diff options
Diffstat (limited to '39324-h/39324-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 39324-h/39324-h.htm | 10043 |
1 files changed, 10043 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/39324-h/39324-h.htm b/39324-h/39324-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0de502 --- /dev/null +++ b/39324-h/39324-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10043 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Literary Sense, by E. Nesbit. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + .small {font-size: 70%;} + .big {font-size: 110%;} + .adtitle2 {font-size: 150%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + .adtitle {font-size: 200%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + + .author {font-size: 120%; text-align: center;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .chaptertitle {text-align: center; font-size: 110%; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1.5em;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align:baseline; + position: relative; + bottom: 0.33em; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + .cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; margin: -0.2em 0.1em 0; margin-top: 0%; + padding: 0; line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;} + .cap {text-align: justify;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Literary Sense, by E. Nesbit + +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 Literary Sense + +Author: E. Nesbit + +Release Date: April 1, 2012 [EBook #39324] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITERARY SENSE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 390px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="390" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="200" height="77" alt="emblem" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h1>THE LITERARY SENSE</h1> + +<div class='center'><br /><br />BY<br /> +<span class='author'>E. NESBIT</span><br /> + +<span class='small'>AUTHOR OF "THE RED HOUSE" AND "THE WOULD-BE-GOODS"</span><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<b>New York</b><br /> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +<span class='small'>LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span></span><br /> +1903<br /> +<br /> +<span class='small'><i>All rights reserved</i></span><br /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='copyright'> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1903,<br /> +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</span><br /> +<br /> +Set up, electrotyped, and published September, 1903.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Norwood Press<br /> +J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> +Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.<br /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='center'> +TO<br /> +<span class='big'>DOROTHEA DEAKIN</span><br /> +WITH<br /> +THE AUTHOR'S LOVE<br /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Unfaithful Lover</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rounding off a Scene</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Obvious</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Lie Absolute</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Girl with the Guitar </span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Man with the Boots</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Second Best</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Holiday</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Force of Habit</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Brute</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Dick, Tom, and Harry</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Miss Eden's Baby</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Lover, the Girl, and the Onlooker</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Duel</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Cinderella</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">With an E</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Under the New Moon</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Love of Romance</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE LITERARY SENSE</h2> + + + + +<h2>THE UNFAITHFUL LOVER</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>SHE was going to meet her lover. And the +fact that she was to meet him at Cannon +Street Station would almost, she feared, make +the meeting itself banal, sordid. She would +have liked to meet him in some green, cool +orchard, where daffodils swung in the long grass, +and primroses stood on frail stiff little pink +stalks in the wet, scented moss of the hedgerow. +The time should have been May. She herself +should have been a poem—a lyric in a white +gown and green scarf, coming to him through +the long grass under the blossomed boughs. Her +hands should have been full of bluebells, and she +should have held them up to his face in maidenly +defence as he sprang forward to take her in his +arms. You see that she knew exactly how a +tryst is conducted in the pages of the standard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +poets and of the cheaper weekly journals. She +had, to the full limit allowed of her reading and +her environment, the literary sense. When she +was a child she never could cry long, because she +always wanted to see herself cry, in the glass, +and then of course the tears always stopped. +Now that she was a young woman she could +never be happy long, because she wanted to +watch her heart's happiness, and it used to stop +then, just as the tears had.</div> + +<p>He had asked her to meet him at Cannon Street; +he had something to say to her, and at home it +was difficult to get a quiet half-hour because of +her little sisters. And, curiously enough, she +was hardly curious at all about what he might +have to say. She only wished for May and the +orchard, instead of January and the dingy, dusty +waiting-room, the plain-faced, preoccupied travellers, +the dim, desolate weather. The setting +of the scene seemed to her all-important. Her +dress was brown, her jacket black, and her hat +was home-trimmed. Yet she looked entrancingly +pretty to him as he came through the +heavy swing-doors. He would hardly have +known her in green and white muslin and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +orchard, for their love had been born and bred +in town—Highbury New Park, to be exact. +He came towards her; he was five minutes late. +She had grown anxious, as the one who waits +always does, and she was extremely glad to see +him, but she knew that a late lover should be +treated with a provoking coldness (one can +relent prettily later on), so she gave him a limp +hand and no greeting.</p> + +<p>"Let's go out," he said. "Shall we walk +along the Embankment, or go somewhere on +the Underground?"</p> + +<p>It was bitterly cold, but the Embankment +was more romantic than a railway carriage. +He ought to insist on the railway carriage: he +probably would. So she said—</p> + +<p>"Oh, the Embankment, please!" and felt a +sting of annoyance and disappointment when he +acquiesced.</p> + +<p>They did not speak again till they had gone +through the little back streets, past the police +station and the mustard factory, and were on +the broad pavement of Queen Victoria Street.</p> + +<p>He had been late: he had offered no excuse, +no explanation. She had done the proper thing;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +she had awaited these with dignified reserve, +and now she was involved in the meshes of a +silence that she could not break. How easy it +would have been in the orchard! She could +have snapped off a blossoming branch and—and +made play with it somehow. Then he +would have had to say something. But here—the +only thing that occurred to her was to stop +and look in one of the shops till he should ask +her what she was looking at. And how common +and mean that would be compared with +the blossoming bough; and besides, the shops +they were passing had nothing in the windows +except cheap pastry and models of steam-engines.</p> + +<p>Why on earth didn't he speak? He had never +been like this before. She stole a glance at him, +and for the first time it occurred to her that his +"something to say" was not a mere excuse for +being alone with her. He had something to say—something +that was trying to get itself said. +The keen wind thrust itself even inside the high +collar of her jacket. Her hands and feet were +aching with cold. How warm it would have +been in the orchard!