the windows, the horrors of a +great publicity. All the Buntings and Mabel were aghast, simply aghast. +Adeline was not so much aghast as excessively annoyed at this imminent +and, so far as she was concerned, absolutely irrelevant publicity. "They +will never dare--" she said, and "Consider how it affects Harry!" and at +the earliest opportunity she retired to her own room. The others, with a +certain disregard of her offence, sat around the Sea Lady's couch--she +had scarcely touched her breakfast--and canvassed the coming terror. + +"They will put our photographs in the papers," said the elder Miss +Bunting. + +"Well, they won't put mine in," said her sister. "It's horrid. I shall +go right off now and have it taken again." + +"They'll interview the Ded!" + +"No, no," said Mr. Bunting terrified. "Your mother----" + +"It's your place, my dear," said Mrs. Bunting. + +"But the Ded--" said Fred. + +"I couldn't," said Mr. Bunting. + +"Well, some one'll have to tell 'em anyhow," said Mrs. Bunting. "You +know, they will----" + +"But it isn't at all what I wanted," wailed the Sea Lady, with the +_Daily Gunfire_ in her hand. "Can't it be stopped?" + +"You don't know our journalists," said Fred. + +The tact of my cousin Melville saved the situation. He had dabbled in +journalism and talked with literary fellows like myself. And literary +fellows like myself are apt at times to be very free and outspoken about +the press. He heard of the Buntings' shrinking terror of publicity as +soon as he arrived, a perfect clamour--an almost exultant clamour +indeed, of shrinking terror, and he caught the Sea Lady's eye and took +his line there and then. + +"It's not an occasion for sticking at trifles, Mrs. Bunting," he said. +"But I think we can save the situation all the same. You're too +hopeless. We must put our foot down at once; that's all. Let _me_ see +these reporter fellows and write to the London dailies. I think I can +take a line that will settle them." + +"Eh?" said Fred. + +"I can take a line that will stop it, trust me." + +"What, altogether?" + +"Altogether." + +"How?" said Fred and Mrs. Bunting. "You're not going to bribe them!" + +"Bribe!" said Mr. Bunting. "We're not in France. You can't bribe a +British paper." + +(A sort of subdued cheer went around from the assembled Buntings.) + +"You leave it to me," said Melville, in his element. + +And with earnestly expressed but not very confident wishes for his +success, they did. + +He managed the thing admirably. + +"What's this about a mermaid?" he demanded of the local journalists when +they returned. They travelled together for company, being, so to speak, +emergency journalists, compositors in their milder moments, and +unaccustomed to these higher aspects of journalism. "What's this about a +mermaid?" repeated my cousin, while they waived precedence dumbly one to +another. + +"I believe some one's been letting you in," said my cousin Melville. +"Just imagine!--a mermaid!" + +"That's what we thought," said the younger of the two emergency +journalists. "We knew it was some sort of hoax, you know. Only the _New +Paper_ giving it a headline----" + +"I'm amazed even Banghurst--" said my cousin Melville. + +"It's in the _Daily Gunfire_ as well," said the older of the two +emergency journalists. + +"What's one more or less of these ha'penny fever rags?" cried my cousin +with a ringing scorn. "Surely you're not going to take your Folkestone +news from mere London papers." + +"But how did the story come about?" began the older emergency +journalist. + +"That's not my affair." + +The younger emergency journalist had an inspiration. He produced a note +book from his breast pocket. "Perhaps, sir, you wouldn't mind suggesting +to us something we might say----" + +My cousin Melville complied. + + +II + +The rising young journalist who had first got wind of the business--who +must not for a moment be confused with the two emergency journalists +heretofore described--came to Banghurst next night in a state of strange +exultation. "I've been through with it and I've seen her," he panted. "I +waited about outside and saw her taken into the carriage. I've talked to +one of the maids--I got into the house under pretence of being a +telephone man to see their telephone--I spotted the wire--and it's a +fact. A positive fact--she's a mermaid with a tail--a proper mermaid's +tail. I've got here----" + +He displayed sheets. + +"Whaddyer talking about?" said Banghurst from his littered desk, eyeing +the sheets with apprehensive animosity. + +"The mermaid--there really _is_ a mermaid. At Folkestone." + +Banghurst turned away from him and pawed at his pen tray. "Whad if there +is!" he said after a pause. + +"But it's proved. That note you printed----" + +"That note I printed was a mistake if there's anything of that sort +going, young man." Banghurst remained an obstinate expansion of back. + +"How?" + +"We don't deal in mermaids here." + +"But you're not going to let it drop?" + +"I am." + +"But there she is!" + +[Illustration: "Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts."] + +"Let her be." He turned on the rising young journalist, and his massive +face was unusually massive and his voice fine and full and fruity. "Do +you think we're going to make our public believe anything simply because +it's true? They know perfectly well what they are going to believe +and what they aren't going to believe, and they aren't going to believe +anything about mermaids--you bet your hat. I don't care if the whole +damned beach was littered with mermaids--not the whole damned beach! +We've got our reputation to keep up. See?... Look here!--you don't learn +journalism as I hoped you'd do. It was you what brought in all that +stuff about a discovery in chemistry----" + +"It's true." + +"Ugh!" + +"I had it from a Fellow of the Royal Society----" + +"I don't care if you had it from--anybody. Stuff that the public won't +believe aren't facts. Being true only makes 'em worse. They buy our +paper to swallow it and it's got to go down easy. When I printed you +that note and headline I thought you was up to a lark. I thought you +was on to a mixed bathing scandal or something of that sort--with juice +in it. The sort of thing that _all_ understand. You know when you went +down to Folkestone you were going to describe what Salisbury and all the +rest of them wear upon the Leas. And start a discussion on the +acclimatisation of the cafe. And all that. And then you get on to this +(unprintable epithet) nonsense!" + +"But Lord Salisbury--he doesn't go to Folkestone." + +Banghurst shrugged his shoulders over a hopeless case. "What the deuce," +he said, addressing his inkpot in plaintive tones, "does _that_ matter?" + +The young man reflected. He addressed Banghurst's back after a pause. +His voice had flattened a little. "I might go over this and do it up as +a lark perhaps. Make it a comic dialogue sketch with a man who really +believed in it--or something like that. It's a beastly lot of copy to +get slumped, you know." + +"Nohow," said Banghurst. "Not in any shape. No! Why! They'd think it +clever. They'd think you was making game of them. They hate things they +think are clever!" + +The young man made as if to reply, but Banghurst's back expressed quite +clearly that the interview was at an end. + +"Nohow," repeated Banghurst just when it seemed he had finished +altogether. + +"I may take it to the _Gunfire_ then?" + +Banghurst suggested an alternative. + +"Very well," said the young man, heated, "the _Gunfire_ it is." + +But in that he was reckoning without the editor of the _Gunfire_. + + +III + +It must have been quite soon after that, that I myself heard the first +mention of the mermaid, little recking that at last it would fall to me +to write her history. I was on one of my rare visits to London, and +Micklethwaite was giving me lunch at the Penwiper Club, certainly one of +the best dozen literary clubs in London. I noted the rising young +journalist at a table near the door, lunching alone. All about him +tables were vacant, though the other parts of the room were crowded. He +sat with his face towards the door, and he kept looking up whenever any +one came in, as if he expected some one who never came. Once distinctly +I saw him beckon to a man, but the man did not respond. + +"Look here, Micklethwaite," I said, "why is everybody avoiding that man +over there? I noticed just now in the smoking-room that he seemed to be +trying to get into conversation with some one and that a kind of +taboo----" + +Micklethwaite stared over his fork. "Ra-ther," he said. + +"But what's he done?" + +"He's a fool," said Micklethwaite with his mouth full, evidently +annoyed. "Ugh," he said as soon as he was free to do so. + +I waited a little while. + +"What's he done?" I ventured. + +Micklethwaite did not answer for a moment and crammed things into his +mouth vindictively, bread and all sorts of things. Then leaning towards +me in a confidential manner he made indignant noises which I could not +clearly distinguish as words. + +"Oh!" I said, when he had done. + +"Yes," said Micklethwaite. He swallowed and then poured himself +wine--splashing the tablecloth. + +"He had _me_ for an hour very nearly the other day." + +"Yes?" I said. + +"Silly fool," said Micklethwaite. + +I was afraid it was all over, but luckily he gave me an opening again +after gulping down his wine. + +"He leads you on to argue," he said. + +"That----?" + +"That he can't prove it." + +"Yes?" + +"And then he shows you he can. Just showing off how damned ingenious he +is." + +I was a little confused. "Prove what?" I asked. + +"Haven't I been telling you?" said Micklethwaite, growing very red. +"About this confounded mermaid of his at Folkestone." + +"He says there is one?" + +"Yes, he does," said Micklethwaite, going purple and staring at me very +hard. He seemed to ask mutely whether I of all people proposed to turn +on him and back up this infamous scoundrel. I thought for a moment he +would have apoplexy, but happily he remembered his duty as my host. So +he turned very suddenly on a meditative waiter for not removing our +plates. + +"Had any golf lately?" I said to Micklethwaite, when the plates and the +remains of the waiter had gone away. Golf always does Micklethwaite good +except when he is actually playing. Then, I am told-- If I were Mrs. +Bunting I should break off and raise my eyebrows and both hands at this +point, to indicate how golf acts on Micklethwaite when he is playing. + +I turned my mind to feigning an interest in golf--a game that in truth +I despise and hate as I despise and hate nothing else in this world. +Imagine a great fat creature like Micklethwaite, a creature who ought to +wear a turban and a long black robe to hide his grossness, whacking a +little white ball for miles and miles with a perfect surgery of +instruments, whacking it either with a babyish solemnity or a childish +rage as luck may have decided, whacking away while his country goes to +the devil, and incidentally training an innocent-eyed little boy to +swear and be a tip-hunting loafer. That's golf! However, I controlled my +all too facile sneer and talked of golf and the relative merits of golf +links as I might talk to a child about buns or distract a puppy with the +whisper of "rats," and when at last I could look at the rising young +journalist again our lunch had come to an end. + +I saw that he was talking with a greater air of freedom than it is +usual to display to club waiters, to the man who held his coat. The man +looked incredulous but respectful, and was answering shortly but +politely. + +When we went out this little conversation was still going on. The waiter +was holding the rising young journalist's soft felt hat and the rising +young journalist was fumbling in his coat pocket with a thick mass of +papers. + +"It's tremendous. I've got most of it here," he was saying as we went +by. "I don't know if you'd care----" + +"I get very little time for reading, sir," the waiter was replying. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FOURTH + +THE QUALITY OF PARKER + + +I + +So far I have been very full, I know, and verisimilitude has been my +watchword rather than the true affidavit style. But if I have made it +clear to the reader just how the Sea Lady landed and just how it was +possible for her to land and become a member of human society without +any considerable excitement on the part of that society, such poor pains +as I have taken to tint and shadow and embellish the facts at my +disposal will not have been taken in vain. She positively and quietly +settled down with the Buntings. Within a fortnight she had really +settled down so thoroughly that, save for her exceptional beauty and +charm and the occasional faint touches of something a little indefinable +in her smile, she had become a quite passable and credible human being. +She was a cripple, indeed, and her lower limb was most pathetically +swathed and put in a sort of case, but it was quite generally +understood--I am afraid at Mrs. Bunting's initiative--that presently +_they_--Mrs. Bunting said "they," which was certainly almost as far or +even a little farther than legitimate prevarication may go--would be as +well as ever. + +[Illustration: She positively and quietly settled down with the +Buntings.] + +"Of course," said Mrs. Bunting, "she will never be able to _bicycle_ +again----" + +That was the sort of glamour she threw about it. + + +II + +In Parker it is indisputable that the Sea Lady found--or at least had +found for her by Mrs. Bunting--a treasure of the richest sort. Parker +was still fallaciously young, but she had been maid to a lady from +India who had been in a "case" and had experienced and overcome +cross-examination. She had also been deceived by a young man, whom she +had fancied greatly, only to find him walking out with another--contrary +to her inflexible sense of correctness--in the presence of which all +other things are altogether vain. Life she had resolved should have no +further surprises for her. She looked out on its (largely improper) +pageant with an expression of alert impartiality in her hazel eyes, +calm, doing her specific duty, and entirely declining to participate +further. She always kept her elbows down by her side and her hands +always just in contact, and it was impossible for the most powerful +imagination to conceive her under any circumstances as being anything +but absolutely straight and clean and neat. And her voice was always +under all circumstances low and wonderfully distinct--just to an +infinitesimal degree indeed "mincing." + +Mrs. Bunting had been a little nervous when it came to the point. It was +Mrs. Bunting of course who engaged her, because the Sea Lady was so +entirely without experience. But certainly Mrs. Bunting's nervousness +was thrown away. + +"You understand," said Mrs. Bunting, taking a plunge at it, "that--that +she is an invalid." + +"I _didn't_, Mem," replied Parker respectfully, and evidently quite +willing to understand anything as part of her duty in this world. + +"In fact," said Mrs. Bunting, rubbing the edge of the tablecloth +daintily with her gloved finger and watching the operation with +interest, "as a matter of fact, she has a mermaid's tail." + +"Mermaid's tail! Indeed, Mem! And is it painful at all?" + +"Oh, dear, no, it involves no inconvenience--nothing. Except--you +understand, there is a need of--discretion." + +"Of course, Mem," said Parker, as who should say, "there always is." + +"We particularly don't want the servants----" + +"The lower servants-- No, Mem." + +"You understand?" and Mrs. Bunting looked up again and regarded Parker +calmly. + +"Precisely, Mem!" said Parker, with a face unmoved, and so they came to +the question of terms. "It all passed off _most_ satisfactorily," said +Mrs. Bunting, taking a deep breath at the mere memory of that moment. +And it is clear that Parker was quite of her opinion. + +She was not only discreet but really clever and handy. From the very +outset she grasped the situation, unostentatiously but very firmly. It +was Parker who contrived the sort of violin case for It, and who made +the tea gown extension that covered the case's arid contours. It was +Parker who suggested an invalid's chair for use indoors and in the +garden, and a carrying chair for the staircase. Hitherto Fred Bunting +had been on hand, at last even in excessive abundance, whenever the Sea +Lady lay in need of masculine arms. But Parker made it clear at once +that that was not at all in accordance with her ideas, and so earned the +lifelong gratitude of Mabel Glendower. And Parker too spoke out for +drives, and suggested with an air of rightness that left nothing else to +be done, the hire of a carriage and pair for the season--to the equal +delight of the Buntings and the Sea Lady. It was Parker who dictated the +daily drive up to the eastern end of the Leas and the Sea Lady's +transfer, and the manner of the Sea Lady's transfer, to the bath chair +in which she promenaded the Leas. There seemed to be nowhere that it was +pleasant and proper for the Sea Lady to go that Parker did not swiftly +and correctly indicate it and the way to get to it, and there seems to +have been nothing that it was really undesirable the Sea Lady should do +and anywhere that it was really undesirable that she should go, that +Parker did not at once invisibly but effectively interpose a bar. It was +Parker who released the Sea Lady from being a sort of private and +peculiar property in the Bunting household and carried her off to a +becoming position in the world, when the crisis came. In little things +as in great she failed not. It was she who made it luminous that the Sea +Lady's card plate was not yet engraved and printed ("Miss Doris +Thalassia Waters" was the pleasant and appropriate name with which the +Sea Lady came primed), and who replaced the box of the presumably dank +and drowned and dripping "Tom" by a jewel case, a dressing bag and the +first of the Sea Lady's trunks. + +On a thousand little occasions this Parker showed a sense of propriety +that was penetratingly fine. For example, in the shop one day when +"things" of an intimate sort were being purchased, she suddenly +intervened. + +"There are stockings, Mem," she said in a discreet undertone, behind, +but not too vulgarly behind, a fluttering straight hand. + +"_Stockings!_" cried Mrs. Bunting. "But----!" + +"I think, Mem, she should have stockings," said Parker, quietly but very +firmly. + +And come to think of it, why _should_ an unavoidable deficiency in a +lady excuse one that can be avoided? It's there we touch the very +quintessence and central principle of the proper life. + +But Mrs. Bunting, you know, would never have seen it like that. + + +III + +Let me add here, regretfully but with infinite respect, one other thing +about Parker, and then she shall drop into her proper place. + +I must confess, with a slight tinge of humiliation, that I pursued this +young woman to her present situation at Highton Towers--maid she is to +that eminent religious and social propagandist, the Lady Jane Glanville. +There were certain details of which I stood in need, certain scenes and +conversations of which my passion for verisimilitude had scarcely a +crumb to go upon. And from first to last, what she must have seen and +learnt and inferred would amount practically to everything. + +I put this to her frankly. She made no pretence of not understanding me +nor of ignorance of certain hidden things. When I had finished she +regarded me with a level regard. + +"I couldn't think of it, sir," she said. "It wouldn't be at all +according to my ideas." + +"But!--It surely couldn't possibly hurt you now to tell me." + +"I'm afraid I couldn't, sir." + +"It couldn't hurt anyone." + +"It isn't that, sir." + +"I should see you didn't lose by it, you know." + +She looked at me politely, having said what she intended to say. + +And, in spite of what became at last very fine and handsome inducements, +that remained the inflexible Parker's reply. Even after I had come to +an end with my finesse and attempted to bribe her in the grossest +manner, she displayed nothing but a becoming respect for my impregnable +social superiority. + +"I couldn't think of it, sir," she repeated. "It wouldn't be at all +according to my ideas." + +And if in the end you should find this story to any extent vague or +incomplete, I trust you will remember how the inflexible severity of +Parker's ideas stood in my way. + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIFTH + +THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF MR. HARRY CHATTERIS + + +I + +These digressions about Parker and the journalists have certainly led me +astray from the story a little. You will, however, understand that while +the rising young journalist was still in pursuit of information, Hope +and Banghurst, and Parker merely a budding perfection, the carriage not +even thought of, things were already developing in that bright little +establishment beneath the evergreen oaks on the Folkestone Riviera. So +soon as the minds of the Buntings ceased to be altogether focused upon +this new and amazing social addition, they--of all people--had most +indisputably discovered, it became at first faintly and then very +clearly evident that their own simple pleasure in the possession of a +guest so beautiful as Miss Waters, so solidly wealthy and--in a +manner--so distinguished, was not entirely shared by the two young +ladies who were to have been their principal guests for the season. + +This little rift was perceptible the very first time Mrs. Bunting had an +opportunity of talking over her new arrangements with Miss Glendower. + +"And is she really going to stay with you all the summer?" said Adeline. + +"Surely, dear, you don't mind?" + +"It takes me a little by surprise." + +"She's asked me, my dear----" + +"I'm thinking of Harry. If the general election comes on in +September--and every one seems to think it will-- You promised you +would let us inundate you with electioneering." + +"But do you think she----" + +"She will be dreadfully in the way." + +She added after an interval, "She stops my working." + +"But, my dear!" + +"She's out of harmony," said Adeline. + +Mrs. Bunting looked out of her window at the tamarisk and the sea. "I'm +sure I wouldn't do anything to hurt Harry's prospects. You know how +enthusiastic we all are. Randolph would do anything. But are you sure +she will be in the way?" + +"What else can she be?" + +"She might help even." + +"Oh, help!" + +"She might canvass. She's very attractive, you know, dear." + +"Not to me," said Miss Glendower. "I don't trust her." + +"But to some people. And as Harry says, at election times every one who +can do anything must be let do it. Cut them--do anything afterwards, +but at the time--you know he talked of it when Mr. Fison and he were +here. If you left electioneering only to the really nice people----" + +"It was Mr. Fison said that, not Harry. And besides, she wouldn't help." + +"I think you misjudge her there, dear. She has been asking----" + +"To help?" + +"Yes, and all about it," said Mrs. Bunting, with a transient pink. "She +keeps asking questions about why we are having the election and what it +is all about, and why Harry is a candidate and all that. She wants to go +into it quite deeply. _I_ can't answer half the things she asks." + +"And that's why she keeps up those long conversations with Mr. Melville, +I suppose, and why Fred goes about neglecting Mabel----" + +"My dear!" said Mrs. Bunting. + +"I wouldn't have her canvassing with us for anything," said Miss +Glendower. "She'd spoil everything. She is frivolous and satirical. She +looks at you with incredulous eyes, she seems to blight all one's +earnestness.... I don't think you quite understand, dear Mrs. Bunting, +what this election and my studies mean to me--and Harry. She comes +across all that--like a contradiction." + +"Surely, my dear! I've never heard her contradict." + +"Oh, she doesn't contradict. But she-- There is something about her-- One +feels that things that are most important and vital are nothing to her. +Don't you feel it? She comes from another world to us." + +Mrs. Bunting remained judicial. Adeline dropped to a lower key again. "I +think," she said, "anyhow, that we're taking her very easily. How do we +know what she is? Down there, out there, she may be anything. She may +have had excellent reasons for coming to land----" + +"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "Is that charity?" + +"How do they live?" + +"If she hadn't lived nicely I'm sure she couldn't behave so nicely." + +"Besides--coming here! She had no invitation----" + +"I've invited her now," said Mrs. Bunting gently. + +"You could hardly help yourself. I only hope your kindness----" + +"It's not a kindness," said Mrs. Bunting, "it's a duty. If she were +only half as charming as she is. You seem to forget"--her voice +dropped--"what it is she comes for." + +"That's what I want to know." + +"I'm sure in these days, with so much materialism about and such +wickedness everywhere, when everybody who has a soul seems trying to +lose it, to find any one who hadn't a soul and who is trying to find +one----" + +"But _is_ she trying to get one?" + +"Mr. Flange comes twice every week. He would come oftener, as you know, +if there wasn't so much confirmation about." + +"And when he comes he sits and touches her hand if he can, and he talks +in his lowest voice, and she sits and smiles--she almost laughs outright +at the things he says." + +"Because he has to win his way with her. Surely Mr. Flange may do what +he can to make religion attractive?" + +"I don't believe she believes she will get a soul. I don't believe she +wants one a bit." + +She turned towards the door as if she had done. + +Mrs. Bunting's pink was now permanent. She had brought up a son and two +daughters, and besides she had brought down a husband to "My dear, how +was _I_ to know?" and when it was necessary to be firm--even with +Adeline Glendower--she knew how to be firm just as well as anybody. + +"My dear," she began in her very firmest quiet manner, "I am positive +you misjudge Miss Waters. Trivial she may be--on the surface at any +rate. Perhaps she laughs and makes fun a little. There are different +ways of looking at things. But I am sure that at bottom she is just as +serious, just as grave, as--any one. You judge her hastily. I am sure if +you knew her better--as I do----" + +Mrs. Bunting left an eloquent pause. + +Miss Glendower had two little pink flushes in her cheeks. She turned +with her hand on the door. + +"At any rate," she said, "I am sure that Harry will agree with me that +she can be no help to our cause. We have our work to do and it is +something more than just vulgar electioneering. We have to develop and +establish ideas. Harry has views that are new and wide-reaching. We want +to put our whole strength into this work. Now especially. And her +presence----" + +She paused for a moment. "It is a digression. She divides things. She +puts it all wrong. She has a way of concentrating attention about +herself. She alters the values of things. She prevents my being +single-minded, she will prevent Harry being single-minded----" + +"I think, my dear, that you might trust my judgment a little," said Mrs. +Bunting and paused. + +Miss Glendower opened her mouth and shut it again, without speaking. It +became evident finality was attained. Nothing remained to be said but +the regrettable. + +The door opened and closed smartly and Mrs. Bunting was alone. + +Within an hour they all met at the luncheon table and Adeline's +behaviour to the Sea Lady and to Mrs. Bunting was as pleasant and alert +as any highly earnest and intellectual young lady's could be. And all +that Mrs. Bunting said and did tended with what people call infinite +tact--which really, you know, means a great deal more tact than is +comfortable--to develop and expose the more serious aspect of the Sea +Lady's mind. Mr. Bunting was unusually talkative and told them all about +a glorious project he had just heard of, to cut out the rather shrubby +and weedy front of the Leas and stick in something between a wine vault +and the Crystal Palace as a Winter Garden--which seemed to him a very +excellent idea indeed. + + +II + +It is time now to give some impression of the imminent Chatteris, who +for all his late appearance is really the chief human being in my cousin +Melville's story. It happens that I met him with some frequency in my +university days and afterwards ever and again I came upon him. He was +rather a brilliant man at the university, smart without being vulgar and +clever for all that. He was remarkably good-looking from the very onset +of his manhood and without being in any way a showy spendthrift, was +quite magnificently extravagant. There was trouble in his last year, +something hushed up about a girl or woman in London, but his family had +it all over with him, and his uncle, the Earl of Beechcroft, settled +some of his bills. Not all--for the family is commendably free from +sentimental excesses--but enough to make him comfortable again. The +family is not a rich one and it further abounds in an extraordinary +quantity of rather frowsy, loose-tongued aunts--I never knew a family +quite so rich in old aunts. But Chatteris was so good-looking, +easy-mannered, and clever, that they seemed to agree almost without +discussion to pull him through. They hunted about for something that +would be really remunerative without being laborious or too commercial; +and meanwhile--after the extraordinary craving of his aunt, Lady +Poynting Mallow, to see him acting had been overcome by the united +efforts of the more religious section of his aunts--Chatteris set +himself seriously to the higher journalism--that is to say, the +journalism that dines anywhere, gets political tips after dinner, and is +always acceptable--if only to avoid thirteen articles--in a half-crown +review. In addition, he wrote some very passable verse and edited Jane +Austen for the only publisher who had not already reprinted the works of +that classic lady. + +His verse, like himself, was shapely and handsome, and, like his +face, it suggested to the penetrating eye certain reservations and +indecisions. There was just that touch of refinement that is weakness +in the public man. But as yet he was not a public man; he was known to +be energetic and his work was gathering attention as always capable and +occasionally brilliant. His aunts declared he was ripening, that any +defect in vigour he displayed was the incompleteness of the process, +and decided he should go to America, where vigour and vigorous +opportunities abound, and there, I gather, he came upon something like +a failure. Something happened, indeed, quite a lot happened. He came +back unmarried--and _via_ the South Seas, Australasia and India. And +Lady Poynting Mallow publicly told him he was a fool, when he got back. + +What happened in America, even if one does not consult contemporary +American papers, is still very difficult to determine. There appear to +have been the daughter of a millionaire and something like an engagement +in the story. According to the _New York Yell_, one of the smartest, +crispest, and altogether most representative papers in America, there +was also the daughter of some one else, whom the _Yell_ interviewed, or +professed to interview, under the heading: + + + AN ARISTOCRATIC BRITISHER + + TRIFLES WITH + + A PURE AMERICAN GIRL + + INTERVIEW WITH THE VICTIM + + OF HIS + + HEARTLESS LEVITY + + +But this some one else was, I am inclined to think in spite of her +excellently executed portrait, merely a brilliant stroke of modern +journalism, the _Yell_ having got wind of the sudden retreat of +Chatteris and inventing a reason in preference to discovering one. +Wensleydale tells me the true impetus to bolt was the merest trifle. The +daughter of the millionaire, being a bright and spirited girl, had +undergone interviewing on the subject of her approaching marriage, on +marriage in general, on social questions of various sorts, and on the +relations of the British and American peoples, and he seems to have +found the thing in his morning paper. It took him suddenly and he lost +his head. And once he started, he seems to have lacked the power of mind +to turn about and come back. The affair was a mess, the family paid some +more of his bills and shirked others, and Chatteris turned up in London +again after a time, with somewhat diminished glory and a series of +letters on Imperial Affairs, each headed with the quotation: "What do +they know of England who only England know?" + +Of course people of England learnt nothing of the real circumstances of +the case, but it was fairly obvious that he had gone to America and come +back empty-handed. + +And that was how, in the course of some years, he came to Adeline +Glendower, of whose special gifts as his helper and inspiration you have +already heard from Mrs. Bunting. When he became engaged to her, the +family, which had long craved to forgive him--Lady Poynting Mallow as a +matter of fact had done so--brightened wonderfully. And after +considerable obscure activities he declared himself a philanthropic +Liberal with open spaces in his platform, and in a position, and ready +as a beginning, to try the quality of the conservative South. + +He was away making certain decisive arrangements, in Paris and +elsewhere, at the time of the landing of the Sea Lady. Before the matter +was finally settled it was necessary that something should be said to a +certain great public character, and then he was to return and tell +Adeline. And every one was expecting him daily, including, it is now +indisputable, the Sea Lady. + + +III + +The meeting of Miss Glendower and her affianced lover on his return from +Paris was one of those scenes in this story for which I have scarcely an +inkling of the true details. He came to Folkestone and stopped at the +Metropole, the Bunting house being full and the Metropole being the +nearest hotel to Sandgate; and he walked down in the afternoon and +asked for Adeline, which was pretty rather than correct. I gather that +they met in the drawing-room, and as Chatteris closed the door behind +him, I imagine there was something in the nature of a caress. + +I must confess I envy the freedom of the novelist who can take you +behind such a locked door as this and give you all that such persons +say and do. But with the strongest will in the world to blend the +little scraps of fact I have into a continuous sequence of events, I +falter at this occasion. After all, I never saw Adeline at all until +after all these things were over, and what is she now? A rather tall, a +rather restless and active woman, very keen and obvious in public +affairs--with something gone out of her. Melville once saw a gleam of +that, but for the most part Melville never liked her; she had a wider +grasp of things than he, and he was a little afraid of her; she was in +some inexplicable way neither a pretty woman nor a "dear lady" nor a +_grande dame_ nor totally insignificant, and a heretic therefore in +Melville's scheme of things. He gives me small material for that +earlier Adeline. "She posed," he says; she was "political," and she was +always reading Mrs. Humphry Ward. + +The last Melville regarded as the most heinous offence. It is not the +least of my cousin's weaknesses that he regards this great novelist as +an extremely corrupting influence for intelligent girls. She makes +them good and serious in the wrong way, he says. Adeline, he asserts, +was absolutely built on her. She was always attempting to be the +incarnation of _Marcella_. It was he who had perverted Mrs. Bunting's +mind to adopt this fancy. But I don't believe for a moment in this +idea of girls building themselves on heroines in fiction. These are +matters of elective affinity, and unless some bullying critic or +preacher sends us astray, we take each to our own novelist as the +souls in the Swedenborgian system take to their hells. Adeline took to +the imaginary _Marcella_. There was, Melville says, the strongest +likeness in their mental atmosphere. They had the same defects, a bias +for superiority--to use his expressive phrase--the same disposition +towards arrogant benevolence, that same obtuseness to little shades of +feeling that leads people to speak habitually of the "Lower Classes," +and to think in the vein of that phrase. They certainly had the same +virtues, a conscious and conscientious integrity, a hard nobility +without one touch of magic, an industrious thoroughness. More than in +anything else, Adeline delighted in her novelist's thoroughness, her +freedom from impressionism, the patient resolution with which she +went into the corners and swept under the mat of every incident. And +it would be easy to argue from that, that Adeline behaved as Mrs. +Ward's most characteristic heroine behaved, on an analogous occasion. + +_Marcella_ we know--at least after her heart was changed--would have +clung to him. There would have been a moment of high emotion in which +thoughts--of the highest class--mingled with the natural ambition of two +people in the prime of life and power. Then she would have receded with +a quick movement and listened with her beautiful hand pensive against +her cheek, while Chatteris began to sum up the forces against him--to +speculate on the action of this group and that. Something infinitely +tender and maternal would have spoken in her, pledging her to the utmost +help that love and a woman can give. She would have produced in +Chatteris that exquisite mingled impression of grace, passion, +self-yielding, which in all its infinite variations and repetitions made +up for him the constant poem of her beauty. + +But that is the dream and not the reality. So Adeline might have dreamt +of behaving, but--she was not _Marcella_, and only wanting to be, and +he was not only not Maxwell but he had no intention of being Maxwell +anyhow. If he had had an opportunity of becoming Maxwell he would +probably have rejected it with extreme incivility. So they met like two +unheroic human beings, with shy and clumsy movements and, I suppose, +fairly honest eyes. Something there was in the nature of a caress, I +believe, and then I incline to fancy she said "Well?" and I think +he must have answered, "It's all right." After that, and rather +allusively, with a backward jerk of the head at intervals as it were +towards the great personage, Chatteris must have told her particulars. +He must have told her that he was going to contest Hythe and that the +little difficulty with the Glasgow commission agent who wanted to run +the Radical ticket as a "Man of Kent" had been settled without injury +to the party (such as it is). Assuredly they talked politics, because +soon after, when they came into the garden side by side to where Mrs. +Bunting and the Sea Lady sat watching the girls play croquet, Adeline +was in full possession of all these facts. I fancy that for such a +couple as they were, such intimation of success, such earnest topics, +replaced, to a certain extent at any rate, the vain repetition of +vulgar endearments. + +The Sea Lady appears to have been the first to see them. "Here he is," +she said abruptly. + +"Whom?" said Mrs. Bunting, glancing up at eyes that were suddenly eager, +and then following their glance towards Chatteris. + +"Your other son," said the Sea Lady, jesting unheeded. + +"It's Harry and Adeline!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "Don't they make a +handsome couple?" + +But the Sea Lady made no reply, and leaned back, scrutinising their +advance. Certainly they made a handsome pair. Coming out of the veranda +into the blaze of the sun and across the trim lawn towards the shadow of +the ilex trees, they were lit, as it were, with a more glorious +limelight, and displayed like actors on a stage more spacious than the +stage of any theatre. The figure of Chatteris must have come out tall +and fair and broad, a little sunburnt, and I gather even then a little +preoccupied, as indeed he always seemed to be in those latter days. And +beside him Adeline, glancing now up at him and now towards the audience +under the trees, dark and a little flushed, rather tall--though not so +tall as _Marcella_ seems to have been--and, you know, without any +instructions from any novel-writer in the world, glad. + +Chatteris did not discover that there was any one but Buntings under the +tree until he was close at hand. Then the abrupt discovery of this +stranger seems to have checked whatever he was prepared to say for his +_debut_, and Adeline took the centre of the stage. Mrs. Bunting was +standing up, and all the croquet players--except Mabel, who was +winning--converged on Chatteris with cries of welcome. Mabel remained in +the midst of what I understand is called a tea-party, loudly demanding +that they should see her "play it out." No doubt if everything had gone +well she would have given a most edifying exhibition of what croquet can +sometimes be. + +Adeline swam forward to Mrs. Bunting and cried with a note of triumph in +her voice: "It is all settled. Everything is settled. He has won them +all and he is to contest Hythe." + +Quite involuntarily her eyes must have met the Sea Lady's. + +It is of course quite impossible to say what she found there--or indeed +what there was to find there then. For a moment they faced riddles, and +then the Sea Lady turned her eyes with a long deferred scrutiny to the +man's face, which she probably saw now closely for the first time. One +wonders whether it is just possible that there may have been something, +if it were no more than a gleam of surprise and enquiry, in that meeting +of their eyes. Just for a moment she held his regard, and then it +shifted enquiringly to Mrs. Bunting. + +That lady intervened effusively with an "Oh! I forgot," and introduced +them. I think they went through that without another meeting of the +foils of their regard. + +"You back?" said Fred to Chatteris, touching his arm, and Chatteris +confirmed this happy guess. + +The Bunting girls seemed to welcome Adeline's enviable situation rather +than Chatteris as an individual. And Mabel's voice could be heard +approaching. "Oughtn't they to see me play it out, Mr. Chatteris?" + +"Hullo, Harry, my boy!" cried Mr. Bunting, who was cultivating a bluff +manner. "How's Paris?" + +"How's the fishing?" said Harry. + +And so they came into a vague circle about this lively person who had +"won them all"--except Parker, of course, who remained in her own +proper place and was, I am certain, never to be won by anybody. + +There was a handing and shifting of garden chairs. + +No one seemed to take the slightest notice of Adeline's dramatic +announcement. The Buntings were not good at thinking of things to say. +She stood in the midst of the group like a leading lady when the other +actors have forgotten their parts. Then every one woke up to this, as it +were, and they went off in a volley. "So it's really all settled," said +Mrs. Bunting; and Betty Bunting said, "There _is_ to be an election +then!" and Nettie said, "What fun!" Mr. Bunting remarked with a knowing +air, "So you saw him then?" and Fred flung "Hooray!" into the tangle of +sounds. + +The Sea Lady of course said nothing. + +"We'll give 'em a jolly good fight for it, anyhow," said Mr. Bunting. + +"Well, I hope we shall do that," said Chatteris. + +"We shall do more than that," said Adeline. + +"Oh, yes!" said Betty Bunting, "we shall." + +"I knew they would let him," said Adeline. + +"If they had any sense," said Mr. Bunting. + +Then came a pause, and Mr. Bunting was emboldened to lift up his voice +and utter politics. "They are getting sense," he said. "They are +learning that a party must have men, men of birth and training. Money +and the mob--they've tried to keep things going by playing to fads and +class jealousies. And the Irish. And they've had their lesson. How? +Why,--we've stood aside. We've left 'em to faddists and fomenters--and +the Irish. And here they are! It's a revolution in the party. We've let +it down. Now we must pick it up again." + +He made a gesture with his fat little hand, one of those fat pink little +hands that appear to have neither flesh nor bones inside them but only +sawdust or horse-hair. Mrs. Bunting leaned back in her chair and smiled +at him indulgently. + +"It is no common election," said Mr. Bunting. "It is a great issue." + +The Sea Lady had been regarding him thoughtfully. "What is a great +issue?" she asked. "I don't quite understand." + +Mr. Bunting spread himself to explain to her. "This," he said to begin +with. Adeline listened with a mingling of interest and impatience, +attempting ever and again to suppress him and to involve Chatteris by a +tactful interposition. But Chatteris appeared disinclined to be +involved. He seemed indeed quite interested in Mr. Bunting's view of the +case. + +Presently the croquet quartette went back--at Mabel's suggestion--to +their game, and the others continued their political talk. It became +more personal at last, dealing soon quite specifically with all that +Chatteris was doing and more particularly all that Chatteris was to do. +Mrs. Bunting suddenly suppressed Mr. Bunting as he was offering advice, +and Adeline took the burden of the talk again. She indicated vast +purposes. "This election is merely the opening of a door," she said. +When Chatteris made modest disavowals she smiled with a proud and happy +consciousness of what she meant to make of him. + +And Mrs. Bunting supplied footnotes to make it all clear to the Sea +Lady. "He's so modest," she said at one point, and Chatteris pretended +not to hear and went rather pink. Ever and again he attempted to deflect +the talk towards the Sea Lady and away from himself, but he was +hampered by his ignorance of her position. + +And the Sea Lady said scarcely anything but watched Chatteris and +Adeline, and more particularly Chatteris in relation to Adeline. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SIXTH + +SYMPTOMATIC + + +I + +My cousin Melville is never very clear about his dates. Now this is +greatly to be regretted, because it would be very illuminating indeed if +one could tell just how many days elapsed before he came upon Chatteris +in intimate conversation with the Sea Lady. He was going along the front +of the Leas with some books from the Public Library that Miss Glendower +had suddenly wished to consult, and which she, with that entire +ignorance of his lack of admiration for her which was part of her want +of charm for him, had bidden him bring her. It was in one of those +sheltered paths just under the brow which give such a pleasant and +characteristic charm to Folkestone, that he came upon a little group +about the Sea Lady's bath chair. Chatteris was seated in one of the +wooden seats that are embedded in the bank, and was leaning forward and +looking into the Sea Lady's face; and she was speaking with a smile that +struck Melville even at the time as being a little special in its +quality--and she seems to have been capable of many charming smiles. +Parker was a little distance away, where a sort of bastion projects and +gives a wide view of the pier and harbour and the coast of France, +regarding it all with a qualified disfavour, and the bath chairman was +crumpled up against the bank lost in that wistful melancholy that the +constant perambulation of broken humanity necessarily engenders. + +[Illustration: A little group about the Sea Lady's bath chair.] + +My cousin slackened his pace a little and came up and joined them. +The conversation hung at his approach. Chatteris sat back a little, but +there seemed no resentment and he sought a topic for the three to +discuss in the books Melville carried. + +"Books?" he said. + +"For Miss Glendower," said Melville. + +"Oh!" said Chatteris. + +"What are they about?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Land tenure," said Melville. + +"That's hardly my subject," said the Sea Lady, and Chatteris joined in +her smile as if he saw a jest. + +There was a little pause. + +"You are contesting Hythe?" said Melville. + +"Fate points that way," said Chatteris. + +"They threaten a dissolution for September." + +"It will come in a month," said Chatteris, with the inimitable tone of +one who knows. + +"In that case we shall soon be busy." + +"And _I_ may canvass," said the Sea Lady. "I never have----" + +"Miss Waters," explained Chatteris, "has been telling me she means to +help us." He met Melville's eye frankly. + +"It's rough work, Miss Waters," said Melville. + +"I don't mind that. It's fun. And I want to help. I really do want to +help--Mr. Chatteris." + +"You know, that's encouraging." + +"I could go around with you in my bath chair?" + +"It would be a picnic," said Chatteris. + +"I mean to help anyhow," said the Sea Lady. + +"You know the case for the plaintiff?" asked Melville. + +She looked at him. + +"You've got your arguments?" + +"I shall ask them to vote for Mr. Chatteris, and afterwards when I see +them I shall remember them and smile and wave my hand. What else is +there?" + +"Nothing," said Chatteris, and shut the lid on Melville. "I wish I had +an argument as good." + +"What sort of people are they here?" asked Melville. "Isn't there a +smuggling interest to conciliate?" + +"I haven't asked that," said Chatteris. "Smuggling is over and past, +you know. Forty years ago. It always has been forty years ago. They +trotted out the last of the smugglers,--interesting old man, full of +reminiscences,--when there was a count of the Saxon Shore. He remembered +smuggling--forty years ago. Really, I doubt if there ever was any +smuggling. The existing coast guard is a sacrifice to a vain +superstition." + +"Why!" cried the Sea Lady. "Only about five weeks ago I saw quite near +here----" + +She stopped abruptly and caught Melville's eye. He grasped her +difficulty. + +"In a paper?" he suggested. + +"Yes, in a paper," she said, seizing the rope he threw her. + +"Well?" asked Chatteris. + +"There is smuggling still," said the Sea Lady, with an air of some one +who decides not to tell an anecdote that is suddenly found to be half +forgotten. + +"There's no doubt it happens," said Chatteris, missing it all. "But it +doesn't appear in the electioneering. I certainly sha'n't agitate for a +faster revenue cutter. However things may be in that respect, I take the +line that they are very well as they are. That's my line, of course." +And he looked out to sea. The eyes of Melville and the Sea Lady had an +intimate moment. + +"There, you know, is just a specimen of the sort of thing we do," said +Chatteris. "Are you prepared to be as intricate as that?" + +"Quite," said the Sea Lady. + +My cousin was reminded of an anecdote. + +The talk degenerated into anecdotes of canvassing, and ran shallow. My +cousin was just gathering that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Bunting had been +with the Sea Lady and had gone into the town to a shop, when they +returned. Chatteris rose to greet them and explained--what had been by +no means apparent before--that he was on his way to Adeline, and after a +few further trivialities he and Melville went on together. + +A brief silence fell between them. + +"Who is that Miss Waters?" asked Chatteris. + +"Friend of Mrs. Bunting," prevaricated Melville. + +"So I gather.... She seems a very charming person." + +"She is." + +"She's interesting. Her illness seems to throw her up. It makes a +passive thing of her, like a picture or something that's--imaginary. +Imagined--anyhow. She sits there and smiles and responds. Her eyes--have +something intimate. And yet----" + +My cousin offered no assistance. + +"Where did Mrs. Bunting find her." + +My cousin had to gather himself together for a second or so. + +"There's something," he said deliberately, "that Mrs. Bunting doesn't +seem disposed----" + +"What can it be?" + +"It's bound to be all right," said Melville rather weakly. + +"It's strange, too. Mrs. Bunting is usually so disposed----" + +Melville left that to itself. + +"That's what one feels," said Chatteris. + +"What?" + +"Mystery." + +My cousin shares with me a profound detestation of that high mystic +method of treating women. He likes women to be finite--and nice. In +fact, he likes everything to be finite--and nice. So he merely grunted. + +But Chatteris was not to be stopped by that. He passed to a critical +note. "No doubt it's all illusion. All women are impressionists, a +patch, a light. You get an effect. And that is all you are meant to get, +I suppose. She gets an effect. But how--that's the mystery. It's not +merely beauty. There's plenty of beauty in the world. But not of these +effects. The eyes, I fancy." + +He dwelt on that for a moment. + +"There's really nothing in eyes, you know, Chatteris," said my cousin +Melville, borrowing an alien argument and a tone of analytical cynicism +from me. "Have you ever looked at eyes through a hole in a sheet?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Chatteris. "I don't mean the mere physical +eye.... Perhaps it's the look of health--and the bath chair. A bold +discord. You don't know what's the matter, Melville?" + +"How?" + +"I gather from Bunting it's a disablement--not a deformity." + +"He ought to know." + +"I'm not so sure of that. You don't happen to know the nature of her +disablement?" + +"I can't tell at all," said Melville in a speculative tone. It struck +him he was getting to prevaricate better. + +The subject seemed exhausted. They spoke of a common friend whom the +sight of the Metropole suggested. Then they did not talk at all for a +time, until the stir and interest of the band stand was passed. Then +Chatteris threw out a thought. + +"Complex business--feminine motives," he remarked. + +"How?" + +"This canvassing. _She_ can't be interested in philanthropic Liberalism." + +"There's a difference in the type. And besides, it's a personal matter." + +"Not necessarily, is it? Surely there's not such an intellectual gap +between the sexes! If _you_ can get interested----" + +"Oh, I know." + +"Besides, it's not a question of principles. It's the fun of +electioneering." + +"Fun!" + +"There's no knowing what won't interest the feminine mind," said +Melville, and added, "or what will." + +Chatteris did not answer. + +"It's the district visiting instinct, I suppose," said Melville. "They +all have it. It's the canvassing. All women like to go into houses that +don't belong to them." + +"Very likely," said Chatteris shortly, and failing a reply from +Melville, he gave way to secret meditations, it would seem still of a +fairly agreeable sort. + +The twelve o'clock gun thudded from Shornecliffe Camp. + +"By Jove!" said Chatteris, and quickened his steps. + + * * * * * + +They found Adeline busy amidst her papers. As they entered she pointed +reproachfully, yet with the protrusion of a certain Marcella-like +undertone of sweetness, at the clock. The apologies of Chatteris were +effusive and winning, and involved no mention of the Sea Lady on the +Leas. + +Melville delivered his books and left them already wading deeply into +the details of the district organisation that the local Liberal +organiser had submitted. + + +II + +A little while after the return of Chatteris, my cousin Melville +and the Sea Lady were under the ilex at the end of the sea garden +and--disregarding Parker (as every one was accustomed to do), who was +in a garden chair doing some afternoon work at a proper distance--there +was nobody with them at all. Fred and the girls were out cycling--Fred +had gone with them at the Sea Lady's request--and Miss Glendower and +Mrs. Bunting were at Hythe calling diplomatically on some rather horrid +local people who might be serviceable to Harry in his electioneering. + +Mr. Bunting was out fishing. He was not fond of fishing, but he was in +many respects an exceptionally resolute little man, and he had taken to +fishing every day in the afternoon after luncheon in order to break +himself of what Mrs. Bunting called his "ridiculous habit" of getting +sea-sick whenever he went out in a boat. He said that if fishing from a +boat with pieces of mussels for bait after luncheon would not break the +habit nothing would, and certainly it seemed at times as if it were +going to break everything that was in him. But the habit escaped. This, +however, is a digression. + +These two, I say, were sitting in the ample shade under the evergreen +oak, and Melville, I imagine, was in those fine faintly patterned +flannels that in the year 1899 combined correctness with ease. He was no +doubt looking at the shaded face of the Sea Lady, framed in a frame of +sunlit yellow-green lawn and black-green ilex leaves--at least so my +impulse for verisimilitude conceives it--and she at first was pensive +and downcast that afternoon and afterwards she was interested and looked +into his eyes. Either she must have suggested that he might smoke or +else he asked. Anyhow, his cigarettes were produced. She looked at them +with an arrested gesture, and he hung for a moment, doubtful, on her +gesture. + +"I suppose _you_--" he said. + +"I never learned." + +He glanced at Parker and then met the Sea Lady's regard. + +"It's one of the things I came for," she said. + +He took the only course. + +She accepted a cigarette and examined it thoughtfully. "Down there," she +said, "it's just one of the things-- You will understand we get nothing +but saturated tobacco. Some of the mermen-- There's something they have +picked up from the sailors. Quids, I think they call it. But that's too +horrid for words!" + +She dismissed the unpleasant topic by a movement, and lapsed into +thought. + +My cousin clicked his match-box. + +She had a momentary doubt and glanced towards the house. "Mrs. Bunting?" +she asked. Several times, I understand, she asked the same thing. + +"She wouldn't mind--" said Melville, and stopped. + +"She won't think it improper," he amplified, "if nobody else thinks it +improper." + +"There's nobody else," said the Sea Lady, glancing at Parker, and my +cousin lit the match. + +My cousin has an indirect habit of mind. With all general and all +personal things his desperation to get at them obliquely amounts almost +to a passion; he could no more go straight to a crisis than a cat could +to a stranger. He came off at a tangent now as he was sitting forward +and scrutinising her first very creditable efforts to draw. "I just +wonder," he said, "exactly what it was you _did_ come for." + +She smiled at him over a little jet of smoke. "Why, this," she said. + +"And hairdressing?" + +"And dressing." + +She smiled again after a momentary hesitation. "And all this sort of +thing," she said, as if she felt she had answered him perhaps a little +below his deserts. Her gesture indicated the house and the lawn and--my +cousin Melville wondered just exactly how much else. + +"Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady. + +"Beautifully," said my cousin with a faint sigh in his voice. "What do +you think of it?" + +"It was worth coming for," said the Sea Lady, smiling into his eyes. + +"But did you really just come----?" + +She filled in his gap. "To see what life was like on land here?... Isn't +that enough?" + +Melville's cigarette had failed to light. He regarded its blighted +career pensively. + +"Life," he said, "isn't all--this sort of thing." + +"This sort of thing?" + +"Sunlight. Cigarette smoking. Talk. Looking nice." + +"But it's made up----" + +"Not altogether." + +"For example?" + +"Oh, _you_ know." + +"What?" + +"You know," said Melville, and would not look at her. + +"I decline to know," she said after a little pause. + +"Besides--" he said. + +"Yes?" + +"You told Mrs. Bunting--" It occurred to him that he was telling tales, +but that scruple came too late. + +"Well?" + +"Something about a soul." + +She made no immediate answer. He looked up and her eyes were smiling. +"Mr. Melville," she said, innocently, "what _is_ a soul?" + +"Well," said my cousin readily, and then paused for a space. "A soul," +said he, and knocked an imaginary ash from his extinct cigarette. + +"A soul," he repeated, and glanced at Parker. + +"A soul, you know," he said again, and looked at the Sea Lady with the +air of a man who is handling a difficult matter with skilful care. + +"Come to think of it," he said, "it's a rather complicated matter to +explain----" + +"To a being without one?" + +"To any one," said my cousin Melville, suddenly admitting his +difficulty. + +He meditated upon her eyes for a moment. + +"Besides," he said, "you know what a soul is perfectly well." + +"No," she answered, "I don't." + +"You know as well as I do." + +"Ah! that may be different." + +"You came to get a soul." + +"Perhaps I don't want one. Why--if one hasn't one----?" + +"Ah, _there_!" And my cousin shrugged his shoulders. "But really you +know-- It's just the generality of it that makes it hard to define." + +"Everybody has a soul?" + +"Every one." + +"Except me?" + +"I'm not certain of that." + +"Mrs. Bunting?" + +"Certainly." + +"And Mr. Bunting?" + +"Every one." + +"Has Miss Glendower?" + +"Lots." + +The Sea Lady mused. She went off at a tangent abruptly. + +"Mr. Melville," she said, "what is a union of souls?" + +Melville flicked his extinct cigarette suddenly into an elbow shape and +then threw it away. The phrase may have awakened some reminiscence. +"It's an extra," he said. "It's a sort of flourish.... And sometimes +it's like leaving cards by footmen--a substitute for the real presence." + +There came a gap. He remained downcast, trying to find a way towards +whatever it was that was in his mind to say. Conceivably, he did not +clearly know what that might be until he came to it. The Sea Lady +abandoned an attempt to understand him in favour of a more urgent topic. + +"Do you think Miss Glendower and Mr. Chatteris----?" + +Melville looked up at her. He noticed she had hung on the latter name. +"Decidedly," he said. "It's just what they _would_ do." + +Then he spoke again. "Chatteris?" he said. + +"Yes," said she. + +"I thought so," said Melville. + +The Sea Lady regarded him gravely. They scrutinised each other with an +unprecedented intimacy. Melville was suddenly direct. It was a discovery +that it seemed he ought to have made all along. He felt quite +unaccountably bitter; he spoke with a twitch of the mouth and his voice +had a note of accusation. "You want to talk about him." + +She nodded--still grave. + +"Well, _I_ don't." He changed his note. "But I will if you wish it." + +"I thought you would." + +"Oh, _you_ know," said Melville, discovering his extinct cigarette was +within reach of a vindictive heel. + +She said nothing. + +"Well?" said Melville. + +"I saw him first," she apologised, "some years ago." + +"Where?" + +"In the South Seas--near Tonga." + +"And that is really what you came for?" + +This time her manner was convincing. She admitted, "Yes." + +Melville was carefully impartial. "He's sightly," he admitted, "and +well-built and a decent chap--a decent chap. But I don't see why +you----" + +He went off at a tangent. "He didn't see you----?" + +"Oh, no." + +Melville's pose and tone suggested a mind of extreme liberality. "I +don't see why you came," he said. "Nor what you mean to do. You +see"--with an air of noting a trifling but valid obstacle--"there's Miss +Glendower." + +"Is there?" she said. + +"Well, isn't there?" + +"That's just it," she said. + +"And besides after all, you know, why should you----?" + +"I admit it's unreasonable," she said. "But why reason about it? It's a +matter of the imagination----" + +"For him?" + +"How should I know how it takes him? That is what I _want_ to know." + +Melville looked her in the eyes again. "You know, you're not playing +fair," he said. + +"To her?" + +"To any one." + +"Why?" + +"Because you are immortal--and unincumbered. Because you can do +everything you want to do--and we cannot. I don't know why we cannot, +but we cannot. Here we are, with our short lives and our little souls to +save, or lose, fussing for our little concerns. And you, out of the +elements, come and beckon----" + +"The elements have their rights," she said. And then: "The elements are +the elements, you know. That is what you forget." + +"Imagination?" + +"Certainly. That's _the_ element. Those elements of your chemists----" + +"Yes?" + +"Are all imagination. There isn't any other." She went on: "And all the +elements of your life, the life you imagine you are living, the little +things you must do, the little cares, the extraordinary little duties, +the day by day, the hypnotic limitations--all these things are a fancy +that has taken hold of you