</p> + +<p>"I'm freezing," she said suddenly; "let's go +and have some tea."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course, if you like," he said uncomfortably; +yet she could see he was glad that +she had broken that desolate silence.</p> + +<p>Seated at a marble table—the place was +nearly empty—she furtively watched his face +in the glass, and what she saw there thrilled +her. Some great sorrow had come to him. +And she had been sulking! The girl in the +orchard would have known at a glance. <i>She</i> +would gently, tenderly, with infinite delicacy +and the fine tact of a noble woman, have drawn +his secret from him. She would have shared his +sorrow, and shown herself "half wife, half angel +from heaven" in this dark hour. Well, it was +not too late. She could begin now. But how? +He had ordered the tea, and her question was +still unanswered. Yet she must speak. When +she did her words did not fit the mouth of the +girl in the orchard—but then it would have +been May there, and this was January. She +said—</p> + +<p>"How frightfully cold it is!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it?" he said.</p> + +<p>The fine tact of a noble woman seemed to +have deserted her. She resisted a little impulse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +to put her hand in his under the marble table, +and to say, "What is it, dearest? Tell me all +about it. I can't bear to see you looking so +miserable," and there was another silence.</p> + +<p>The waitress brought the two thick cups of +tea, and looked at him with a tepid curiosity. +As soon as the two were alone again he leaned +his elbows on the marble and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Look here, darling, I've got something to tell +you, and I hope to God you'll forgive me and +stand by me, and try to understand that I love +you just the same, and whatever happens I shall +always love you."</p> + +<p>This preamble sent a shiver of dread down +her spine. What had he done—a murder—a +bank robbery—married someone else?</p> + +<p>It was on the tip of her tongue to say that +she would stand by him whatever he had done; +but if he had married someone else this would +be improper, so she only said, "Well?" and she +said it coldly.</p> + +<p>"Well—I went to the Simpsons' dance on +Tuesday—oh, why weren't you there, Ethel?—and +there was a girl in pink, and I danced three +or four times with her—she was rather like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +you, side-face—and then, after supper, in the +conservatory, I—I talked nonsense—but only +a very little, dear—and she kept looking at me +so—as if she expected me to—to—and so I +kissed her. And yesterday I had a letter from +her, and she seems to expect—to think—and +I thought I ought to tell you, darling. Oh, +Ethel, do try to forgive me! I haven't answered +her letter."</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said.</p> + +<p>"That's all," said he, miserably stirring his tea.</p> + +<p>She drew a deep breath. A shock of unbelievable +relief tingled through her. So that +was all! What was it, compared with her +fears? She almost said, "Never mind, dear. It +was hateful of you, and I wish you hadn't, but +I know you're sorry, and I'm sorry; but I forgive +you, and we'll forget it, and you'll never do +it again." But just in time she remembered that +nice girls must not take these things too lightly. +What opinion would he form of the purity of +her mind, the innocence of her soul, if an incident +like this failed to shock her deeply? He +himself was evidently a prey to the most rending +remorse. He had told her of the thing as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +one tells of a crime. As the confession of a +crime she must receive it. How should she +know that he had only told her because he +feared that she would anyhow hear it through +the indiscretion of the girl in pink, or of that +other girl in blue who had seen and smiled? +How could she guess that he had tuned his confession +to the key of what he believed would be +an innocent girl's estimate of his misconduct?</p> + +<p>Following the tingle of relief came a sharp, +sickening pinch of jealousy and mortification. +These inspired her.</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder you were afraid to tell me," +she began. "You don't love me—you've never +loved me—I was an idiot to believe you did."</p> + +<p>"You know I do," he said; "it was hateful of +me—but I couldn't help it."</p> + +<p>Those four true words wounded her more than +all the rest.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't help it? Then how can I ever +trust you? Even if we were married I could +never be sure you weren't kissing some horrid +girl or other. No—it's no use—I can never, +never forgive you—and it's all over. And I +<i>believed</i> in you so, and trusted you—I thought +you were the soul of honour."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>He could not say, "And so I am, on the +whole," which was what he thought. Her tears +were falling hot and fast between face and veil, +for she had talked till she was very sorry indeed +for herself.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, dear," he said.</p> + +<p>Then she rose to the occasion. "Never," +she said, her eyes flashing through her tears. +"You've deceived me once—you'd do it again! +No, it's all over—you've broken my heart and +destroyed my faith in human nature. I hope I +shall never see you again. Some day you'll +understand what you've done, and be sorry!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I'm not sorry now?"</p> + +<p>She wished that they were at home, and not +in this horrible tea-shop, under the curious eyes +of the waitresses. At home she could at least +have buried her face in the sofa cushions and +resisted all his pleading,—at last, perhaps, letting +him take one cold passive hand and shower +frantic kisses upon it.</p> + +<p>He would come to-morrow, however, and +then— At present the thing to compass was +a dignified parting.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she said; "I'm going home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +And it's good-bye for ever. No—it's only painful +for both of us. There's no more to be said; +you've betrayed me. I didn't think a decent +man could do such things." She was pulling on +her gloves. "Go home and gloat over it all! +And that poor girl—you've broken <i>her</i> heart +too." This really was a master stroke of +nobility.</p> + +<p>He stood up suddenly. "Do you mean it?" +he said, and his tone should have warned her. +"Are you really going to throw me over for a +thing like this?"</p> + +<p>The anger in his eyes frightened her, and the +misery of his face wrung her heart; but how +could she say—</p> + +<p>"No, of course I'm not! I'm only talking as +I know good girls ought to talk"?</p> + +<p>So she said—</p> + +<p>"Yes. Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>He stood up suddenly. "Then good-bye," he +said, "and may God forgive you as I do!" And +he strode down between the marble tables and +out by the swing-door. It was a very good exit. +At the corner he remembered that he had gone +away without paying for the tea, and his natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +impulse was to go back and remedy that error. +And if he had they would certainly have made it +up. But how could he go back to say, "We are +parting for ever; but still, I must insist on the +sad pleasure of paying for our tea—for the last +time"? He checked the silly impulse. What +was tea, and the price of tea, in this cataclysmic +overthrowing of the Universe? So she waited +for him in vain, and at last paid for the tea herself, +and went home to wait there—and there, +too, in vain, for he never came back to her. He +loved her with all his heart, and he, also, had +what she had never suspected in him—the +literary sense. Therefore he, never dreaming +that the literary sense had inspired her too, perceived +that to the jilted lover two courses only +are possible—suicide or "the front." So he +enlisted, and went to South Africa, and he never +came home covered with medals and glory, which +was rather his idea, to the few simple words of +explanation that would have made all straight, +and repaid her and him for all the past. Because +Destiny is almost without the literary sense, and +Destiny carelessly decreed that he should die of +enteric in a wretched hut, without so much as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +hearing a gun fired. Literary to the soul, she has +taken no other lover, but mourns him faithfully +to this hour. Yet perhaps, after all, that is not +because of the literary sense. It may be because +she loved him. I think I have not mentioned +before that she did love him.