too strongly for you to shake off. You +daren't, you mustn't, you can't. To us who watch you----" + +"You watch us?" + +"Oh, yes. We watch you, and sometimes we envy you. Not only for the dry +air and the sunlight, and the shadows of trees, and the feeling of +morning, and the pleasantness of many such things, but because your +lives begin and end--because you look towards an end." + +She reverted to her former topic. "But you are so limited, so tied! The +little time you have, you use so poorly. You begin and you end, and all +the time between it is as if you were enchanted; you are afraid to do +this that would be delightful to do, you must do that, though you know +all the time it is stupid and disagreeable. Just think of the +things--even the little things--you mustn't do. Up there on the Leas in +this hot weather all the people are sitting in stuffy ugly clothes--ever +so much too much clothes, hot tight boots, you know, when they have the +most lovely pink feet, some of them--we _see_,--and they are all with +little to talk about and nothing to look at, and bound not to do all +sorts of natural things and bound to do all sorts of preposterous +things. Why are they bound? Why are they letting life slip by them? +Just as if they wouldn't all of them presently be dead! Suppose you were +to go up there in a bathing dress and a white cotton hat----" + +"It wouldn't be proper!" cried Melville. + +"Why not?" + +"It would be outrageous!" + +"But any one may see you like that on the beach!" + +"That's different." + +"It isn't different. You dream it's different. And in just the same way +you dream all the other things are proper or improper or good or bad to +do. Because you are in a dream, a fantastic, unwholesome little dream. +So small, so infinitely small! I saw you the other day dreadfully +worried by a spot of ink on your sleeve--almost the whole afternoon." + +[Illustration: "Why not?"] + +My cousin looked distressed. She abandoned the ink-spot. + +"Your life, I tell you, is a dream--a dream, and you can't wake out of +it----" + +"And if so, why do you tell me?" + +She made no answer for a space. + +"Why do you tell me?" he insisted. + +He heard the rustle of her movement as she bent towards him. + +She came warmly close to him. She spoke in gently confidential +undertone, as one who imparts a secret that is not to be too lightly +given. "Because," she said, "there are better dreams." + + +III + +For a moment it seemed to Melville that he had been addressed by +something quite other than the pleasant lady in the bath chair before +him. "But how--?" he began and stopped. He remained silent with a +perplexed face. She leaned back and glanced away from him, and when at +last she turned and spoke again, specific realities closed in on him +once more. + +"Why shouldn't I," she asked, "if I want to?" + +"Shouldn't what?" + +"If I fancy Chatteris." + +"One might think of obstacles," he reflected. + +"He's not hers," she said. + +"In a way, he's trying to be," said Melville. + +"Trying to be! He has to be what he is. Nothing can make him hers. If +you weren't dreaming you would see that." My cousin was silent. "She's +not _real_," she went on. "She's a mass of fancies and vanities. She +gets everything out of books. She gets herself out of a book. You can +see her doing it here.... What is she seeking? What is she trying to +do? All this work, all this political stuff of hers? She talks of the +condition of the poor! What is the condition of the poor? A dreary +tossing on the bed of existence, a perpetual fear of consequences that +perpetually distresses them. Lives of anxiety they lead, because they do +not know what a dream the whole thing is. Suppose they were not anxious +and afraid.... And what does she care for the condition of the poor, +after all? It is only a point of departure in her dream. In her heart +she does not want their dreams to be happier, in her heart she has no +passion for them, only her dream is that she should be prominently doing +good, asserting herself, controlling their affairs amidst thanks and +praise and blessings. _Her_ dream! Of serious things!--a rout of +phantoms pursuing a phantom ignis fatuus--the afterglow of a mirage. +Vanity of vanities----" + +"It's real enough to her." + +"As real as she can make it, you know. But she isn't real herself. She +begins badly." + +"And he, you know----" + +"He doesn't believe in it." + +"I'm not so sure." + +"I am--now." + +"He's a complicated being." + +"He will ravel out," said the Sea Lady. + +"I think you misjudge him about that work of his, anyhow," said +Melville. "He's a man rather divided against himself." He added +abruptly, "We all are." He recovered himself from the generality. "It's +vague, I admit, a sort of vague wish to do something decent, you know, +that he has----" + +"A sort of vague wish," she conceded; "but----" + +"He means well," said Melville, clinging to his proposition. + +"He means nothing. Only very dimly he suspects----" + +"Yes?" + +"What you too are beginning to suspect.... That other things may be +conceivable even if they are not possible. That this life of yours is +not everything. That it is not to be taken too seriously. Because ... +there are better dreams!" + +The song of the sirens was in her voice; my cousin would not look at her +face. "I know nothing of any other dreams," he said. "One has oneself +and this life, and that is enough to manage. What other dreams can there +be? Anyhow, we are in the dream--we have to accept it. Besides, you +know, that's going off the question. We were talking of Chatteris, and +why you have come for him. Why should you come, why should any one +outside come--into this world?" + +"Because we are permitted to come--we immortals. And why, if we choose +to do so, and taste this life that passes and continues, as rain that +falls to the ground, why should we not do it? Why should we abstain?" + +"And Chatteris?" + +"If he pleases me." + +He roused himself to a Titanic effort against an oppression that was +coming over him. He tried to get the thing down to a definite small +case, an incident, an affair of considerations. "But look here, you +know," he said. "What precisely do you mean to do if you get him? You +don't seriously intend to keep up the game to that extent. You don't +mean--positively, in our terrestrial fashion, you know--to marry him?" + +The Sea Lady laughed at his recovery of the practical tone. "Well, why +not?" she asked. + +"And go about in a bath chair, and-- No, that's not it. What _is_ it?" + +He looked up into her eyes, and it was like looking into deep water. +Down in that deep there stirred impalpable things. She smiled at him. + +"No!" she said, "I sha'n't marry him and go about in a bath chair. And +grow old as all earthly women must. (It's the dust, I think, and the +dryness of the air, and the way you begin and end.) You burn too fast, +you flare and sink and die. This life of yours!--the illnesses and the +growing old! When the skin wears shabby, and the light is out of the +hair, and the teeth-- Not even for love would I face it. No.... But +then you know--" Her voice sank to a low whisper. "_There are better +dreams._" + +"What dreams?" rebelled Melville. "What do you mean? What are you? What +do you mean by coming into this life--you who pretend to be a woman--and +whispering, whispering ... to us who are in it, to us who have no +escape." + +"But there is an escape," said the Sea Lady. + +"How?" + +"For some there is an escape. When the whole life rushes to a moment--" +And then she stopped. Now there is clearly no sense in this sentence to +my mind, even from a lady of an essentially imaginary sort, who comes +out of the sea. How can a whole life rush to a moment? But whatever it +was she really did say, there is no doubt she left it half unsaid. + +He glanced up at her abrupt pause, and she was looking at the house. + + * * * * * + +"Do ... ris! Do ... ris! Are you there?" It was Mrs. Bunting's voice +floating athwart the lawn, the voice of the ascendant present, of +invincibly sensible things. The world grew real again to Melville. He +seemed to wake up, to start back from some delusive trance that crept +upon him. + +He looked at the Sea Lady as if he were already incredulous of the +things they had said, as if he had been asleep and dreamed the talk. +Some light seemed to go out, some fancy faded. His eye rested upon the +inscription, "Flamps, Bath Chair Proprietor," just visible under her +arm. + +"We've got perhaps a little more serious than--" he said doubtfully, and +then, "What you have been saying--did you exactly mean----?" + +The rustle of Mrs. Bunting's advance became audible, and Parker moved +and coughed. + +He was quite sure they had been "more serious than----" + +"Another time perhaps----" + +Had all these things really been said, or was he under some fantastic +hallucination? + +He had a sudden thought. "Where's your cigarette?" he asked. + +But her cigarette had ended long ago. + +"And what have you been talking about so long?" sang Mrs. Bunting, with +an almost motherly hand on the back of Melville's chair. + +"Oh!" said Melville, at a loss for once, and suddenly rising from his +chair to face her, and then to the Sea Lady with an artificially easy +smile, "What _have_ we been talking about?" + +"All sorts of things, I dare say," said Mrs. Bunting, in what might +almost be called an arch manner. And she honoured Melville with a +special smile--one of those smiles that are morally almost winks. + +[Illustration: The waiter retires amazed.] + +My cousin caught all the archness full in the face, and for four seconds +he stared at Mrs. Bunting in amazement. He wanted breath. Then they +all laughed together, and Mrs. Bunting sat down pleasantly and remarked, +quite audibly to herself, "As if I couldn't guess." + + +IV + +I gather that after this talk Melville fell into an extraordinary net of +doubting. In the first place, and what was most distressing, he doubted +whether this conversation could possibly have happened at all, and if it +had whether his memory had not played him some trick in modifying and +intensifying the import of it all. My cousin occasionally dreams +conversations of so sober and probable a sort as to mingle quite +perplexingly with his real experiences. Was this one of these occasions? +He found himself taking up and scrutinising, as it were, first this +remembered sentence and then that. Had she really said this thing and +quite in this way? His memory of their conversation was never quite the +same for two days together. Had she really and deliberately foreshadowed +for Chatteris some obscure and mystical submergence? + +What intensified and complicated his doubts most, was the Sea Lady's +subsequent serene freedom from allusion to anything that might or might +not have passed. She behaved just as she had always behaved; neither an +added intimacy nor that distance that follows indiscreet confidences +appeared in her manner. + +And amidst this crop of questions arose presently quite a new set of +doubts, as if he were not already sufficiently equipped. The Sea Lady +alleged she had come to the world that lives on land, for Chatteris. + +And then----? + +He had not hitherto looked ahead to see precisely what would happen to +Chatteris, to Miss Glendower, to the Buntings or any one when, as seemed +highly probable, Chatteris was "got." There were other dreams, there was +another existence, an elsewhere--and Chatteris was to go there! So she +said! But it came into Melville's mind with a quite disproportionate +force and vividness that once, long ago, he had seen a picture of a man +and a mermaid, rushing downward through deep water.... Could it possibly +be that sort of thing in the year eighteen hundred and ninety-nine? +Conceivably, if she had said these things, did she mean them, and if she +meant them, and this definite campaign of capture was in hand, what was +an orderly, sane-living, well-dressed bachelor of the world to do? + +Look on--until things ended in a catastrophe? + +One figures his face almost aged. He appears to have hovered about the +house on the Sandgate Riviera to a scandalous extent, failing always to +get a sufficiently long and intimate tete-a-tete with the Sea Lady to +settle once for all his doubts as to what really had been said and what +he had dreamed or fancied in their talk. Never had he been so +exceedingly disturbed as he was by the twist this talk had taken. Never +had his habitual pose of humorous acquiescence in life been quite so +difficult to keep up. He became positively absent-minded. "You know if +it's like that, it's serious," was the burden of his private mutterings. +His condition was palpable even to Mrs. Bunting. But she misunderstood +his nature. She said something. Finally, and quite abruptly, he set off +to London in a state of frantic determination to get out of it all. The +Sea Lady wished him good-bye in Mrs. Bunting's presence as if there had +never been anything unusual between them. + +I suppose one may contrive to understand something of his disturbance. +He had made quite considerable sacrifices to the world. He had, at great +pains, found his place and his way in it, he had imagined he had really +"got the hang of it," as people say, and was having an interesting time. +And then, you know, to encounter a voice, that subsequently insists upon +haunting you with "_There are better dreams_"; to hear a tale that +threatens complications, disasters, broken hearts, and not to have the +faintest idea of the proper thing to do. + +But I do not think he would have bolted from Sandgate until he had +really got some more definite answer to the question, "_What_ better +dreams?" until he had surprised or forced some clearer illumination from +the passive invalid, if Mrs. Bunting one morning had not very tactfully +dropped a hint. + +You know Mrs. Bunting, and you can imagine what she tactfully hinted. +Just at that time, what with her own girls and the Glendower girls, her +imagination was positively inflamed for matrimony; she was a matrimonial +fanatic; she would have married anybody to anything just for the fun of +doing it, and the idea of pairing off poor Melville to this mysterious +immortal with a scaly tail seems to have appeared to her the most +natural thing in the world. + +_Apropos_ of nothing whatever I fancy she remarked, "Your opportunity is +now, Mr. Melville." + +"My opportunity!" cried Melville, trying madly not to understand in the +face of her pink resolution. + +"You've a monopoly now," she cried. "But when we go back to London with +her there will be ever so many people running after her." + +I fancy Melville said something about carrying the thing too far. He +doesn't remember what he did say. I don't think he even knew at the +time. + +However, he fled back to London in August, and was there so miserably at +loose ends that he had not the will to get out of the place. On this +passage in the story he does not dwell, and such verisimilitude as may +be, must be supplied by my imagination. I imagine him in his charmingly +appointed flat,--a flat that is light without being trivial, and +artistic with no want of dignity or sincerity,--finding a loss of +interest in his books, a loss of beauty in the silver he (not too +vehemently) collects. I imagine him wandering into that dainty little +bed-room of his and around into the dressing-room, and there, rapt in a +blank contemplation of the seven-and-twenty pairs of trousers (all +creasing neatly in their proper stretchers) that are necessary to his +conception of a wise and happy man. For every occasion he has learnt, in +a natural easy progress to knowledge, the exquisitely appropriate pair +of trousers, the permissible upper garment, the becoming gesture and +word. He was a man who had mastered his world. And then, you know, the +whisper:-- + +"_There are better dreams._" + +"What dreams?" I imagine him asking, with a defensive note. Whatever +transparence the world might have had, whatever suggestion of something +beyond there, in the sea garden at Sandgate, I fancy that in Melville's +apartments in London it was indisputably opaque. + +And "Damn it!" he cried, "if these dreams are for Chatteris, why should +she tell me? Suppose I had the chance of them-- Whatever they are----" + +He reflected, with a terrible sincerity in the nature of his will. + +"No!" And then again, "No! + +"And if one mustn't have 'em, why should one know about 'em and be +worried by them? If she comes to do mischief, why shouldn't she do +mischief without making me an accomplice?" + +He walks up and down and stops at last and stares out of his window on +the jaded summer traffic going Haymarket way. + +He sees nothing of that traffic. He sees the little sea garden at +Sandgate and that little group of people very small and bright and +something--something hanging over them. "It isn't fair on them--or +me--or anybody!" + +Then you know, quite suddenly, I imagine him swearing. + +I imagine him at his luncheon, a meal he usually treats with a becoming +gravity. I imagine the waiter marking the kindly self-indulgence of his +clean-shaven face, and advancing with that air of intimate participation +the good waiter shows to such as he esteems. I figure the respectful +pause, the respectful enquiry. + +"Oh, anything!" cries Melville, and the waiter retires amazed. + + +V + +To add to Melville's distress, as petty discomforts do add to all +genuine trouble, his club-house was undergoing an operation, and was +full of builders and decorators; they had gouged out its windows and +gagged its hall with scaffolding, and he and his like were guests of a +stranger club that had several members who blew. They seemed never to do +anything but blow and sigh and rustle papers and go to sleep about the +place; they were like blight-spots on the handsome plant of this +host-club, and it counted for little with Melville, in the state he was +in, that all the fidgety breathers were persons of eminent position. But +it was this temporary dislocation of his world that brought him +unexpectedly into a _quasi_ confidential talk with Chatteris one +afternoon, for Chatteris was one of the less eminent and amorphous +members of this club that was sheltering Melville's club. + +[Illustration: They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and +rustle papers.] + +Melville had taken up _Punch_--he was in that mood when a man takes up +anything--and was reading, he did not know exactly what. Presently he +sighed, looked up, and discovered Chatteris entering the room. + +He was surprised to see Chatteris, startled and just faintly alarmed, +and Chatteris it was evident was surprised and disconcerted to see him. +Chatteris stood in as awkward an attitude as he was capable of, staring +unfavourably, and for a moment or so he gave no sign of recognition. +Then he nodded and came forward reluctantly. His every movement +suggested the will without the wit to escape. "You here?" he said. + +"What are you doing away from Hythe at this time?" asked Melville. + +"I came here to write a letter," said Chatteris. + +He looked about him rather helplessly. Then he sat down beside Melville +and demanded a cigarette. Suddenly he plunged into intimacy. + +"It is doubtful whether I shall contest Hythe," he remarked. + +"Yes?" + +"Yes." + +He lit his cigarette. + +"Would you?" he asked. + +"Not a bit of it," said Melville. "But then it's not my line." + +"Is it mine?" + +"Isn't it a little late in the day to drop it?" said Melville. "You've +been put up for it now. Every one's at work. Miss Glendower----" + +"I know," said Chatteris. + +"Well?" + +"I don't seem to want to go on." + +"My dear man!" + +"It's a bit of overwork perhaps. I'm off colour. Things have gone flat. +That's why I'm up here." + +He did a very absurd thing. He threw away a quarter-smoked cigarette and +almost immediately demanded another. + +"You've been a little immoderate with your statistics," said Melville. + +Chatteris said something that struck Melville as having somehow been +said before. "Election, progress, good of humanity, public spirit. None +of these things interest me really," he said. "At least, not just now." + +Melville waited. + +"One gets brought up in an atmosphere in which it's always being +whispered that one should go for a career. You learn it at your mother's +knee. They never give you time to find out what you really want, they +keep on shoving you at that. They form your character. They rule your +mind. They rush you into it." + +"They didn't rush me," said Melville. + +"They rushed me, anyhow. And here I am!" + +"You don't want a career?" + +"Well-- Look what it is." + +"Oh! if you look at what things are!" + +"First of all, the messing about to get into the House. These confounded +parties mean nothing--absolutely nothing. They aren't even decent +factions. You blither to damned committees of damned tradesmen whose +sole idea for this world is to get overpaid for their self-respect; you +whisper and hobnob with local solicitors and get yourself seen about +with them; you ask about the charities and institutions, and lunch and +chatter and chum with every conceivable form of human conceit and +pushfulness and trickery----" + +He broke off. "It isn't as if _they_ were up to anything! They're +working in their way, just as you are working in your way. It's the same +game with all of them. They chase a phantom gratification, they toil and +quarrel and envy, night and day, in the perpetual attempt to persuade +themselves in spite of everything that they are real and a success----" + +He stopped and smoked. + +Melville was spiteful. "Yes," he admitted, "but I thought _your_ +little movement was to be something more than party politics and +self-advancement----?" + +He left his sentence interrogatively incomplete. + +"The condition of the poor," he said. + +"Well?" said Chatteris, regarding him with a sort of stony admission in +his blue eyes. + +Melville dodged the look. "At Sandgate," he said, "there was, you know, +a certain atmosphere of belief----" + +"I know," said Chatteris for the second time. + +"That's the devil of it!" said Chatteris after a pause. + +"If I don't believe in the game I'm playing, if I'm left high and dry on +this shoal, with the tide of belief gone past me, it isn't _my_ +planning, anyhow. I know the decent thing I ought to do. I mean to do +it; in the end I mean to do it; I'm talking in this way to relieve my +mind. I've started the game and I must see it out; I've put my hand to +the plough and I mustn't go back. That's why I came to London--to get it +over with myself. It was running up against you, set me off. You caught +me at the crisis." + +"Ah!" said Melville. + +"But for all that, the thing is as I said--none of these things interest +me really. It won't alter the fact that I am committed to fight a +phantom election about nothing in particular, for a party that's been +dead ten years. And if the ghosts win, go into the Parliament as a +constituent spectre.... There it is--as a mental phenomenon!" + +He reiterated his cardinal article. "The interest is dead," he said, +"the will has no soul." + +He became more critical. He bent a little closer to Melville's ear. "It +isn't really that I don't believe. When I say I don't believe in these +things I go too far. I do. I know, the electioneering, the intriguing is +a means to an end. There is work to be done, sound work, and important +work. Only----" + +Melville turned an eye on him over his cigarette end. + +Chatteris met it, seemed for a moment to cling to it. He became absurdly +confidential. He was evidently in the direst need of a confidential ear. + +"I don't want to do it. When I sit down to it, square myself down in the +chair, you know, and say, now for the rest of my life this is IT--this +is your life, Chatteris; there comes a sort of terror, Melville." + +"H'm," said Melville, and turned away. Then he turned on Chatteris with +the air of a family physician, and tapped his shoulder three times as he +spoke. "You've had too much statistics, Chatteris," he said. + +He let that soak in. Then he turned about towards his interlocutor, and +toyed with a club ash tray. "It's every day has overtaken you," he said. +"You can't see the wood for the trees. You forget the spacious design +you are engaged upon, in the heavy details of the moment. You are like a +painter who has been working hard upon something very small and exacting +in a corner. You want to step back and look at the whole thing." + +"No," said Chatteris, "that isn't quite it." + +Melville indicated that he knew better. + +"I keep on, stepping back and looking at it," said Chatteris. "Just +lately I've scarcely done anything else. I'll admit it's a spacious and +noble thing--political work done well--only-- I admire it, but it +doesn't grip my imagination. That's where the trouble comes in." + +"What _does_ grip your imagination?" asked Melville. He was absolutely +certain the Sea Lady had been talking this paralysis into Chatteris, and +he wanted to see just how far she had gone. "For example," he tested, +"are there--by any chance--other dreams?" + +Chatteris gave no sign at the phrase. Melville dismissed his suspicion. +"What do you mean--other dreams?" asked Chatteris. + +"Is there conceivably another way--another sort of life--some other +aspect----?" + +"It's out of the question," said Chatteris. He added, rather remarkably, +"Adeline's awfully good." + +My cousin Melville acquiesced silently in Adeline's goodness. + +"All this, you know, is a mood. My life is made for me--and it's a very +good life. It's better than I deserve." + +"Heaps," said Melville. + +"Much," said Chatteris defiantly. + +"Ever so much," endorsed Melville. + +"Let's talk of other things," said Chatteris. "It's what even the street +boys call _mawbid_ nowadays to doubt for a moment the absolute final +all-this-and-nothing-else-in-the-worldishness of whatever you happen to +be doing." + +My cousin Melville, however, could think of no other sufficiently +interesting topic. "You left them all right at Sandgate?" he asked, +after a pause. + +"Except little Bunting." + +"Seedy?" + +"Been fishing." + +"Of course. Breezes and the spring tides.... And Miss Waters?" + +Chatteris shot a suspicious glance at him. He affected the offhand +style. "_She's_ quite well," he said. "Looks just as charming as ever." + +"She really means that canvassing?" + +"She's spoken of it again." + +"She'll do a lot for you," said Melville, and left a fine wide pause. + +Chatteris assumed the tone of a man who gossips. + +"Who is this Miss Waters?" he asked. + +"A very charming person," said Melville and said no more. + +Chatteris waited and his pretence of airy gossip vanished. He became +very much in earnest. + +"Look here," he said. "Who is this Miss Waters?" + +"How should _I_ know?" prevaricated Melville. + +"Well, you do know. And the others know. Who is she?" + +Melville met his eyes. "Won't they tell you?" he asked. + +"That's just it," said Chatteris. + +"Why do you want to know?" + +"Why shouldn't I know?" + +"There's a sort of promise to keep it dark." + +"Keep _what_ dark?" + +My cousin gestured. + +"It can't be anything wrong?" My cousin made no sign. + +"She may have had experiences?" + +My cousin reflected a moment on the possibilities of the deep-sea life. +"She has had them," he said. + +"I don't care, if she has." + +There came a pause. + +"Look here, Melville," said Chatteris, "I want to know this. Unless it's +a thing to be specially kept from me.... I don't like being among a lot +of people who treat me as an outsider. What is this something about Miss +Waters?" + +"What does Miss Glendower say?" + +"Vague things. She doesn't like her and she won't say why. And Mrs. +Bunting goes about with discretion written all over her. And she +herself looks at you-- And that maid of hers looks-- The thing's +worrying me." + +"Why don't you ask the lady herself?" + +"How can I, till I know what it is? Confound it! I'm asking _you_ +plainly enough." + +"Well," said Melville, and at the moment he had really decided to tell +Chatteris. But he hung upon the manner of presentation. He thought in +the moment to say, "The truth is, she is a mermaid." Then as instantly +he perceived how incredible this would be. He always suspected Chatteris +of a capacity for being continental and romantic. The man might fly out +at him for saying such a thing of a lady. + +A dreadful doubt fell upon Melville. As you know, he had never seen that +tail with his own eyes. In these surroundings there came to him such an +incredulity of the Sea Lady as he had not felt even when first Mrs. +Bunting told him of her. All about him was an atmosphere of solid +reality, such as one can breathe only in a first-class London club. +Everywhere ponderous arm-chairs met the eye. There were massive tables +in abundance and match-boxes of solid rock. The matches were of some +specially large, heavy sort. On a ponderous elephant-legged green baize +table near at hand were several copies of the _Times_, the current +_Punch_, an inkpot of solid brass, and a paper weight of lead. _There +are other dreams!_ It seemed impossible. The breathing of an eminent +person in a chair in the far corner became very distinct in that +interval. It was heavy and resolute like the sound of a stone-mason's +saw. It insisted upon itself as the touchstone of reality. It seemed to +say that at the first whisper of a thing so utterly improbable as a +mermaid it would snort and choke. + +"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Melville. + +"Well, tell me--anyhow." + +My cousin looked at an empty chair beside him. It was evidently stuffed +with the very best horse-hair that money could procure, stuffed with +infinite skill and an almost religious care. It preached in the open +invitation of its expanded arms that man does not live by bread +alone--inasmuch as afterwards he needs a nap. An utterly dreamless +chair! + +Mermaids? + +He felt that he was after all quite possibly the victim of a foolish +delusion, hypnotised by Mrs. Bunting's beliefs. Was there not some more +plausible interpretation, some phrase that would lie out bridgeways from +the plausible to the truth? + +"It's no good," he groaned at last. + +Chatteris had been watching him furtively. + +"Oh, I don't care a hang," he said, and shied his second cigarette into +the massively decorated fireplace. "It's no affair of mine." + +Then quite abruptly he sprang to his feet and gesticulated with an +ineffectual hand. + +"You needn't," he said, and seemed to intend to say many regrettable +things. Meanwhile until his intention ripened he sawed the air with his +ineffectual hand. I fancy he ended by failing to find a thing +sufficiently regrettable to express the pungency of the moment. He flung +about and went towards the door. + +"Don't!" he said to the back of the newspaper of the breathing member. + +"If you don't want to," he said to the respectful waiter at the door. + +The hall-porter heard that he didn't care--he was damned if he did! + +"He might be one of these here guests," said the hall-porter, greatly +shocked. "That's what comes of lettin' 'em in so young." + + +VI + +Melville overcame an impulse to follow him. + +"Confound the fellow!" said he. + +And then as the whole outburst came into focus, he said with still more +emphasis, "Confound the fellow!" + +He stood up and became aware that the member who had been asleep was now +regarding him with malevolent eyes. He perceived it was a hard and +invincible malevolence, and that no petty apologetics of demeanour could +avail against it. He turned about and went towards the door. + +The interview had done my cousin good. His misery and distress had +lifted. He was presently bathed in a profound moral indignation, and +that is the very antithesis of doubt and unhappiness. The more he +thought it over, the more his indignation with Chatteris grew. That +sudden unreasonable outbreak altered all the perspectives of the case. +He wished very much that he could meet Chatteris again and discuss the +whole matter from a new footing. + +"Think of it!" He thought so vividly and so verbally that he was nearly +talking to himself as he went along. It shaped itself into an outspoken +discourse in his mind. + +"Was there ever a more ungracious, ungrateful, unreasonable creature +than this same Chatteris? He was the spoiled child of Fortune; things +came to him, things were given to him, his very blunders brought more +to him than other men's successes. Out of every thousand men, nine +hundred and ninety-nine might well find food for envy in this way luck +had served him. Many a one has toiled all his life and taken at last +gratefully the merest fraction of all that had thrust itself upon this +insatiable thankless young man. Even I," thought my cousin, "might envy +him--in several ways. And then, at the mere first onset of duty, +nay!--at the mere first whisper of restraint, this insubordination, this +protest and flight! + +"Think!" urged my cousin, "of the common lot of men. Think of the many +who suffer from hunger----" + +(It was a painful Socialistic sort of line to take, but in his mood of +moral indignation my cousin pursued it relentlessly.) + +"Think of many who suffer from hunger, who lead lives of unremitting +toil, who go fearful, who go squalid, and withal strive, in a sort of +dumb, resolute way, their utmost to do their duty, or at any rate what +they think to be their duty. Think of the chaste poor women in the +world! Think again of the many honest souls who aspire to the service +of their kind, and are so hemmed about and preoccupied that they may +not give it! And then this pitiful creature comes, with his mental +gifts, his gifts of position and opportunity, the stimulus of great +ideas, and a _fiancee_, who is not only rich and beautiful--she _is_ +beautiful!--but also the best of all possible helpers for him. And +he turns away. It isn't good enough. It takes no hold upon his +imagination, if you please. It isn't beautiful enough for him, and +that's the plain truth of the matter. What does the man _want_? What +does he expect?..." + +My cousin's moral indignation took him the whole length of Piccadilly, +and along by Rotten Row, and along the flowery garden walks almost into +Kensington High Street, and so around by the Serpentine to his home, and +it gave him such an appetite for dinner as he had not had for many days. +Life was bright for him all that evening, and he sat down at last, at +two o'clock in the morning, before a needlessly lit, delightfully +fusillading fire in his flat to smoke one sound cigar before he went to +bed. + +"No," he said suddenly, "I am not _mawbid_ either. I take the gifts the +gods will give me. I try to make myself happy, and a few other people +happy, too, to do a few little duties decently, and that is enough for +me. I don't look too deeply into things, and I don't look too widely +about things. A few old simple ideals---- + +"H'm. + +"Chatteris is a dreamer, with an impossible, extravagant discontent. +What does he dream of?... Three parts he is a dreamer and the fourth +part--spoiled child." + +"Dreamer...." + +"Other dreams...." + +"What other dreams could she mean?" + +My cousin fell into profound musings. Then he started, looked about him, +saw the time by his Rathbone clock, got up suddenly and went to bed. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SEVENTH + +THE CRISIS + + +I + +The crisis came about a week from that time--I say about because of +Melville's conscientious inexactness in these matters. And so far as the +crisis goes, I seem to get Melville at his best. He was keenly +interested, keenly observant, and his more than average memory took some +excellent impressions. To my mind, at any rate, two at least of these +people come out, fuller and more convincingly than anywhere else in this +painfully disinterred story. He has given me here an Adeline I seem to +believe in, and something much more like Chatteris than any of the +broken fragments I have had to go upon, and amplify and fudge together +so far. And for all such transient lucidities in this mysterious story, +the reader no doubt will echo my Heaven be thanked! + +Melville was called down to participate in the crisis at Sandgate by a +telegram from Mrs. Bunting, and his first exponent of the situation was +Fred Bunting. + +"_Come down. Urgent. Please_," was the irresistible message from Mrs. +Bunting. My cousin took the early train and arrived at Sandgate in the +forenoon. + +He was told that Mrs. Bunting was upstairs with Miss Glendower and that +she implored him to wait until she could leave her charge. "Miss +Glendower not well, then?" said Melville. "No, sir, not at all well," +said the housemaid, evidently awaiting a further question. "Where are +the others?" he asked casually. The three younger young ladies had gone +to Hythe, said the housemaid, with a marked omission of the Sea Lady. +Melville has an intense dislike of questioning servants on points at +issue, so he asked nothing at all concerning Miss Waters. This general +absence of people from the room of familiar occupation conveyed the same +suggested warning of crisis as the telegram. The housemaid waited an +instant longer and withdrew. + +He stood for a moment in the drawing-room and then walked out upon the +veranda. He perceived a richly caparisoned figure advancing towards him. +It was Fred Bunting. He had been taking advantage of the general +desertion of home to bathe from the house. He was wearing an umbrageous +white cotton hat and a striped blanket, and a more aggressively manly +pipe than any fully adult male would ever dream of smoking, hung from +the corner of his mouth. + +"Hello!" he said. "The mater sent for you?" + +Melville admitted the truth of this theory. + +"There's ructions," said Fred, and removed the pipe. The act offered +conversation. + +"Where's Miss Waters?" + +"Gone." + +"Back?" + +"Lord, no! Catch her! She's gone to Lummidge's Hotel. With her maid. +Took a suite." + +"Why----" + +"The mater made a row with her." + +"Whatever for?" + +"Harry." + +My cousin stared at the situation. + +"It broke out," said Fred. + +"What broke out?" + +"The row. Harry's gone daft on her, Addy says." + +"On Miss Waters?" + +"Rather. Mooney. Didn't care for his electioneering--didn't care for his +ordinary nourishment. Loose ends. Didn't mention it to Adeline, but she +began to see it. Asked questions. Next day, went off. London. She asked +what was up. Three days' silence. Then--wrote to her." + +Fred intensified all this by raising his eyebrows, pulling down the +corners of his mouth and nodding portentously. "Eh?" he said, and then +to make things clearer: "Wrote a letter." + +"He didn't write to her about Miss Waters?" + +"Don't know what he wrote about. Don't suppose he mentioned her name, +but I dare say he made it clear enough. All I know is that everything in +the house felt like elastic pulled tighter than it ought to be for two +whole days--everybody in a sort of complicated twist--and then there +was a snap. All that time Addy was writing letters to him and tearing +'em up, and no one could quite make it out. Everyone looked blue except +the Sea Lady. She kept her own lovely pink. And at the end of that time +the mater began asking things, Adeline chucked writing, gave the mater +half a hint, mater took it all in in an instant and the thing burst." + +"Miss Glendower didn't----?" + +"No, the mater did. Put it pretty straight too--as the mater can.... +_She_ didn't deny it. Said she couldn't help herself, and that he was as +much hers as Adeline's. I _heard_ that," said Fred shamelessly. "Pretty +thick, eh?--considering he's engaged. And the mater gave it her pretty +straight. Said, 'I've been very much deceived in you, Miss Waters--very +much indeed.' I heard her...." + +"And then?" + +"Asked her to go. Said she'd requited us ill for taking her up when +nobody but a fisherman would have looked at her." + +"She said that?" + +"Well, words to that effect." + +"And Miss Waters went?" + +"In a first-class cab, maid and boxes in another, all complete. Perfect +lady.... Couldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it--the tail, I mean." + +"And Miss Glendower?" + +"Addy? Oh, she's been going it. Comes downstairs and does the pale-faced +heroine and goes upstairs and does the broken-hearted part. _I_ know. +It's all very well. You never had sisters. You know----" + +Fred held his pipe elaborately out of the way and protruded his face to +a confidential nearness. + +"I believe they half like it," said Fred, in a confidential half +whisper. "Such a go, you know. Mabel pretty near as bad. And the girls. +All making the very most they can of it. Me! I think Chatteris was the +only man alive to hear 'em. _I_ couldn't get up emotion as they do, if +my feet were being flayed. Cheerful home, eh? For holidays." + +"Where's--the principal gentleman?" asked Melville a little grimly. "In +London?" + +"Unprincipled gentleman, I call him," said Fred. "He's stopping down +here at the Metropole. Stuck." + +"Down here? Stuck?" + +"Rather. Stuck and set about." + +My cousin tried for sidelights. "What's his attitude?" he asked. + +"Slump," said Fred with intensity. + +"This little blow-off has rather astonished him," he explained. "When he +wrote to say that the election didn't interest him for a bit, but he +hoped to pull around----" + +"You said you didn't know what he wrote." + +"I do that much," said Fred. "He no more thought they'd have spotted +that it meant Miss Waters than a baby. But women are so thundering +sharp, you know. They're born spotters. How it'll all end----" + +"But why has he come to the Metropole?" + +"Middle of the stage, I suppose," said Fred. + +"What's his attitude?" + +"Says he's going to see Adeline and explain everything--and doesn't do +it.... Puts it off. And Adeline, as far as I can gather, says that if he +doesn't come down soon, she's hanged if she'll see him, much as her +heart may be broken, and all that, if she doesn't. You know." + +"Naturally," said Melville, rather inconsecutively. "And he doesn't?" + +"Doesn't stir." + +"Does he see--the other lady?" + +"We don't know. We can't watch him. But if he does he's clever----" + +"Why?" + +"There's about a hundred blessed relatives of his in the place--came +like crows for a corpse. I never saw such a lot. Talk about a man of +good old family--it's decaying! I never saw such a high old family in my +life. Aunts they are chiefly." + +"Aunts?" + +"Aunts. Say, they've rallied round him. How they got hold of it I don't +know. Like vultures. Unless the mater-- But they're here. They're all at +him--using their influence with him, threatening to cut off legacies and +all that. There's one old girl at Bate's, Lady Poynting Mallow--least +bit horsey, but about as all right as any of 'em--who's been down here +twice. Seems a trifle disappointed in Adeline. And there's two aunts at +Wampach's--you know the sort that stop at Wampach's--regular hothouse +flowers--a watering-potful of real icy cold water would kill both of +'em. And there's one come over from the Continent, short hair, short +skirts--regular terror--she's at the Pavilion. They're all chasing round +saying, 'Where is this woman-fish sort of thing? Let me peek!'" + +"Does that constitute the hundred relatives?" + +"Practically. The Wampachers are sending for a Bishop who used to be his +schoolmaster----" + +"No stone unturned, eh?" + +"None." + +"And has he found out yet----" + +"That she's a mermaid? I don't believe he has. The pater went up to +tell him. Of course, he was a bit out of breath and embarrassed. And +Chatteris cut him down. 