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>ROUNDING OFF A SCENE</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>A SOFT rain was falling. Umbrellas swayed +and gleamed in the light of the street +lamps. The brightness of the shop windows +reflected itself in the muddy mirror of the wet +pavements. A miserable night, a dreary night, +a night to tempt the wretched to the glimmering +Embankment, and thence to the river, hardly wetter +or cleaner than the gutters of the London +streets. Yet the sight of these same streets was +like wine in the veins to a man who drove +through them in a hansom piled with Gladstone +bags and P. and O. trunks. He leaned over the +apron of the hansom and looked eagerly, longingly, +lovingly, at every sordid detail: the crowd +on the pavement, its haste as intelligible to him +as the rush of ants when their hill is disturbed by +the spade; the glory and glow of corner public-houses; +the shifting dance of the gleaming wet +umbrellas. It was England, it was London, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +was home—and his heart swelled till he felt it +in his throat. After ten years—the dream realised, +the longing appeased. London—and all +was said.</div> + +<p>His cab, delayed by a red newspaper cart, +jammed in altercative contact with a dray full +of brown barrels, paused in Cannon Street. +The eyes that drank in the scene perceived a +familiar face watching on the edge of the pavement +for a chance to cross the road under the +horses' heads—the face of one who ten years +ago had been the slightest of acquaintances. +Now time and home-longing juggled with memory +till the face seemed that of a friend. To +meet a friend—this did, indeed, round off the +scene of the home-coming. The man in the cab +threw back the doors and leapt out. He crossed +under the very nose-bag of a stationed dray +horse. He wrung the friend—last seen as an +acquaintance—by the hand. The friend caught +fire at the contact. Any passer-by, who should +have been spared a moment for observation by +the cares of umbrella and top-hat, had surely +said, "Damon and Pythias!" and gone onward +smiling in sympathy with friends long severed +and at last reunited.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little scene ended in a cordial invitation +from the impromptu Damon, on the pavement, +to Pythias, of the cab, to a little dance that +evening at Damon's house, out Sydenham way. +Pythias accepted with enthusiasm, though at his +normal temperature, he was no longer a dancing +man. The address was noted, hands clasped +again with strenuous cordiality, and Pythias +regained his hansom. It set him down at the +hotel from which ten years before he had taken +cab to Fenchurch Street Station. The menu of +his dinner had been running in his head, like a +poem, all through the wet shining streets. He +ordered, therefore, without hesitation—</p> + +<div class='center'> +Ox-tail Soup.<br /> +Boiled Cod and Oyster Sauce.<br /> +Roast Beef and Horse-radish.<br /> +Boiled Potatoes. Brussels Sprouts.<br /> +Cabinet Pudding.<br /> +Stilton. Celery.<br /> +</div> + +<p>The cabinet pudding was the waiter's suggestion. +Anything that called itself "pudding" +would have pleased as well. He dressed hurriedly, +and when the soup and the wine card<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +appeared together before him he ordered draught +bitter—a pint.</p> + +<p>"And bring it in a tankard," said he.</p> + +<p>The drive to Sydenham was, if possible, a happier +dream than had been the drive from Fenchurch +Street to Charing Cross. There were +many definite reasons why he should have been +glad to be in England, glad to leave behind him +the hard work of his Indian life, and to settle +down as a landed proprietor. But he did not +think definite thoughts. The whole soul and +body of the man were filled and suffused by the +glow that transfuses the blood of the schoolboy +at the end of the term.</p> + +<p>The lights, the striped awning, the red carpet +of the Sydenham house thrilled and charmed him. +Park Lane could have lent them no further grace—Belgrave +Square no more subtle witchery. This +was England, England, England!</p> + +<p>He went in. The house was pretty with lights +and flowers. There was music. The soft-carpeted +stair seemed air as he trod it. He met his +host—was led up to girls in blue and girls in +pink, girls in satin and girls in silk-muslin—wrote +brief <i>précis</i> of their toilets on his programme.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +Then he was brought face to face +with a tall dark-haired woman in white. His +host's voice buzzed in his ears, and he caught +only the last words—"old friends." Then he +was left staring straight into the eyes of the +woman who ten years ago had been the light of +his: the woman who had jilted him, his vain +longing for whom had been the spur to drive +him out of England.</p> + +<p>"May I have another?" was all he found to +say after the bow, the conventional request, and +the scrawling of two programmes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, and he took two more.</p> + +<p>The girls in pink, and blue, and silk, and +satin found him a good but silent dancer. On +the opening bars of the eighth waltz he stood +before her. Their steps went together like song +and tune, just as they had always done. And +the touch of her hand on his arm thrilled +through him in just the old way. He had, indeed, +come home.</p> + +<p>There were definite reasons why he should +have pleaded a headache or influenza, or any lie, +and have gone away before his second dance +with her. But the charm of the situation was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +too great. The whole thing was so complete. +On his very first evening in England—to meet +her! He did not go, and half-way through their +second dance he led her into the little room, +soft-curtained, soft-cushioned, soft-lighted, at the +bend of the staircase.</p> + +<p>Here they sat silent, and he fanned her, and +he assured himself once more that she was +more beautiful than ever. Her hair, which he +had known in short, fluffy curls, lay in soberly +waved masses, but it was still bright and dark, +like a chestnut fresh from the husk. Her eyes +were the same as of old, and her hands. Her +mouth only had changed. It was a sad mouth +now, in repose—and he had known it so merry. +Yet he could not but see that its sadness added +to its beauty. The lower lip had been, perhaps, +too full, too flexible. It was set now, not in +sternness, but in a dignified self-control. He +had left a Greuze girl—he found a Madonna of +Bellini. Yet those were the lips he had kissed—the +eyes that—</p> + +<p>The silence had grown to the point of embarrassment. +She broke it, with his eyes on +her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "tell me all about yourself."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing much to tell. My cousin's +dead, and I'm a full-fledged squire with estates +and things. I've done with the gorgeous East, +thank God! But you—tell me about yourself."</p> + +<p>"What shall I tell you?" She had taken the +fan from him, and was furling and unfurling it.</p> + +<p>"Tell me"—he repeated the words slowly—"tell +me the truth! It's all over—nothing +matters now. But I've always been—well—curious. +Tell me why you threw me over!"</p> + +<p>He yielded, without even the form of a struggle, +to the impulse which he only half understood. +What he said was true: he <i>had</i> been—well—curious. +But it was long since anything alive, +save vanity, which is immortal, had felt the +sting of that curiosity. But now, sitting beside +this beautiful woman who had been so much to +him, the desire to bridge over the years, to be +once more in relations with her outside the conventionalities +of a ball-room, to take part with +her in some scene, discreet, yet flavoured by the +past with a delicate poignancy, came upon him +like a strong man armed. It held him, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +through a veil, and he did not see its face. +If he had seen it, it would have shocked him +very much.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said softly, "tell me now—at +last—"</p> + +<p>Still she was silent.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said again; "why did you do +it? How was it you found out so very suddenly +and surely that we weren't suited to each +other—that was the phrase, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Do you really want to know? It's not very +amusing, is it—raking out dead fires?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do want to know. I've wanted it +every day since," he said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"As you say—it's all ancient history. But +you used not to be stupid. Are you sure the +real reason never occurred to you?"</p> + +<p>"Never! What was it? Yes, I know: the +next waltz is beginning. Don't go. Cut him, +whoever he is, and stay here and tell me. I +think I have a right to ask that of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh—rights!" she said. "But it's quite +simple. I threw you over, as you call it, because +I found out you didn't care for me."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i>—not care for <i>you?</i>"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"But even so—if you believed it—but how +could you? Even so—why not have told me—why +not have given me a chance?" His voice +trembled.</p> + +<p>Hers was firm.</p> + +<p>"I <i>was</i> giving you a chance, and I wanted to +make sure that you would take it. If I'd just +said, 'You don't care for me,' you'd have said, +'Oh, yes I do!' And we should have been +just where we were before."</p> + +<p>"Then it wasn't that you were tired of me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said sedately, "it wasn't that!"</p> + +<p>"Then you—did you really care for me still, +even when you sent back the ring and wouldn't +see me, and went to Germany, and wouldn't +open my letters, and all the rest of it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!"—she laughed lightly—"I loved +you frightfully all that time. It does seem odd +now to look back on it, doesn't it? but I nearly +broke my heart over you."</p> + +<p>"Then why the devil—"</p> + +<p>"You mustn't swear," she interrupted; "I +never heard you do that before. Is it the +Indian climate?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why did you send me away?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Don't I keep telling you?" Her tone was +impatient. "I found out you didn't care, and—and +I'd always despised people who kept other +people when they wanted to go. And I knew +you were too honourable, generous, soft-hearted—what +shall I say?—to go for your own sake, +so I thought, for your sake, I would make you +believe you were to go for mine."</p> + +<p>"So you lied to me?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly. We <i>weren't</i> suited—since you +didn't love me."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> didn't love you?" he echoed again.</p> + +<p>"And somehow I'd always wanted to do something +really noble, and I never had the chance. +So I thought if I set you free from a girl you +didn't love, and bore the blame myself, it <i>would</i> +be rather noble. And so I did it."</p> + +<p>"And did the consciousness of your own +nobility sustain you comfortably?" The sneer +was well sneered.</p> + +<p>"Well—not for long," she admitted. "You +see, I began to doubt after a while whether it was +really <i>my</i> nobleness after all. It began to seem +like some part in a play that I'd learned and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +played—don't you know that sort of dreams +where you seem to be reading a book and acting +the story in the book at the same time? It +was a little like that now and then, and I got +rather tired of myself and my nobleness, and I +wished I'd just told you, and had it all out with +you, and both of us spoken the truth and parted +friends. That was what I thought of doing at +first. But then it wouldn't have been noble! +And I really did want to be noble—just as +some people want to paint pictures, or write +poems, or climb Alps. Come, take me back to +the ball-room. It's cold here in the Past."</p> + +<p>But how could he let the curtain be rung +down on a scene half finished, and so good a +scene?</p> + +<p>"Ah, no! tell me," he said, laying his hand +on hers; "why did you think I didn't love you?"</p> + +<p>"I knew it. Do you remember the last time +you came to see me? We quarrelled—we were +always quarrelling—but we always made it up. +That day we made it up as usual, but you were +still a little bit angry when you went away. +And then I cried like a fool. And then you +came back, and—you remember—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go on," he said. He had bridged the ten +years, and the scene was going splendidly. "Go +on; you must go on."</p> + +<p>"You came and knelt down by me," she said +cheerfully. "It was as good as a play—you +took me in your arms and told me you couldn't +bear to leave me with the slightest cloud between +us. You called me your heart's dearest, I remember—a +phrase you'd never used before—and +you said such heaps of pretty things to me! +And at last, when you had to go, you swore we +should never quarrel again—and that came true, +didn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but <i>why?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Well, as you went out I saw you pick up +your gloves off the table, and I <i>knew</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Knew what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that it was the gloves you had come +back for and not me—only when you saw me +crying you were sorry for me, and determined +to do your duty whatever it cost you. Don't! +What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>He had caught her wrists in his hands and +was scowling angrily at her.</p> + +<p>"Good God! was <i>that</i> all? I <i>did</i> come back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +for you. I never thought of the damned gloves. +I don't remember them. If I did pick them up, +it must have been mechanically and without +noticing. And you ruined my life for <i>that?</i>"</p> + +<p>He was genuinely angry; he was back in the +past, where he had a right to be angry with her. +Her eyes grew soft.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that I was <i>wrong</i>—that +it was all my fault—that you <i>did</i> love me?"</p> + +<p>"Love you?" he said roughly, throwing her +hands from him; "of course I loved you—I +shall always love you. I've never left off loving +you. It was you who didn't love me. It +was all your fault."</p> + +<p>He leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin +on his hands. He was breathing quickly. The +scene had swept him along in its quickening flow. +He shut his eyes, and tried to catch at something +to steady himself—some rope by which he could +pull himself to land again. Suddenly an arm +was laid on his neck, a face laid against his +face. Lips touched his hand, and her voice, +incredibly softened and tuned to the key of +their love's overture, spoke—</p> + +<p>"Oh, forgive me, dear, forgive me! If you love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +me still—it's too good to be true—but if you do—ah, +you do!—forgive me, and we can forget +it all! Dear, forgive me! I love you so!"</p> + +<p>He was quite still, quite silent.</p> + +<p>"Can't you forgive me?" she began again. +He suddenly stood up.</p> + +<p>"I'm married," he said. He drew a long breath +and went on hurriedly, standing before her, but +not looking at her. "I can't ask you to forgive +me—I shall never forgive myself."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter," she said, and she +laughed; "I—I wasn't serious. I saw you +were trying to play the old comedy, and I +thought I had better play up to you. If I'd +known you were married—but it was only +your glove, and we're such old acquaintances! +There's another dance beginning. Please go—I've +no doubt my partner will find me."</p> + +<p>He bowed, gave her one glance, and went. +Halfway down the stairs he turned and came +back. She was still sitting as he had left her. +The angry eyes she raised to him were full of +tears. She looked as she had looked ten years +before, when he had come back to her, and the +cursed gloves had spoiled everything. He hated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +himself. Why had he played with fire and +raised this ghost to vex her? It had been such +pretty fire, and such a beautiful ghost. But +she had been hurt—he had hurt her. She +would blame herself now for that old past; as +for the new past, so lately the present, it would +not bear thinking of.