'At least let me hear nothing against her,' he +said. And the pater took that and came away. Good old pater. Eh?" + +"And the aunts?" + +"They're taking it in. Mainly they grasp the fact that he's going to +jilt Adeline, just as he jilted the American girl. The mermaid side they +seem to boggle at. Old people like that don't take to a new idea all at +once. The Wampach ones are shocked--but curious. They don't believe for +a moment she really is a mermaid, but they want to know all about it. +And the one down at the Pavilion simply said, 'Bosh! How can she breathe +under water? Tell me that, Mrs. Bunting. She's some sort of person you +have picked up, I don't know how, but mermaid she _cannot_ be.' They'd +be all tremendously down on the mater, I think, for picking her up, if +it wasn't that they can't do without her help to bring Addy round again. +Pretty mess all round, eh?" + +"I suppose the aunts will tell him?" + +"What?" + +"About the tail." + +"I suppose they will." + +"And what then?" + +"Heaven knows! Just as likely they won't." + +My cousin meditated on the veranda tiles for a space. + +"It amuses me," said Fred Bunting. + +"Look here," said my cousin Melville, "what am I supposed to do? Why +have I been asked to come?" + +"I don't know. Stir it up a bit, I expect. Everybody do a bit--like the +Christmas pudding." + +"But--" said Melville. + +[Illustration: Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity.] + +"I've been bathing," said Fred. "Nobody asked me to take a hand and I +didn't. It won't be a good pudding without me, but there you are! +There's only one thing I can see to do----" + +"It might be the right thing. What is it?" + +"Punch Chatteris's head." + +"I don't see how that would help matters." + +"Oh, it wouldn't help matters," said Fred, adding with an air of +conclusiveness, "There it is!" Then adjusting the folds of his blanket +to a greater dignity, and replacing his long extinct large pipe between +his teeth, he went on his way. The tail of his blanket followed him +reluctantly through the door. His bare feet padded across the hall and +became inaudible on the carpet of the stairs. + +"Fred!" said Melville, going doorward with a sudden afterthought for +fuller particulars. + +But Fred had gone. + +Instead, Mrs. Bunting appeared. + + +II + +She appeared with traces of recent emotion. "I telegraphed," she said. +"We are in dreadful trouble." + +"Miss Waters, I gather----" + +"She's gone." + +She went towards the bell and stopped. "They'll get luncheon as usual," +she said. "You will be wanting your luncheon." + +She came towards him with rising hands. "You can _not_ imagine," she +said. "That poor child!" + +"You must tell me," said Melville. + +"I simply do not know what to do. I don't know where to turn." She came +nearer to him. She protested. "All that I did, Mr. Melville, I did for +the best. I saw there was trouble. I could see that I had been +deceived, and I stood it as long as I could. I _had_ to speak at last." + +My cousin by leading questions and interrogative silences developed her +story a little. + +"And every one," she said, "blames me. Every one." + +"Everybody blames everybody who does anything, in affairs of this sort," +said Melville. "You mustn't mind that." + +"I'll try not to," she said bravely. "_You_ know, Mr. Melville----" + +He laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Yes," he said very +impressively, and I think Mrs. Bunting felt better. + +"We all look to you," she said. "I don't know what I should do without +you." + +"That's it," said Melville. "How do things stand? What am I to do?" + +"Go to him," said Mrs. Bunting, "and put it all right." + +"But suppose--" began Melville doubtfully. + +"Go to her. Make her see what it would mean for him and all of us." + +He tried to get more definite instructions. "Don't make difficulties," +implored Mrs. Bunting. "Think of that poor girl upstairs. Think of us +all." + +"Exactly," said Melville, thinking of Chatteris and staring despondently +out of the window. + +"Bunting, I gather----" + +"It is you or no one," said Mrs. Bunting, sailing over his unspoken +words. "Fred is too young, and Randolph--! He's not diplomatic. He--he +hectors." + +"Does he?" exclaimed Melville. + +"You should see him abroad. Often--many times I have had to +interfere.... No, it is you. You know Harry so well. He trusts you. +You can say things to him--no one else could say." + +"That reminds me. Does _he_ know----" + +"We don't know. How can we know? We know he is infatuated, that is all. +He is up there in Folkestone, and she is in Folkestone, and they may be +meeting----" + +My cousin sought counsel with himself. + +"Say you will go?" said Mrs. Bunting, with a hand upon his arm. + +"I'll go," said Melville, "but I don't see what I can do!" + +And Mrs. Bunting clasped his hand in both of her own plump shapely hands +and said she knew all along that he would, and that for coming down so +promptly to her telegram she would be grateful to him so long as she had +a breath to draw, and then she added, as if it were part of the same +remark, that he must want his luncheon. + +He accepted the luncheon proposition in an incidental manner and +reverted to the question in hand. + +"Do you know what his attitude----" + +"He has written only to Addy." + +"It isn't as if he had brought about this crisis?" + +"It was Addy. He went away and something in his manner made her write +and ask him the reason why. So soon as she had his letter saying he +wanted to rest from politics for a little, that somehow he didn't seem +to find the interest in life he thought it deserved, she divined +everything----" + +"Everything? Yes, but just what _is_ everything?" + +"That _she_ had led him on." + +"Miss Waters?" + +"Yes." + +My cousin reflected. So that was what they considered to be everything! +"I wish I knew just where he stood," he said at last, and followed +Mrs. Bunting luncheonward. In the course of that meal, which was +_tete-a-tete_, it became almost unsatisfactorily evident what a great +relief Melville's consent to interview Chatteris was to Mrs. Bunting. +Indeed, she seemed to consider herself relieved from the greater portion +of her responsibility in the matter, since Melville was bearing her +burden. She sketched out her defence against the accusations that had no +doubt been levelled at her, explicitly and implicitly. + +"How was _I_ to know?" she asked, and she told over again the story of +that memorable landing, but with new, extenuating details. It was +Adeline herself who had cried first, "She must be saved!" Mrs. Bunting +made a special point of that. "And what else was there for me to do?" +she asked. + +And as she talked, the problem before my cousin assumed graver and yet +graver proportions. He perceived more and more clearly the complexity +of the situation with which he was entrusted. In the first place it was +not at all clear that Miss Glendower was willing to receive back her +lover except upon terms, and the Sea Lady, he was quite sure, did not +mean to release him from any grip she had upon him. They were preparing +to treat an elemental struggle as if it were an individual case. It grew +more and more evident to him how entirely Mrs. Bunting overlooked the +essentially abnormal nature of the Sea Lady, how absolutely she regarded +the business as a mere every-day vacillation, a commonplace outbreak of +that jilting spirit which dwells, covered deep, perhaps, but never +entirely eradicated, in the heart of man; and how confidently she +expected him, with a little tactful remonstrance and pressure, to +restore the _status quo ante_. + +As for Chatteris!--Melville shook his head at the cheese, and answered +Mrs. Bunting abstractedly. + + +III + +"She wants to speak to you," said Mrs. Bunting, and Melville with a +certain trepidation went upstairs. He went up to the big landing with +the seats, to save Adeline the trouble of coming down. She appeared +dressed in a black and violet tea gown with much lace, and her dark hair +was done with a simple carefulness that suited it. She was pale, and her +eyes showed traces of tears, but she had a certain dignity that differed +from her usual bearing in being quite unconscious. + +She gave him a limp hand and spoke in an exhausted voice. + +"You know--all?" she asked. + +"All the outline, anyhow." + +"Why has he done this to me?" + +Melville looked profoundly sympathetic through a pause. + +"I feel," she said, "that it isn't coarseness." + +"Certainly not," said Melville. + +"It is some mystery of the imagination that I cannot understand. I +should have thought--his career at any rate--would have appealed...." +She shook her head and regarded a pot of ferns fixedly for a space. + +"He has written to you?" asked Melville. + +"Three times," she said, looking up. + +Melville hesitated to ask the extent of that correspondence, but she +left no need for that. + +"I had to ask him," she said. "He kept it all from me, and I had to +force it from him before he would tell." + +"Tell!" said Melville, "what?" + +"What he felt for her and what he felt for me." + +"But did he----?" + +"He has made it clearer. But still even now. No, I don't understand." + +She turned slowly and watched Melville's face as she spoke: "You know, +Mr. Melville, that this has been an enormous shock to me. I suppose I +never really knew him. I suppose I--idealised him. I thought he cared +for--our work at any rate.... He _did_ care for our work. He believed in +it. Surely he believed in it." + +"He does," said Melville. + +"And then-- But how can he?" + +"He is--he is a man with rather a strong imagination." + +"Or a weak will?" + +"Relatively--yes." + +"It is so strange," she sighed. "It is so inconsistent. It is like +a child catching at a new toy. Do you know, Mr. Melville"--she +hesitated--"all this has made me feel old. I feel very much older, +very much wiser than he is. I cannot help it. I am afraid it is for +all women ... to feel that sometimes." + +She reflected profoundly. "For _all_ women-- The child, man! I see now +just what Sarah Grand meant by that." + +She smiled a wan smile. "I feel just as if he had been a naughty child. +And I--I worshipped him, Mr. Melville," she said, and her voice +quivered. + +My cousin coughed and turned about to stare hard out of the window. He +was, he perceived, much more shockingly inadequate even than he had +expected to be. + +"If I thought she could make him happy!" she said presently, leaving a +hiatus of generous self-sacrifice. + +"The case is--complicated," said Melville. + +Her voice went on, clear and a little high, resigned, impenetrably +assured. + +"But she would not. All his better side, all his serious side-- She +would miss it and ruin it all." + +"Does he--" began Melville and repented of the temerity of his question. + +"Yes?" she said. + +"Does he--ask to be released?" + +"No.... He wants to come back to me." + +"And you----" + +"He doesn't come." + +"But do you--do you want him back?" + +"How can I say, Mr. Melville? He does not say certainly even that he +wants to come back." + +My cousin Melville looked perplexed. He lived on the superficies of +emotion, and these complexities in matters he had always assumed were +simple, put him out. + +"There are times," she said, "when it seems to me that my love for him +is altogether dead.... Think of the disillusionment--the shock--the +discovery of such weakness." + +My cousin lifted his eyebrows and shook his head in agreement. + +"His feet--to find his feet were of clay!" + +There came a pause. + +"It seems as if I have never loved him. And then--and then I think of +all the things that still might be." + +Her voice made him look up, and he saw that her mouth was set hard and +tears were running down her cheeks. + +It occurred to my cousin, he says, that he would touch her hand in a +sympathetic manner, and then it occurred to him that he wouldn't. Her +words rang in his thoughts for a space, and then he said somewhat +tardily, "He may still be all those things." + +"I suppose he may," she said slowly and without colour. The weeping +moment had passed. + +"What is she?" she changed abruptly. "What is this being, who has come +between him and all the realities of life? What is there about her--? +And why should I have to compete with her, because he--because he +doesn't know his own mind?" + +"For a man," said Melville, "to know his own mind is--to have exhausted +one of the chief interests in life. After that--! A cultivated extinct +volcano--if ever it was a volcano." + +He reflected egotistically for a space. Then with a secret start he came +back to consider her. + +"What is there," she said, with that deliberate attempt at clearness +which was one of her antipathetic qualities for Melville--"what is there +that she has, that she offers, that _I_----?" + +Melville winced at this deliberate proposal of appalling comparisons. +All the catlike quality in his soul came to his aid. He began to edge +away, and walk obliquely and generally to shirk the issue. "My dear Miss +Glendower," he said, and tried to make that seem an adequate reply. + +"What _is_ the difference?" she insisted. + +"There are impalpable things," waived Melville. "They are above reason +and beyond describing." + +"But you," she urged, "you take an attitude, you must have an +impression. Why don't you-- Don't you see, Mr. Melville, this is +very"--her voice caught for a moment--"very vital for me. It isn't kind +of you, if you have impressions-- I'm sorry, Mr. Melville, if I seem to +be trying to get too much from you. I--I want to know." + +It came into Melville's head for a moment that this girl had something +in her, perhaps, that was just a little beyond his former judgments. + +"I must admit, I have a sort of impression," he said. + +"You are a man; you know him; you know all sorts of things--all sorts of +ways of looking at things, I don't know. If you could go so far--as to +be frank." + +"Well," said Melville and stopped. + +She hung over him as it were, as a tense silence. + +"There _is_ a difference," he admitted, and still went unhelped. + +"How can I put it? I think in certain ways you contrast with her, in a +way that makes things easier for her. He has--I know the thing sounds +like cant, only you know, _he_ doesn't plead it in defence--he has a +temperament, to which she sometimes appeals more than you do." + +"Yes, I know, but how?" + +"Well----" + +"Tell me." + +"You are austere. You are restrained. Life--for a man like Chatteris--is +schooling. He has something--something perhaps more worth having than +most of us have--but I think at times--it makes life harder for him than +it is for a lot of us. Life comes at him, with limitations and +regulations. He knows his duty well enough. And you-- You mustn't mind +what I say too much, Miss Glendower--I may be wrong." + +"Go on," she said, "go on." + +"You are too much--the agent general of his duty." + +"But surely!--what else----?" + +"I talked to him in London and then I thought he was quite in the +wrong. Since that I've thought all sorts of things--even that you might +be in the wrong. In certain minor things." + +"Don't mind my vanity now," she cried. "Tell me." + +"You see you have defined things--very clearly. You have made it clear +to him what you expect him to be, and what you expect him to do. It is +like having built a house in which he is to live. For him, to go to her +is like going out of a house, a very fine and dignified house, I admit, +into something larger, something adventurous and incalculable. She +is--she has an air of being--_natural_. She is as lax and lawless as the +sunset, she is as free and familiar as the wind. She doesn't--if I may +put it in this way--she doesn't love and respect him when he is this, +and disapprove of him highly when he is that; she takes him altogether. +She has the quality of the open sky, of the flight of birds, of deep +tangled places, she has the quality of the high sea. That I think is +what she is for him, she is the Great Outside. You--you have the +quality----" + +He hesitated. + +"Go on," she insisted. "Let us get the meaning." + +"Of an edifice.... I don't sympathise with him," said Melville. "I am a +tame cat and I should scratch and mew at the door directly I got outside +of things. I don't want to go out. The thought scares me. But he is +different." + +"Yes," she said, "he is different." + +For a time it seemed that Melville's interpretation had hold of her. She +stood thoughtful. Slowly other aspects of the thing came into his mind. + +"Of course," she said, thinking as she looked at him. "Yes. Yes. That is +the impression. That is the quality. But in reality-- There are other +things in the world beside effects and impressions. After all, that +is--an analogy. It is pleasant to go out of houses and dwellings into +the open air, but most of us, nearly all of us must live in houses." + +"Decidedly," said Melville. + +"He cannot-- What can he do with her? How can he live with her? What +life could they have in common?" + +"It's a case of attraction," said Melville, "and not of plans." + +"After all," she said, "he must come back--if I let him come back. He +may spoil everything now; he may lose his election and be forced to +start again, lower and less hopefully; he may tear his heart to +pieces----" + +She stopped at a sob. + +"Miss Glendower," said Melville abruptly. + +"I don't think you quite understand." + +"Understand what?" + +"You think he cannot marry this--this being who has come among us?" + +"How could he?" + +"No--he couldn't. You think his imagination has wandered away from +you--to something impossible. That generally, in an aimless way, he has +cut himself up for nothing, and made an inordinate fool of himself, and +that it's simply a business of putting everything back into place +again." + +He paused and she said nothing. But her face was attentive. "What you do +not understand," he went on, "what no one seems to understand, is that +she comes----" + +"Out of the sea." + +"Out of some other world. She comes, whispering that this life is a +phantom life, unreal, flimsy, limited, casting upon everything a spell +of disillusionment----" + +"So that _he_----" + +"Yes, and then she whispers, 'There are better dreams!'" + +The girl regarded him in frank perplexity. + +"She hints of these vague better dreams, she whispers of a way----" + +"_What_ way?" + +"I do not know what way. But it is something--something that tears at +the very fabric of this daily life." + +"You mean----?" + +"She is a mermaid, she is a thing of dreams and desires, a siren, a +whisper and a seduction. She will lure him with her----" + +He stopped. + +"Where?" she whispered. + +"Into the deeps." + +"The deeps?" + +They hung upon a long pause. Melville sought vagueness with infinite +solicitude, and could not find it. He blurted out at last: "There can +be but one way out of this dream we are all dreaming, you know." + +"And that way?" + +"That way--" began Melville and dared not say it. + +"You mean," she said, with a pale face, half awakened to a new thought, +"the way is----?" + +Melville shirked the word. He met her eyes and nodded weakly. + +"But how--?" she asked. + +"At any rate"--he said hastily, seeking some palliative phrase--"at any +rate, if she gets him, this little world of yours-- There will be no +coming back for him, you know." + +"No coming back?" she said. + +"No coming back," said Melville. + +"But are you sure?" she doubted. + +"Sure?" + +"That it is so?" + +"That desire is desire, and the deep the deep--yes." + +"I never thought--" she began and stopped. + +"Mr. Melville," she said, "you know I don't understand. I thought--I +scarcely know what I thought. I thought he was trivial and foolish to +let his thoughts go wandering. I agreed--I see your point--as to the +difference in our effect upon him. But this--this suggestion that for +him she may be something determining and final-- After all, she----" + +"She is nothing," he said. "She is the hand that takes hold of him, the +shape that stands for things unseen." + +"What things unseen?" + +My cousin shrugged his shoulders. "Something we never find in life," he +said. "Something we are always seeking." + +"But what?" she asked. + +Melville made no reply. She scrutinised his face for a time, and then +looked out at the sunlight again. + +"Do you want him back?" he said. + +"I don't know." + +"Do you want him back?" + +"I feel as if I had never wanted him before." + +"And now?" + +"Yes.... But--if he will not come back?" + +"He will not come back," said Melville, "for the work." + +"I know." + +"He will not come back for his self-respect--or any of those things." + +"No." + +"Those things, you know, are only fainter dreams. All the palace you +have made for him is a dream. But----" + +"Yes?" + +"He might come back--" he said, and looked at her and stopped. He tells +me he had some vague intention of startling her, rousing her, wounding +her to some display of romantic force, some insurgence of passion, that +might yet win Chatteris back, and then in that moment, and like a blow, +it came