</p> + +<p>The scene must be rounded off somehow. +He had let her wound her pride, her self-respect. +He must heal them. The light touch would be +best.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "I just wanted to tell +you that I knew you weren't serious just now. +As you say, it was nothing between two such +old friends. And—and—" He sought about +for some further consolation. Ill-inspired, with +the touch of her lips still on his hand, he said, +"And about the gloves. Don't blame yourself +about that. It was not your fault. You were +perfectly right. It <i>was</i> the gloves I came back +for."</p> + +<p>He left her then, and next day journeyed to +Scotland to rejoin his wife, of whom he was, +by habit, moderately fond. He still keeps the +white glove she kissed, and at first reproached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +himself whenever he looked at it. But now he +only sentimentalises over it now and then, if he +happens to be a little under the weather. He +feels that his foolish behaviour at that Sydenham +dance was almost atoned for by the nobility +with which he lied to spare her, the light, +delicate touch with which he rounded off the +scene.</p> + +<p>He certainly did round it off. By a few +short, easy words he accomplished three things. +He destroyed an ideal of himself which she had +cherished for years; he killed a pale bud of +hope which she had loved to nurse—the hope +that perhaps in that old past it had been she +who was to blame, and not he, whom she +loved; he trampled in the mud the living rose +which would have bloomed her life long, the +belief that he had loved, did love her—the +living rose that would have had magic to +quench the fire of shame kindled by that unasked +kiss, a fire that frets for ever like hell-fire, +burning, but not consuming, her self-respect.</p> + +<p>He did, without doubt, round off the scene.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE OBVIOUS</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>HE had the literary sense, but he had it as +an inverted instinct. He had a keen perception +of the dramatically fitting in art, but no +counteracting vision of the fitting in life. Life +and art, indeed, he found from his earliest years +difficult to disentwine, and later, impossible to +disentangle. And to disentangle and disentwine +them became at last the point of honour to him.</div> + +<p>He first knew that he loved her on the occasion +of her "coming of age party." His people +and hers lived in the same sombre London +square: their Haslemere gardens were divided +only by a sunk fence. He had known her all +his life. Her coming of age succeeded but by +a couple of days his return from three years of +lazy philosophy—study in Germany—and the +sight of her took his breath away. In the time-honoured +<i>cliché</i> of the hurried novelist—too +hurried to turn a new phrase for an idea as old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +as the new life of spring—he had left a child: +he found a woman. She wore a soft satiny-white +gown, that showed gleams of rose colour +through its folds. There were pink hollyhock +blossoms in the bright brown of her hair. Her +eyes were shining with the excitement of this +festival of which she was the goddess. He lost +his head, danced with her five times, and carried +away a crumpled hollyhock bloom that +had fallen from her hair during the last Lancers, +through which he had watched her. All his +dances with her had been waltzes. It was not +till, alone again at his hotel, he pulled out the +hollyhock flower with his ball programme that +he awoke to a complete sense of the insipid +flatness of the new situation.</p> + +<p>He had fallen in love—was madly <i>épris</i>, at +any rate—and the girl was the girl whose +charms, whose fortune, whose general suitability +as a match for him had been dinned into his +ears ever since he was a callow boy at Oxford, +and she a long-black-silk-legged, short-frocked +tom-boy of fourteen. Everyone had always said +that it was the obvious thing. And now he +had, for once, done exactly what was expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +of him, and his fine literary sense revolted. +The worst of all was that she seemed not quite +to hate him. Better, a thousand times better, +that he should have loved and longed, and never +won a smile from her—that he should have +sacrificed something, anything, and gone his +lonely way. But she had smiled on him, +undoubtedly she had smiled, and he did not +want to play the part so long ago assigned to +him by his people. He wanted to be Sidney +Carton. Darnay's had always seemed to him +the inferior rôle.</p> + +<p>Yet he could not keep his thoughts from her, +and for what was left of the year his days and +nights were a restless see-saw of longing and +repulsion, advance and retreat. His moods were +reflected in hers, but always an interview later; +that is to say, if he were cold on Tuesday she +on Thursday would be colder. If on Thursday +he grew earnest, Sunday would find her kind. +But he, by that time, was frigid. So that they +never, after the first wildly beautiful evening +when their hearts went out to each other in a +splendour of primitive frankness, met in moods +that chimed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>This safe-guarded him. It irritated her. +And it most successfully bewitched them both.</p> + +<p>His people and her people looked on, and +were absolutely and sadly convinced that—as +her brother put it to his uncle—it was "no go." +Thereupon, a certain young-old cotton broker +appearing on the scene and bringing gifts with +him, her people began to put pressure on her. +She loathed the cotton-broker, and said so. One +afternoon everyone was by careful accident got +out of the way, and the cotton-broker caught +her alone. That night there was a scene. +Her father talked a little too much of obedience +and of duty, her mother played the hysterical +symphony with the loud pedal hard down, and +next morning the girl had vanished, leaving the +conventional note of farewell on the pincushion.</p> + +<p>Now the two families, being on all accounts +close allies, had bought jointly a piece of land +near the Littlestone golf links, and on it had +built a bungalow, occupied by members of +either house in turn, according to any friendly +arrangement that happened to commend itself. +But at this time of the year folk were keeping +Christmas season dismally in their town houses.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was on the day when the cotton-broker +made his failure that the whole world seemed +suddenly worthless to the man with the hollyhock +bloom in his pocket-book, because he had +met her at a dance, and he had been tender, +but she, reflecting his mood of their last +meeting, had been glacial. So he lied roundly +to his people, and told them that he was +going to spend a week or two with an +old chum who was staying up for the vacation +at Cambridge, and instead, he chose the +opposite point of the compass, and took train to +New Romney, and walked over to the squat, +one-storied bungalow near the sea. Here he let +himself in with the family latch-key, and set to +work, with the help of a box from the stores, +borne behind him with his portmanteau on a +hand-cart, to keep Christmas by himself. This, +at least, was not literary. It was not in the +least what a person in a book would do. He lit +a fire in the dining-room, and the chimney was +damp and smoked abominably, so that when he +had fed full on tinned meats he was fain to let +the fire go out and to sit in his fur-lined overcoat +by the be-cindered grate, now fast growing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +cold, and smoke pipe after pipe of gloomy reflection. +He thought of it all. The cursed countenance +which his people were ready to give to the +match that he couldn't make—her maddening +indecisions—his own idiotic variableness. He +had lighted the lamp, but it smelt vilely, and he +blew it out, and did not light candles because it +was too much trouble. So the early winter dusk +deepened into night, and the bitter north wind +had brought the snow, and it drifted now in +feather-soft touches against the windows.</p> + +<p>He thought of the good warm dining-room in +Russell Square—of the gathering of aunts and +uncles and cousins, uncongenial, perhaps, but still +human, and he shivered in his fur-lined coat and +his icy solitude, damning himself for the fool he +knew he was.