to him how foolish such a fancy had been. There she stood +impenetrably herself, limitedly intelligent, well-meaning, imitative, +and powerless. Her pose, her face, suggested nothing but a clear and +reasonable objection to all that had come to her, a critical antagonism, +a steady opposition. And then, amazingly, she changed. She looked up, +and suddenly held out both her hands, and there was something in her +eyes that he had never seen before. + +Melville took her hands mechanically, and for a second or so they stood +looking with a sort of discovery into each other's eyes. + +"Tell him," she said, with an astounding perfection of simplicity, "to +come back to me. There can be no other thing than what I am. Tell him to +come back to me!" + +"And----?" + +"Tell him _that_." + +"Forgiveness?" + +"No! Tell him I want him. If he will not come for that he will not come +at all. If he will not come back for that"--she halted for a moment--"I +do not want him. No! I do not want him. He is not mine and he may go." + +His passive hold of her hands became a pressure. Then they dropped apart +again. + +"You are very good to help us," she said as he turned to go. + +He looked at her. "You are very good to help me," she said, and then: +"Tell him whatever you like if only he will come back to me!... No! +Tell him what I have said." He saw she had something more to say, and +stopped. "You know, Mr. Melville, all this is like a book newly opened +to me. Are you sure----?" + +"Sure?" + +"Sure of what you say--sure of what she is to him--sure that if he goes +on he will--" She stopped. + +He nodded. + +"It means--" she said and stopped again. + +"No adventure, no incident, but a going out from all that this life has +to offer." + +"You mean," she insisted, "you mean----?" + +"Death," said Melville starkly, and for a space both stood without a +word. + +She winced, and remained looking into his eyes. Then she spoke again. + +"Mr. Melville, tell him to come back to me." + +"And----?" + +"Tell him to come back to me, or"--a sudden note of passion rang in her +voice--"if I have no hold upon him, let him go his way." + +"But--" said Melville. + +"I know," she cried, with her face set, "I know. But if he is mine he +will come to me, and if he is not-- Let him dream his dream." + +Her clenched hand tightened as she spoke. He saw in her face she would +say no more, that she wanted urgently to leave it there. He turned again +towards the staircase. He glanced at her and went down. + +As he looked up from the bend of the stairs she was still standing in +the light. + +He was moved to proclaim himself in some manner her adherent, but he +could think of nothing better than: "Whatever I can do I will." And so, +after a curious pause, he departed, rather stumblingly, from her sight. + + +IV + +After this interview it was right and proper that Melville should have +gone at once to Chatteris, but the course of events in the world does +occasionally display a lamentable disregard for what is right and +proper. Points of view were destined to crowd upon him that day--for the +most part entirely unsympathetic points of view. He found Mrs. Bunting +in the company of a boldly trimmed bonnet in the hall, waiting, it +became clear, to intercept him. + +As he descended, in a state of extreme preoccupation, the boldly trimmed +bonnet revealed beneath it a white-faced, resolute person in a duster +and sensible boots. This stranger, Mrs. Bunting made apparent, was Lady +Poynting Mallow, one of the more representative of the Chatteris aunts. +Her ladyship made a few enquiries about Adeline with an eye that took +Melville's measure, and then, after agreeing to a number of the +suggestions Mrs. Bunting had to advance, proposed that he should escort +her back to her hotel. He was much too exercised with Adeline to discuss +the proposal. "I walk," she said. "And we go along the lower road." + +He found himself walking. + +She remarked, as the Bunting door closed behind them, that it was always +a comfort to have to do with a man; and there was a silence for a space. + +I don't think at that time Melville completely grasped the fact that he +had a companion. But presently his meditations were disturbed by her +voice. He started. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. + +"That Bunting woman is a fool," repeated Lady Poynting Mallow. + +There was a slight interval for consideration. + +"She's an old friend of mine," said Melville. + +"Quite possibly," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +The position seemed a little awkward to Melville for a moment. He +flicked a fragment of orange peel into the road. "I want to get to the +bottom of all this," said Lady Poynting Mallow. "Who _is_ this other +woman?" + +"What other woman?" + +"_Tertium quid_," said Lady Poynting Mallow, with a luminous +incorrectness. + +"Mermaid, I gather," said Melville. + +"What's the objection to her?" + +"Tail." + +"Fin and all?" + +"Complete." + +"You're sure of it?" + +"Certain." + +"How do you know?" + +"I'm certain," repeated Melville with a quite unusual testiness. + +The lady reflected. + +"Well, there are worse things in the world than a fishy tail," she said +at last. + +Melville saw no necessity for a reply. "H'm," said Lady Poynting Mallow, +apparently by way of comment on his silence, and for a space they went +on. + +"That Glendower girl is a fool too," she added after a pause. + +My cousin opened his mouth and shut it again. How can one answer when +ladies talk in this way? But if he did not answer, at any rate his +preoccupation was gone. He was now acutely aware of the determined +person at his side. + +"She has means?" she asked abruptly. + +"Miss Glendower?" + +"No. I know all about her. The other?" + +"The mermaid?" + +"Yes, the mermaid. Why not?" + +"Oh, _she_--Very considerable means. Galleons. Phoenician treasure +ships, wrecked frigates, submarine reefs----" + +"Well, that's all right. And now will you tell me, Mr. Melville, why +shouldn't Harry have her? What if she is a mermaid? It's no worse than +an American silver mine, and not nearly so raw and ill-bred." + +"In the first place there's his engagement----" + +"Oh, _that_!" + +"And in the next there's the Sea Lady." + +"But I thought she----" + +"She's a mermaid." + +"It's no objection. So far as I can see, she'd make an excellent wife +for him. And, as a matter of fact, down here she'd be able to help him +in just the right way. The member here--he'll be fighting--this Sassoon +man--makes a lot of capital out of deep-sea cables. Couldn't be better. +Harry could dish him easily. That's all right. Why shouldn't he have +her?" + +She stuck her hands deeply into the pockets of her dust-coat, and a +china-blue eye regarded Melville from under the brim of the boldly +trimmed bonnet. + +"You understand clearly she is a properly constituted mermaid with a +real physical tail?" + +"Well?" said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +"Apart from any question of Miss Glendower----" + +"That's understood." + +"I think that such a marriage would be impossible." + +"Why?" + +My cousin played round the question. "She's an immortal, for example, +with a past." + +"Simply makes her more interesting." + +Melville tried to enter into her point of view. "You think," he said, +"she would go to London for him, and marry at St. George's, Hanover +Square, and pay for a mansion in Park Lane and visit just anywhere he +liked?" + +"That's precisely what she would do. Just now, with a Court that is +waking up----" + +"It's precisely what she won't do," said Melville. + +"But any woman would do it who had the chance." + +"She's a mermaid." + +"She's a fool," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +"She doesn't even mean to marry him; it doesn't enter into her code." + +"The hussy! What does she mean?" + +My cousin made a gesture seaward. "That!" he said. "She's a mermaid." + +"What?" + +"Out there." + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +Lady Poynting Mallow scanned the sea as if it were some curious new +object. "It's an amphibious outlook for the family," she said after +reflection. "But even then--if she doesn't care for society and it makes +Harry happy--and perhaps after they are tired of--rusticating----" + +"I don't think you fully realise that she is a mermaid," said Melville; +"and Chatteris, you know, breathes air." + +"That _is_ a difficulty," admitted Lady Poynting Mallow, and studied the +sunlit offing for a space. + +"I don't see why it shouldn't be managed for all that," she considered +after a pause. + +"It can't be," said Melville with arid emphasis. + +"She cares for him?" + +"She's come to fetch him." + +"If she wants him badly he might make terms. In these affairs +it's always one or other has to do the buying. She'd have to +_marry_--anyhow." + +My cousin regarded her impenetrably satisfied face. + +"He could have a yacht and a diving bell," she suggested; "if she wanted +him to visit her people." + +"They are pagan demigods, I believe, and live in some mythological way +in the Mediterranean." + +"Dear Harry's a pagan himself--so that doesn't matter, and as for being +mythological--all good families are. He could even wear a diving dress +if one could be found to suit him." + +"I don't think that anything of the sort is possible for a moment." + +"Simply because you've never been a woman in love," said Lady Poynting +Mallow with an air of vast experience. + +She continued the conversation. "If it's sea water she wants it would +be quite easy to fit up a tank wherever they lived, and she could +easily have a bath chair like a sitz bath on wheels.... Really, Mr. +Milvain----" + +"Melville." + +"Mr. Melville, I don't see where your 'impossible' comes in." + +"Have you seen the lady?" + +"Do you think I've been in Folkestone two days doing nothing?" + +"You don't mean you've called on her?" + +"Dear, no! It's Harry's place to settle that. But I've seen her in her +bath chair on the Leas, and I'm certain I've never seen any one who +looked so worthy of dear Harry. _Never!_" + +"Well, well," said Melville. "Apart from any other considerations, you +know, there's Miss Glendower." + +"I've never regarded her as a suitable wife for Harry." + +"Possibly not. Still--she exists." + +"So many people do," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +She evidently regarded that branch of the subject as dismissed. + +They pursued their way in silence. + +"What I wanted to ask you, Mr. Milvain----" + +"Melville." + +"Mr. Melville, is just precisely where you come into this business?" + +"I'm a friend of Miss Glendower." + +"Who wants him back." + +"Frankly--yes." + +"Isn't she devoted to him?" + +"I presume as she's engaged----" + +"She ought to be devoted to him--yes. Well, why can't she see that she +ought to release him for his own good?" + +"She doesn't see it's for his good. Nor do I." + +"Simply an old-fashioned prejudice because the woman's got a tail. Those +old frumps at Wampach's are quite of your opinion." + +Melville shrugged his shoulders. + +"And so I suppose you're going to bully and threaten on account of Miss +Glendower.... You'll do no good." + +"May I ask what you are going to do?" + +"What a good aunt always does." + +"And that?" + +"Let him do what he likes." + +"Suppose he wants to drown himself?" + +"My dear Mr. Milvain, Harry isn't a fool." + +"I've told you she's a mermaid." + +"Ten times." + +A constrained silence fell between them. + +It became apparent they were near the Folkestone Lift. + +"You'll do no good," said Lady Poynting Mallow. + +Melville's escort concluded at the lift station. There the lady turned +upon him. + +"I'm greatly obliged to you for coming, Mr. Milvain," she said; "and +very glad to hear your views of this matter. It's a peculiar business, +but I hope we're sensible people. You think over what I have said. As a +friend of Harry's. You _are_ a friend of Harry's?" + +"We've known each other some years." + +"I feel sure you will come round to my point of view sooner or later. It +is so obviously the best thing for him." + +"There's Miss Glendower." + +"If Miss Glendower is a womanly woman, she will be ready to make any +sacrifice for his good." + +And with that they parted. + +In the course of another minute Melville found himself on the side of +the road opposite the lift station, regarding the ascending car. The +boldly trimmed bonnet, vivid, erect, assertive, went gliding upward, a +perfect embodiment of sound common sense. His mind was lapsing once +again into disorder; he was stunned, as it were, by the vigour of her +ladyship's view. Could any one not absolutely right be quite so clear +and emphatic? And if so, what became of all that oppression of +foreboding, that sinister promise of an escape, that whisper of "other +dreams," that had dominated his mind only a short half-hour before? + +He turned his face back to Sandgate, his mind a theatre of warring +doubts. Quite vividly he could see the Sea Lady as Lady Poynting Mallow +saw her, as something pink and solid and smart and wealthy, and, indeed, +quite abominably vulgar, and yet quite as vividly he recalled her as she +had talked to him in the garden, her face full of shadows, her eyes of +deep mystery, and the whisper that made all the world about him no more +than a flimsy, thin curtain before vague and wonderful, and hitherto, +quite unsuspected things. + + +V + +Chatteris was leaning against the railings. He started violently at +Melville's hand upon his shoulder. They made awkward greetings. + +"The fact is," said Melville, "I--I have been asked to talk to you." + +"Don't apologise," said Chatteris. "I'm glad to have it out with some +one." + +There was a brief silence. + +They stood side by side--looking down upon the harbour. Behind, the +evening band played remotely and the black little promenaders went to +and fro under the tall electric lights. I think Chatteris decided to be +very self-possessed at first--a man of the world. + +"It's a gorgeous night," he said. + +"Glorious," said Melville, playing up to the key set. + +He clicked his cutter on a cigar. "There was something you wanted me to +tell you----" + +"I know all that," said Chatteris with the shoulder towards Melville +becoming obtrusive. "I know everything." + +"You have seen and talked to her?" + +"Several times." + +There was perhaps a minute's pause. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Melville. + +Chatteris made no answer and Melville did not repeat his question. + +Presently Chatteris turned about. "Let's walk," he said, and they paced +westward, side by side. + +He made a little speech. "I'm sorry to give everybody all this trouble," +he said with an air of having prepared his sentences; "I suppose there +is no question that I have behaved like an ass. I am profoundly sorry. +Largely it is my own fault. But you know--so far as the overt kick-up +goes--there is a certain amount of blame attaches to our outspoken +friend Mrs. Bunting." + +"I'm afraid there is," Melville admitted. + +"You know there are times when one is under the necessity of having +moods. It doesn't help them to drag them into general discussion." + +"The mischief's done." + +"You know Adeline seems to have objected to the presence of--this sea +lady at a very early stage. Mrs. Bunting overruled her. Afterwards when +there was trouble she seems to have tried to make up for it." + +"I didn't know Miss Glendower had objected." + +"She did. She seems to have seen--ahead." + +Chatteris reflected. "Of course all that doesn't excuse me in the least. +But it's a sort of excuse for _your_ being dragged into this bother." + +He said something less distinctly about a "stupid bother" and "private +affairs." + +They found themselves drawing near the band and already on the +outskirts of its territory of votaries. Its cheerful rhythms became +insistent. The canopy of the stand was a focus of bright light, +music-stands and instruments sent out beams of reflected brilliance, +and a luminous red conductor in the midst of the lantern guided the +ratatoo-tat, ratatoo-tat of a popular air. Voices, detached fragments +of conversation, came to our talkers and mingled impertinently with +their thoughts. + +"I wouldn't 'ave no truck with 'im, not after that," said a young person +to her friend. + +"Let's get out of this," said Chatteris abruptly. + +They turned aside from the high path of the Leas to the head of some +steps that led down the declivity. In a few moments it was as if those +imposing fronts of stucco, those many-windowed hotels, the electric +lights on the tall masts, the band-stand and miscellaneous holiday +British public, had never existed. It is one of Folkestone's best +effects, that black quietness under the very feet of a crowd. They no +longer heard the band even, only a remote suggestion of music filtered +to them over the brow. The black-treed slopes fell from them to the surf +below, and out at sea were the lights of many ships. Away to the +westward like a swarm of fire-flies hung the lights of Hythe. The two +men sat down on a vacant seat in the dimness. For a time neither spoke. +Chatteris impressed Melville with an air of being on the defensive. He +murmured in a meditative undertone, "I wouldn't 'ave no truck with 'im +not after that." + +"I will admit by every standard," he said aloud, "that I have been +flappy and feeble and wrong. Very. In these things there is a prescribed +and definite course. To hesitate, to have two points of view, is +condemned by all right-thinking people.... Still--one has the two points +of view.... You have come up from Sandgate?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you see Miss Glendower?" + +"Yes." + +"Talked to her?... I suppose-- What do you think of her?" + +His cigar glowed into an expectant brightness while Melville hesitated +at his answer, and showed his eyes thoughtful upon Melville's face. + +"I've never thought her--" Melville sought more diplomatic phrasing. +"I've never found her exceptionally attractive before. Handsome, you +know, but not--winning. But this time, she seemed ... rather splendid." + +"She is," said Chatteris, "she is." + +He sat forward and began flicking imaginary ash from the end of his +cigar. + +"She _is_ splendid," he admitted. "You--only begin to imagine. You +don't, my dear man, know that girl. She is not--quite--in your line. +She is, I assure you, the straightest and cleanest and clearest human +being I have ever met. She believes so firmly, she does right so +simply, there is a sort of queenly benevolence, a sort of integrity of +benevolence----" + +He left the sentence unfinished, as if unfinished it completely +expressed his thought. + +"She wants you to go back to her," said Melville bluntly. + +"I know," said Chatteris and flicked again at that ghostly ash. "She +has written that.... That's just where her complete magnificence comes +in. She doesn't fence and fool about, as the she-women do. She doesn't +squawk and say, 'You've insulted me and everything's at an end;' and +she doesn't squawk and say, 'For God's sake come back to me!' _She_ +doesn't say, she 'won't 'ave no truck with me not after this.' She +writes--straight. I don't believe, Melville, I half knew her until +all this business came up. She comes out.... Before that it was, as +you said, and I quite perceive--I perceived all along--a little +too--statistical." + +He became meditative, and his cigar glow waned and presently vanished +altogether. + +"You are going back?" + +"By Jove! _Yes._" + +Melville stirred slightly and then they both sat rigidly quiet for a +space. Then abruptly Chatteris flung away his extinct cigar. He seemed +to fling many other things away with that dim gesture. "Of course," he +said, "I shall go back. + +"It is not my fault," he insisted, "that this trouble, this separation, +has ever arisen. I was moody, I was preoccupied, I know--things had got +into my head. But if I'd been left alone.... + +"I have been forced into this position," he summarised. + +"You understand," said Melville, "that--though I think matters are +indefined and distressing just now--I don't attach blame--anywhere." + +"You're open-minded," said Chatteris. "That's just your way. And I can +imagine how all this upset and discomfort distresses you. You're awfully +good to keep so open-minded and not to consider me an utter outcast, an +ill-regulated disturber of the order of the world." + +"It's a distressing state of affairs," said Melville. "But perhaps I +understand the forces pulling at you--better than you imagine." + +"They're very simple, I suppose." + +"Very." + +"And yet----?" + +"Well?" + +He seemed to hesitate at a dangerous topic. "The other," he said. + +Melville's silence bade him go on. + +He plunged from his prepared attitude. "What is it? Why should--this +being--come into my life, as she has done, if it _is_ so simple? What is +there about her, or me, that has pulled me so astray? She has, you know. +Here we are at sixes and sevens! It's not the situation, it's the mental +conflict. Why am I pulled about? She has got into my imagination. How? I +haven't the remotest idea." + +"She's beautiful," meditated Melville. + +"She's beautiful certainly. But so is Miss Glendower." + +"She's very beautiful. I'm not blind, Chatteris. She's beautiful in a +different way." + +"Yes, but that's only the name for the effect. _Why_ is she very +beautiful?" + +Melville shrugged his shoulders. + +"She's not beautiful to every one." + +"You mean?" + +"Bunting keeps calm." + +"Oh--_he_----!" + +"And other people don't seem to see it--as I do." + +"Some people seem to see no beauty at all, as we do. With emotion, that +is." + +"Why do we?" + +"We see--finer." + +"Do we? Is it finer? Why should it be finer to see beauty where it is +fatal to us to see it? Why? Unless we are to believe there is no reason +in things, why should this--impossibility, be beautiful to any one +anyhow? Put it as a matter of reason, Melville. Why should _her_ smile +be so sweet to me, why should _her_ voice move me! Why her's and not +Adeline's? Adeline has straight eyes and clear eyes and fine eyes, and +all the difference there can be, what is it? An infinitesimal curving of +the lid, an infinitesimal difference in the lashes--and it shatters +everything--in this way. Who could measure the difference, who could +tell the quality that makes me _swim_ in the sound of her voice.... The +difference? After all, it's a visible thing, it's a material thing! It's +in my eyes. By Jove!" he laughed abruptly. "Imagine old Helmholtz trying +to gauge it with a battery of resonators, or Spencer in the light of +Evolution and the Environment explaining it away!" + +"These things are beyond measurement," said Melville. + +"Not if you measure them by their effect," said Chatteris. "And anyhow, +why do they take us? That is the question I can't get away from just +now." + +My cousin meditated, no doubt with his hands deep in his trousers' +pockets. "It is illusion," he said. "It is a sort of glamour. After all, +look at it squarely. What is she? What can she give you? She promises +you vague somethings.... She is a snare, she is deception. She is the +beautiful mask of death." + +"Yes," said Chatteris. "I know." + +And then again, "I know. + +"There is nothing for me to learn about that," he said. "But why--why +should the mask of death be beautiful? After all-- We get our duty by +good hard reasoning. Why should reason and justice carry everything? +Perhaps after all there are things beyond our reason, perhaps after all +desire has a claim on us?" + +He stopped interrogatively and Melville was profound. "I think," said +my cousin at last, "Desire _has_ a claim on us. Beauty, at any rate---- + +"I mean," he explained, "we are human beings. We are matter with minds +growing out of ourselves. We reach downward into the beautiful +wonderland of matter, and upward to something--" He stopped, from sheer +dissatisfaction with the image. "In another direction, anyhow," he tried +feebly. He jumped at something that was not quite his meaning. "Man is a +sort of half-way house--he must compromise." + +"As you do?" + +"Well. Yes. I try to strike a balance." + +"A few old engravings--good, I suppose--a little luxury in furniture and +flowers, a few things that come within your means. Art--in moderation, +and a few kindly acts of the pleasanter sort, a certain respect for +truth; duty--also in moderation. Eh? It's just that even balance that I +cannot contrive. I cannot sit down to the oatmeal of this daily life and +wash it down with a temperate draught of beauty and water. Art!... I +suppose I'm voracious, I'm one of the unfit--for the civilised stage. +I've sat down once, I've sat down twice, to perfectly sane, secure, and +reasonable things.... It's not my way." + +He repeated, "It's not my way." + +Melville, I think, said nothing to that. He was distracted from the +immediate topic by the discussion of his own way of living. He was lost +in egotistical comparisons. No doubt he was on the verge of saying, as +most of us would have been under the circumstances: "I don't think you +quite understand my position." + +"But, after all, what is the good of talking in this way?" exclaimed +Chatteris abruptly. "I am simply trying to elevate the whole business by +dragging in these wider questions. It's justification, when I didn't +mean to justify. I have to choose between life with Adeline and this +woman out of the sea." + +"Who is Death." + +"How do I know she is Death?" + +"But you said you had made your choice!" + +"I have." + +He seemed to recollect. + +"I have," he corroborated. "I told you. I am going back to see Miss +Glendower to-morrow. + +"Yes." He recalled further portions of what I believe was some prepared +and ready-phrased decision--some decision from which the conversation had +drifted. "The need of my life is discipline, the habit of persistence, +of ignoring side issues and wandering thoughts. Discipline!" + +"And work." + +"Work, if you like to put it so; it's the same thing. The trouble so far +has been I haven't worked hard enough. I've stopped to speak to the +woman by the wayside. I've paltered with compromise, and the other thing +has caught me.... I've got to renounce it, that is all." + +"It isn't that your work is contemptible." + +"By Jove! No. It's--arduous. It has its dusty moments. There are places +to climb that are not only steep but muddy----" + +"The world wants leaders. It gives a man of your class a great deal. +Leisure. Honour. Training and high traditions----" + +"And it expects something back. I know. I am wrong--have been wrong +anyhow. This dream has taken me wonderfully. And I must renounce it. +After all it is not so much--to renounce a dream. It's no more than +deciding to live. There are big things in the world for men to do." + +Melville produced an elaborate conceit. "If there is no Venus +Anadyomene," he said, "there is Michael and his Sword." + +"The stern angel in armour! But then he had a good palpable dragon to +slash and not his own desires. And our way nowadays is to do a deal with +the dragons somehow, raise the minimum wage and get a better housing for +the working classes by hook or by crook." + +Melville does not think that was a fair treatment of his suggestion. + +"No," said Chatteris, "I've no doubt about the choice. I'm going to fall +in--with the species; I'm going to take my place in the ranks in that +great battle for the future which is the meaning of life. I want a moral +cold bath and I mean to take one. This lax dalliance with dreams and +desires must end. I will make a time table for my hours and a rule for +my life, I will entangle my honour in controversies, I will give myself +to service, as a man should do. Clean-handed work, struggle, and +performance." + +"And there is Miss Glendower, you know." + +"Rather!" said Chatteris, with a faint touch of insincerity. "Tall and +straight-eyed and capable. By Jove! if there's to be no Venus +Anadyomene, at any rate there will be a Pallas Athene. It is she who +plays the reconciler." + +And then he said these words: "It won't be so bad, you know." + +Melville restrained a movement of impatience, he tells me, at that. + +Then Chatteris, he says, broke into a sort of speech. "The case is +tried," he said, "the judgment has been given. I am that I am. I've been +through it all and worked it out. I am a man and I must go a man's way. +There is Desire, the light and guide of the world, a beacon on a +headland blazing out. Let it burn! Let it burn! The road runs near it +and by it--and past.... I've made my choice. I've got to be a man, I've +got to live a man and die a man and carry the burden of my class and +time. There it is! I've had the dream, but you see I keep hold of +reason. Here, with the flame burning, I renounce it. I make my +choice.... Renunciation! Always--renunciation! That is life for all of +us. We have desires, only to deny them, senses that we all must starve. +We can live only as a part of ourselves. Why should _I_ be exempt. For +me, she is evil. For me she is death.... Only why have I seen her face? +Why have I heard her voice?..." + + +VI + +They walked out of the shadows and up a long sloping path until +Sandgate, as a little line of lights, came into view below. Presently +they came out upon the brow and walked together (the band playing with a +remote and sweetening indistinctness far away behind them) towards the +cliff at the end. They stood for a little while in silence looking down. +Melville made a guess at his companion's thoughts. + +"Why not come down to-night?" he asked. + +"On a night like this!" Chatteris turned about suddenly and regarded the +moonlight and the sea. He stood quite still for a space, and that cold +white radiance gave an illusory strength and decision to his face. +"No," he said at last, and the word was almost a sigh. + +"Go down to the girl below there. End the thing. She will be there, +thinking of you----" + +"No," said Chatteris, "no." + +"It's not ten yet," Melville tried again. + +Chatteris thought. "No," he answered, "not to-night. To-morrow, in the +light of everyday. + +"I want a good, gray, honest day," he said, "with a south-west wind.... +These still, soft nights! How can you expect me to do anything of that +sort to-night?" + +And then he murmured as if he found the word a satisfying word to +repeat, "Renunciation." + +"By Jove!" he said with the most astonishing transition, "but this is a +night out of fairyland! Look at the lights of those windows below there +and then up--up into this enormous blue of sky. And there, as if it were +fainting with moonlight--shines one star." + + + + +CHAPTER THE EIGHTH + +MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT + + +I + +Just precisely what happened after that has been the most impossible +thing to disinter. I have given all the things that Melville remembered +were said, I have linked them into a conversation and checked them by my +cousin's afterthoughts, and finally I have read the whole thing over to +him. It is of course no verbatim rendering, but it is, he says, closely +after the manner of their talk, the gist was that, and things of that +sort were said. And when he left Chatteris, he fully believed that the +final and conclusive thing was said. And then he says it came into his +head that, apart from and outside this settlement, there still remained +a tangible reality, capable of action, the Sea Lady. What was she going +to do? The thought toppled him back into a web of perplexities again. It +carried him back into a state of inconclusive interrogation past +Lummidge's Hotel. + +The two men had gone back to the Metropole and had parted with a firm +handclasp outside the glare of the big doorway. Chatteris went straight +in, Melville fancies, but he is not sure. I understand Melville had +some private thinking to do on his own account, and I conceive him +walking away in a state of profound preoccupation. Afterwards the fact +that the Sea Lady was not to be abolished by renunciations, cropped up +in his mind, and he passed back along the Leas, as I have said. His +inconclusive interrogations elicited at the utmost that Lummidge's +Private and Family Hotel is singularly like any other hotel of its +class. Its windows tell no secrets. And there Melville's narrative ends. + +With that my circumstantial record necessarily comes to an end also. +There are sources, of course, and glimpses. Parker refuses, +unhappily--as I explained. The chief of these sources are, first, +Gooch, the valet employed by Chatteris; and, secondly, the hall-porter +of Lummidge's Private and Family Hotel. + +The valet's evidence is precise, but has an air of being irrelevant. He +witnesses that at a quarter past eleven he went up to ask Chatteris if +there was anything more to do that night, and found him seated in an +arm-chair before the open window, with his chin upon his hands, staring +at nothing--which, indeed, as Schopenhauer observes in his crowning +passage, is the whole of human life. + +"More to do?" said Chatteris. + +"Yessir," said the valet. + +"Nothing," said Chatteris, "absolutely nothing." And the valet, finding +this answer quite satisfactory, wished him goodnight and departed. + +Probably Chatteris remained in this attitude for a considerable +time--half an hour, perhaps, or more. Slowly, it would seem, his mood +underwent a change. At some definite moment it must have been that his +lethargic meditation gave way to a strange activity, to a sort of +hysterical reaction against all his resolves and renunciations. His +first action seems to me grotesque--and grotesquely pathetic. He went +into his dressing-room, and in the morning "his clo'es," said the valet, +"was shied about as though 'e'd lost a ticket." This poor worshipper of +beauty and the dream shaved! He shaved and washed and he brushed his +hair, and, his valet testifies, one of the brushes got "shied" behind +the bed. Even this throwing about of brushes seems to me to have done +little or nothing to palliate his poor human preoccupation with the +toilette. He changed his gray flannels--which suited him very well--for +his white ones, which suited him extremely. He must deliberately and +conscientiously have made himself quite "lovely," as a schoolgirl would +have put it. + +And having capped his great "renunciation" by these proceedings, he +seems to have gone straight to Lummidge's Private and Family Hotel and +demanded to see the Sea Lady. + +She had retired. + +This came from Parker, and was delivered in a chilling manner by the +hall-porter. + +Chatteris swore at the hall-porter. "Tell her I'm here," he said. + +"She's retired," said the hall-porter with official severity. + +"Will you tell her I'm here?" said Chatteris, suddenly white. + +"What name, sir?" said the hall-porter, in order, as he explains, "to +avoid a frackass." + +"Chatteris. Tell her I must see her now. Do you hear, _now_?" + +The hall-porter went to Parker, and came half-way back. He wished to +goodness he was not a hall-porter. The manager had gone out--it was a +stagnant hour. He decided to try Parker again; he raised his voice. + +The Sea Lady called to Parker from the inner room. There was an interval +of tension. + +I gather that the Sea Lady put on a loose wrap, and the faithful Parker +either carried her or sufficiently helped her from her bedroom to the +couch in the little sitting-room. In the meanwhile the hall-porter +hovered on the stairs, praying for the manager--prayers that went +unanswered--and Chatteris fumed below. Then we have a glimpse of the Sea +Lady. + +"I see her just in the crack of the door," said the porter, "as that +maid of hers opened it. She was raised up on her hands, and turned so +towards the door. Looking exactly like this----" + +And the hall-porter, who has an Irish type of face, a short nose, long +upper lip, and all the rest of it, and who has also neglected his +dentist, projected his face suddenly, opened his eyes very wide, and +slowly curved his mouth into a fixed smile, and so remained until he +judged the effect on me was complete. + +Parker, a little flushed, but resolutely flattening everything to the +quality of the commonplace, emerged upon him suddenly. Miss Waters could +see Mr. Chatteris for a few minutes. She was emphatic with the "Miss +Waters," the more emphatic for all the insurgent stress of the goddess, +protestingly emphatic. And Chatteris went up, white and resolved, to +that smiling expectant presence. No one witnessed their meeting but +Parker--assuredly Parker could not resist seeing that, but Parker is +silent--Parker preserves a silence that rubies could not break. + +All I know, is this much from the porter: + +"When I said she was up there and would see him," he says, "the way he +rooshed up was outrageous. This is a Private Family Hotel. Of course one +sees things at times even here, but---- + +"I couldn't find the manager to tell 'im," said the hall-porter. "And +what was _I_ authorised to do? + +"For a bit they talked with the door open, and then it was shut. That +maid of hers did it--I lay." + +I asked an ignoble question. + +"Couldn't ketch a word," said the hall-porter. "Dropped to +whispers--instanter." + + +II + +And afterwards-- + +It was within ten minutes of one that Parker, conferring an amount of +decorum on the request beyond the power of any other living being, +descended to demand--of all conceivable things--the bath chair! + +"I got it," said the hall-porter with inimitable profundity. + +And then, having let me realise the fulness of that, he said: "They +never used it!" + +"No?" + +"No! He carried her down in his arms." + +"And out?" + +"And out!" + +He was difficult to follow in his description of the Sea Lady. She wore +her wrap, it seems, and she was "like a statue"--whatever he may have +meant by that. Certainly not that she was impassive. "Only," said the +porter, "she was alive. One arm was bare, I know, and her hair was down, +a tossing mass of gold. + +"He looked, you know, like a man who's screwed himself up. + +"She had one hand holding his hair--yes, holding his hair, with her +fingers in among it.... + +"And when she see my face she threw her head back laughing at me. + +"As much as to say, '_got_ 'im!' + +"Laughed at me, she did. Bubblin' over." + +I stood for a moment conceiving this extraordinary picture. Then a +question occurred to me. + +"Did _he_ laugh?" I asked. + +"Gord bless you, sir, laugh? _No!_" + + +III + +The definite story ends in the warm light outside Lummidge's Private and +Family Hotel. One sees that bright solitude of the Leas stretching white +and blank--deserted as only a seaside front in the small hours can be +deserted--and all its electric light ablaze. And then the dark line of +the edge where the cliff drops down to the undercliff and sea. And +beyond, moonlit, the Channel and its incessant ships. Outside the front +of the hotel, which is one of a great array of pallid white facades, +stands this little black figure of a hall-porter, staring stupidly into +the warm and luminous mystery of the night that has swallowed Sea Lady +and Chatteris together. And he is the sole living thing in the picture. + +There is a little shelter set in the brow of the Leas, wherein, during +the winter season, a string band plays. Close by there are steps that go +down precipitously to the lower road below. Down these it must have been +they went together, hastening downward out of this life of ours to +unknown and inconceivable things. So it is I seem to see them, and +surely though he was not in a laughing mood, there was now no doubt nor +resignation in his face. Assuredly now he had found himself, for a time +at least he was sure of himself, and that at least cannot be misery, +though it lead straight through a few swift strides to death. + +They went down through the soft moonlight, tall and white and splendid, +interlocked, with his arms about her, his brow to her white shoulder and +her hair about his face. And she, I suppose, smiled above him and +caressed him and whispered to him. For a moment they must have glowed +under the warm light of the lamp that is half-way down the steps there, +and then the shadows closed about them. He must have crossed the road +with her, through the laced moonlight of the tree shadows, and through +the shrubs and bushes of the undercliff, into the shadeless moon glare +of the beach. There was no one to see that last descent, to tell whether +for a moment he looked back before he waded into the phosphorescence, +and for a little swam with her, and presently swam no longer, and so was +no more to be seen by any one in this gray world of men. + +Did he look back, I wonder? They swam together for a little while, the +man and the sea goddess who had come for him, with the sky above them +and the water about them all, warmly filled with the moonlight and set +with shining stars. It was no time for him to think of truth, nor of the +honest duties he had left behind him, as they swam together into the +unknown. And of the end I can only guess and dream. Did there come a +sudden horror upon him at the last, a sudden perception of infinite +error, and was he drawn down, swiftly and terribly, a bubbling +repentance, into those unknown deeps? Or was she tender and wonderful to +the last, and did she wrap her arms about him and draw him down, down +until the soft waters closed above him into a gentle ecstasy of death? + +Into these things we cannot pry or follow, and on the margin of the +softly breathing water the story of Chatteris must end. For the +tailpiece to that, let us put that policeman who in the small hours +before dawn came upon the wrap the Sea Lady had been wearing just as +the tide overtook it. It was not the sort of garment low people +sometimes throw away--it was a soft and costly wrap. I seem to see him +perplexed and dubious, wrap in charge over his arm and lantern in hand, +scanning first the white beach and black bushes behind him and then +staring out to sea. It was the inexplicable abandonment of a thoroughly +comfortable and desirable thing. + +"What were people up to?" one figures him asking, this simple citizen of +a plain and observed world. "What do such things mean? + +"To throw away such an excellent wrap...!" + +In all the southward heaven there were only a planet and the sinking +moon, and from his feet a path of quivering light must have started and +run up to the extreme dark edge before him of the sky. Ever and again +the darkness east and west of that glory would be lit by a momentary +gleam of phosphorescence; and far out the lights of ships were shining +bright and yellow. Across its shimmer a black fishing smack was gliding +out of mystery into mystery. Dungeness shone from the west a pin-point +of red light, and in the east the tireless glare of that great beacon on +Gris-nez wheeled athwart the sky and vanished and came again. + +I picture the interrogation of his lantern going out for a little way, a +stain of faint pink curiosity upon the mysterious vast serenity of +night. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: A few obvious printer's errors have been silently +corrected. 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