</p> + +<p>And even as he damned, his breath was +stopped, and his heart leaped at the sound, faint +but unmistakable, of a key in the front door. +If a man exist not too remote from his hairy +ancestors to have lost the habit of the pricking +ear, he was that man. He pricked his ears, so +far as the modern man may, and listened.</p> + +<p>The key grated in the lock—grated and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +turned; the door was opened, and banged again. +Something was set down in the little passage, +set down thumpingly and wholly without precaution. +He heard a hand move along the partition +of match-boarding. He heard the latch of +the kitchen door rise and fall—and he heard +the scrape and spurt of a struck match.</p> + +<p>He sat still. He would catch this burglar red-handed.</p> + +<p>Through the ill-fitting partitions of the jerry-built +bungalow he could hear the intruder moving +recklessly in the kitchen. The legs of chairs +and tables grated on the brick floor. He took +off his shoes, rose, and crept out through the passage +towards the kitchen door. It stood ajar. +A clear-cut slice of light came from it. Treading +softly in his stockinged feet, he came to it and +looked in. One candle, stuck in a tea-saucer, +burned on the table. A weak blue-and-yellow +glimmer came from some sticks in the bottom +of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>Kneeling in front of this, breathless with the +endeavour to blow the damp sticks to flame, +crouched the burglar. A woman. A girl. She +had laid aside hat and cloak. The first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +sight of her was like a whirlwind sweeping +over heart and brain. For the bright brown +hair that the candle-light lingered in was like +Her dear brown hair—and when she rose suddenly, +and turned towards the door, his heart +stood still, for it was She—her very self.</p> + +<p>She had not seen him. He retreated, in all +the stillness his tortured nerves allowed, and +sat down again in the fur coat and the dining-room. +She had not heard him. He was, for +some moments, absolutely stunned, then he crept +to the window. In the poignant stillness of the +place he could hear the heavy flakes of snow +dabbing softly at the glass.</p> + +<p>She was here. She, like him, had fled to this +refuge, confident in its desertion at this season +by both the families who shared a right to it. +She was there—he was there. Why had she +fled? The question did not wait to be answered; +it sank before the other question. What +was he to do? The whole literary soul of the +man cried out against either of the obvious +courses of action.</p> + +<p>"I can go in," he said, "and surprise her, and +tell her I love her, and then walk out with dignified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +propriety, and leave her alone here. That's +conventional and dramatic. Or I can sneak off +without her knowing I've been here at all, and +leave her to spend the night unprotected in this +infernal frozen dog-hutch. That's conventional +enough, heaven knows! But what's the use of +being a reasonable human being with free-will +if you can't do anything but the literarily and +romantically obvious?"</p> + +<p>Here a sudden noise thrilled him. Next +moment he drew a long breath of relief. She +had but dropped a gridiron. As it crashed +and settled down with a rhythmic rattle on the +kitchen flags, the thought flowed through him +like a river of Paradise. "If she did love me—if +I loved her—what an hour and what +a moment this would be!"</p> + +<p>Meantime she, her hands helpless with cold, +was dropping clattering gridirons not five yards +from him.</p> + +<p>Suppose he went out to the kitchen and suddenly +announced himself!</p> + +<p>How flat—how obvious!</p> + +<p>Suppose he crept quietly away and went to +the inn at New Romney!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>How desperately flat! How more than +obvious!</p> + +<p>Suppose he—but the third course refused +itself to the desperate clutch of his drowning +imagination, and left him clinging to the bare +straw of a question. What should he do?</p> + +<p>Suddenly the really knightly and unconventional +idea occurred to him, an idea that would +save him from the pit of the obvious, yawning +on each side.</p> + +<p>There was a bicycle shed, where, also, wood +was stored and coal, and lumber of all sorts. +He would pass the night there, warm in his fur +coat, and his determination not to let his conduct +be shaped by what people in books would +have done. And in the morning—strong with +the great renunciation of all the possibilities that +this evening's meeting held—he would come +and knock at the front door—just like anybody +else—and—<i>qui vivra verra</i>. At least, he would +be watching over her rest—and would be able +to protect the house from tramps.</p> + +<p>Very gently and cautiously, all in the dark, he +pushed his bag behind the sofa, covered the +stores box with a liberty cloth from a side table,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +crept out softly, and softly opened the front +door; it opened softly, that is, but it shut with +an unmistakable click that stung in his ears as +he stood on one foot on the snowy doorstep +struggling with the knots of his shoe laces.</p> + +<p>The bicycle shed was uncompromisingly dark, +and smelt of coal sacks and paraffin. He found +a corner—between the coals and the wood—and +sat down on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Bother the fur coat," was his answer to the +doubt whether coal dust and broken twigs were +a good down-setting for that triumph of the +Bond Street art. There he sat, full of a chastened +joy at the thought that he watched over +her—that he, sleepless, untiring, was on guard, +ready, at an instant's warning, to spring to her +aid, should she need protection. The thought +was mightily soothing. The shed was cold. +The fur coat was warm. In five minutes he +was sleeping peacefully as any babe.</p> + +<p>When he awoke it was with the light of a big +horn lantern in his eyes, and in his ears the snapping +of wood.</p> + +<p>She was there—stooping beside the heaped +faggots, breaking off twigs to fill the lap of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +up-gathered blue gown; the shimmery silk of +her petticoat gleamed greenly. He was partly +hidden by a derelict bicycle and a watering-can.</p> + +<p>He hardly dared to draw breath.</p> + +<p>Composedly she broke the twigs. Then like +a flash she turned towards him.</p> + +<p>"Who's there?" she said.</p> + +<p>An inspiration came to him—and this, at +least, was not flat or obvious. He writhed into +the darkness behind a paraffin cask, slipped out +of his fur coat, and plunged his hands in the dust +of the coal.</p> + +<p>"Don't be 'ard on a pore cove, mum," he +mumbled, desperately rubbing the coal dust on +to his face; "you wouldn't go for to turn a +dawg out on a night like this, let alone a pore +chap outer work!"</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke he admired the courage of +the girl. Alone, miles from any other house, +she met a tramp in an outhouse as calmly as +though he had been a fly in the butter.</p> + +<p>"You've no business here, you know," she +said briskly. "What did you come for?"</p> + +<p>"Shelter, mum—I won't take nothing as +don't belong to me—not so much as a lump of +coal, mum, not if it was ever so!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned her head. He almost thought she +smiled.</p> + +<p>"But I can't have tramps sleeping here," she +said.</p> + +<p>"It's not as if I was a reg'lar tramp," he said, +warming to his part as he had often done on the +stage in his A.D.C. days. "I'm a respectable +working-man, mum, as 'as seen better days."</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry?" she said. "I'll give you +something to eat before you go if you'll come to +the door in five minutes."</p> + +<p>He could not refuse—but when she was gone +into the house he could bolt. So he said—</p> + +<p>"Now may be the blessing! It's starving I am, +mum, and on Christmas Eve!"</p> + +<p>This time she did smile: it was beyond a +doubt. He had always thought her smile charming. +She turned at the door, and her glance +followed the lantern's rays as they pierced the +darkness where he crouched.</p> + +<p>The moment he heard the house door shut, he +sprang up, and lifted the fur coat gingerly to the +wood-block. Flight, instant flight! Yet how +could he present himself at New Romney with +a fur coat and a face like a collier's? He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +drawn a bucket of water from the well earlier in +the day; some would be left; it was close by +the back door. He tiptoed over the snow and +washed, and washed, and washed. He was +drying face and hands with a pocket-handkerchief +that seemed strangely small and cold when +the door opened suddenly, and there, close by +him, was she, silhouetted against the warm glow +of fire and candles.</p> + +<p>"Come in," she said; "you can't possibly see +to wash out there."</p> + +<p>Before he knew it her hand was on his arm, +and she had drawn him to the warmth and +light.</p> + +<p>He looked at her—but her eyes were on the +fire.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you some warm water, and you can +wash at the sink," she said, closing the door and +taking the kettle from the fire.</p> + +<p>He caught sight of his face in the square of +looking-glass over the sink tap.</p> + +<p>Was it worth while to go on pretending? +Yet his face was still very black. And she evidently +had not recognised him. Perhaps—surely +she would have the good taste to retire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +while the tramp washed, so that he could take +his coat off? Then he could take flight, and the +situation would be saved from absolute farce.</p> + +<p>But when she had poured the hot water into +a bowl she sat down in the Windsor chair by +the fire and gazed into the hot coals.</p> + +<p>He washed.</p> + +<p>He washed till he was quite clean.</p> + +<p>He dried face and hands on the rough towel.</p> + +<p>He dried them till they were scarlet and shone. +But he dared not turn around.</p> + +<p>There seemed no way out of this save by the +valley of humiliation. Still she sat looking into +the fire.</p> + +<p>As he washed he saw with half a retroverted +eye the round table spread with china and glass +and silver.</p> + +<p>"As I live—it's set for two!" he told himself. +And, in an instant, jealousy answered, +once and for all, the questions he had been +asking himself since August.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you clean yet?" she said at last.</p> + +<p>How could he speak?</p> + +<p>"Aren't you clean <i>yet?</i>" she repeated, and +called him by his name. He turned then quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +enough. She was leaning back in the chair +laughing at him.</p> + +<p>"How did you know me?" he asked angrily.</p> + +<p>"Your tramp-voice might have deceived me," +she said, "you did do it most awfully well! +But, you see, I'd been looking at you for ages +before you woke."</p> + +<p>"Then good night," said he.</p> + +<p>"Good night!" said she; "but it's not seven +yet!"</p> + +<p>"You're expecting someone," he said, pointing +dramatically to the table.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that!</i>" she said; "yes—that was for—for +the poor man as had seen better days! +There's nothing but eggs—but I couldn't turn +a dog from my door on such a night—till I'd +fed it!"</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean—?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"It's glorious!"</p> + +<p>"It's a picnic."</p> + +<p>"But?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Oh—well! Go if you like!" said she.</p> + +<p>It was not only eggs: it was all sorts of things +from that stores box. They ate, and they talked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +He told her that he had been bored in town and +had sought relief in solitude. That, she told him, +was her case also. He told her how he had +heard her come in, and how he had hated to +take either the obvious course of following her +to the kitchen, saying "How do you do?" and +retiring to New Romney; or the still more obvious +course of sneaking away without asking +her how she did. And he told her how he had +decided to keep watch over her from the bicycle +shed. And how the coal-black inspiration had +come to him. And she laughed.</p> + +<p>"That was much more literary than anything +else you could have thought of," said she; "it +was exactly like a book. And oh—you've no +idea how funny you looked."</p> + +<p>They both laughed, and there was a silence.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he said, "I can hardly believe +that this is the first meal we've ever had alone +together? It seems as though—"</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> funny," she said, smiling hurriedly at +him.</p> + +<p>He did not smile. He said: "I want you to +tell me why you were so angel-good—why did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +you let me stay? Why did you lay the pretty +table for two?"</p> + +<p>"Because we've never been in the same mood +at the same time," she said desperately; "and +somehow I thought we should be this evening."</p> + +<p>"What mood?" he asked inexorably.</p> + +<p>"Why—jolly—cheerful," she said, with the +slightest possible hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>There was another silence. Then she said in +a voice that fluttered a little—</p> + +<p>"My old governess, Miss Pettingill—you remember +old Pet? Well, she's coming by the +train that gets in at three. I wired to her from +town. She ought to be here by now—"</p> + +<p>"Ought she?" he cried, pushing back his chair +and coming towards her—"ought she? Then, +by heaven! before she comes I'm going to tell +you something—"</p> + +<p>"No, don't!" she cried. "You'll spoil everything. +Go and sit down again. You shall! I +insist! Let <i>me</i> tell <i>you!</i> I always swore I +would some day!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" said he, and sat down.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because I knew <i>you'd</i> never make up your +mind to tell <i>me</i>—"</p> + +<p>"To tell you what?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Anything</i>—for fear you should have to say +it in the same way someone else had said it +before!"</p> + +<p>"Said what?"</p> + +<p>"Anything! Sit still! Now <i>I'm</i> going to +tell <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>She came slowly round the table and knelt +on one knee beside him, her elbows on the arm +of his chair.</p> + +<p>"You've never had the courage to make up +your mind to anything," she began.</p> + +<p>"Is that what you were going to tell me?" +he asked, and looked in her eyes till she dropped +their lids.</p> + +<p>"No—yes—no! I haven't anything to tell +you really. Good night."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything to tell," she said.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll tell you," said he.</p> + +<p>She started up, and the little brass knocker's +urgent summons resounded through the bungalow.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here she is!" she cried.</p> + +<p>He also sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>"And we haven't told each other anything!" +he said.</p> + +<p>"Haven't we? Ah, no—don't! Let me go! +There—she's knocking again. You must let +me go!"</p> + +<p>He let her slip through his arms.</p> + +<p>At the door she paused to flash a soft, queer +smile at him.</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> I who told you, after all!" she said. +"Aren't you glad? Because that wasn't a bit +literary."</p> + +<p>"You didn't. I told you," he retorted.</p> + +<p>"Not you!" she said scornfully. "That +would have been too obvious."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE LIE ABSOLUTE</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE tradesmen's books, orderly spread, lay on +the rose-wood writing-table, each adorned +by its own just pile of gold and silver coin. +The books at the White House were paid weekly, +and paid in cash. It had always been so. The +brown holland blinds were lowered half-way. +The lace curtains almost met across the windows. +Thus, while, without, July blazed on lawns and +paths and borders, in this room a cool twilight +reigned. A leisured quiet, an ordered ease, +reigned there too, as they had done for every +day of Dorothea's thirty-five years. The White +House was one of those to which no change +comes. None but Death, and Death, however +he may have wrung the heart or stunted the +soul of the living, had been powerless to change +outward seemings. Dorothea had worn a black +dress for a while, and she best knew what tears +she had wept and for what long months the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +light of life had gone out of all things. But the +tears had not blinded her eyes to the need of a +mirror-polish on the old mahogany furniture, +and all through those months there had been, at +least, the light of duty. The house must be +kept as her dead mother had kept it. The three +prim maids and the gardener had been "in the +family" since Dorothea was a girl of twenty—a +girl with hopes and dreams and fond imaginings +that, spreading bright wings, wandered over +a world far other than this dainty, delicate, self-improving, +coldly charitable, unchanging existence. +Well, the dreams and the hopes and the +fond imaginings had come home to roost. He +who had set them flying had gone away: he +had gone to see the world. He had not come +back. He was seeing it still; and all that was +left of a girl's first romance was in certain neat +packets of foreign letters in the drawer of the +rose-wood table, and in the disciplined soul of +the woman who sat before it "doing the books." +Monday was the day for this. Every day had +its special duties: every duty its special hour. +While the mother had stayed there had been +love to give life to this life that was hardly life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +at all. Now the mother was gone it sometimes +seemed to Dorothea that she had not lived for +these fifteen years—and that even the life before +had been less life than a dream of it. She +sighed.</div> + +<p>"I'm old," she said, "and I'm growing +silly."</p> + +<p>She put her pen neatly in the inkstand tray: +it was an old silver pen, and an old inkstand of +Sčvres porcelain. Then she went out into the +garden by the French window, muffled in jasmine, +and found herself face to face with a +stranger, a straight well-set-up man of forty or +thereabouts, with iron-grey hair and a white +moustache. Before his hand had time to reach +the Panama hat she knew him, and her heart +leaped up and sank sick and trembling. But +she said:—</p> + +<p>"To whom have I the pleasure—?"</p> + +<p>The man caught her hands.</p> + +<p>"Why, Dolly," he said, "don't you know me? +I should have known you anywhere."</p> + +<p>A rose-flush deepened on her face.</p> + +<p>"It can't be Robert?"</p> + +<p>"Can't it? And how are you, Dolly? Everything's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +just the same—By Jove! the very +same heliotropes and pansies in the very same +border—and the jasmine and the sundial and +everything."</p> + +<p>"They tell me the trees have grown," she said. +"I like to think it's all the same. Why didn't +you tell me you were coming home? Come in."</p> + +<p>She led him through the hall with the barometer +and the silver-faced clock and the cases +of stuffed birds.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I wanted to surprise you—and, +by George! I've surprised myself. It's +beautiful. It's all just as it used to be, Dolly."</p> + +<p>The tears came into her eyes. No one had +called her Dolly since the mother went, whose +going had made everything, for ever, other than +it used to be.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell them you're staying for lunch."</p> + +<p>She got away on that, and stood a moment in +the hall, before the stuffed fox with the duck +in its mouth, to catch strongly at her lost +composure.</p> + +<p>If anyone had had the right to ask the reason +of her agitation, and had asked it, Dorothea +would have said that the sudden happening of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +anything was enough to upset one in whose life +nothing ever happened. But no one had the +right.</p> + +<p>She went into the kitchen to give the necessary +orders.</p> + +<p>"Not the mince," she said; "or, stay. Yes, +that would do, too. You must cook the fowl +that was for to-night's dinner—and Jane can go +down to the village for something else for to-night. +And salad and raspberries. And I will +put out some wine. My cousin, Mr. Courtenay, +has come home from India. He will lunch with +me."</p> + +<p>"Master Bob," said the cook, as the kitchen +door closed, "well, if I ever did! He's a married +man by this time, with young folkses growing +up around him, I shouldn't wonder. He never +did look twice the same side of the road where +she was. Poor Miss Dolly!"</p> + +<p>Most of us are mercifully ignorant of the +sympathy that surrounds us.</p> + +<p>"It's wonderful," he said, when she rejoined +him in the drawing-room. "I feel like the +Prodigal Son. When I think of the drawing-rooms +I've seen. The gim-crack trumpery, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +curtains and the pictures and the furniture constantly +shifted, the silly chatter, the obvious +curios, the commonplace rarities, the inartistic +art, and the brainless empty chatter, spiteful as +often as not, and all the time <i>this</i> has been +going on beautifully, quietly, perfectly. Dolly, +you're a lucky girl!"</p> + +<p>To her face the word brought a flush that +almost justified it.</p> + +<p>They talked: and he told her how all these +long years he had wearied for the sight of English +fields, and gardens, of an English home like +this—till he almost believed that he was speaking +the truth.</p> + +<p>He looked at Dorothea with long, restful +hands quietly folded, as she talked in the darkened +drawing-room, at Dorothea with busy, +skilful hands among the old silver and the old +glass and the old painted china at lunch. He +listened through the drowsy afternoon to Dorothea's +gentle, high-bred, low-toned voice, to the +music of her soft, rare laugh, as they sat in the +wicker-chairs under the weeping ash on the lawn.</p> + +<p>And he thought of other women—a crowd of +them, with high, shrill tones and constant foolish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +cackle of meaningless laughter; of the atmosphere +of paint, powder, furbelows, flirtation, +empty gaiety, feverish flippancy. He thought, +too, of women, two and three, whose faces stood +out from the crowd and yet were of it. And +he looked at Dorothea's delicate worn face and +her honest eyes with the faint lines round them.</p> + +<p>As he went through the hush of the evening +to his rooms at the "Spotted Dog" the thought +of Dorothea, of her house, her garden, her peaceful +ordered life stirred him to a passion of appreciation. +Out of the waste and desert of his +own life, with its memories of the far country +and the husks and the swine, he seemed to be +looking through a window at the peaceful life—as +a hungry, lonely tramp may limp to a +lamp-lit window, and peering in, see father and +mother and round-faced children, and the table +spread whitely, and the good sure food that to +these people is a calm certainty, like breathing +or sleeping, not a joyous accident, or one of the +great things that man was taught to pray for. +The tramp turns away with a curse or a groan, +according to his nature, and goes on his way +cursing or groaning, or, if the pinch be fierce,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +he tries the back door or the unguarded window. +With Robert the pang of longing was +keen, and he was minded to try any door—not +to beg for the broken meats of cousinly kindness, +but to enter as master into that "better +place" wherein Dorothea had found so little of +Paradise.</p> + +<p>It was no matter of worldly gain. The +Prodigal had not wasted his material substance +on the cheap husks that cost so dear. He had +money enough and to spare: it was in peace +and the dignity of life that he now found +himself to be bankrupt.</p> + +<p>As for Dorothea, when she brushed her long +pale hair that night she found that her hands +were not so steady as usual, and in the morning +she was quite shocked to note that she had +laid her hair-pins on the left-hand side of the +pin-cushion instead of on the right, a thing she +had not done for years.</p> + +<p>It was at the end of a week, a week of long +sunny days and dewy dark evenings spent in +the atmosphere that had enslaved him. Dinner +was over. Robert had smoked his cigar among +the garden's lengthening shadows. Now he and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +Dorothea were at the window watching the +light of life die beautifully on the changing face +of the sky.</p> + +<p>They had talked as this week had taught +them to talk—with the intimacy of old friends +and the mutual interest of new unexplored acquaintances. +This is the talk that does not +weary—the talk that can only be kept alive +by the daring of revelation, and the stronger +courage of unconquerable reserve.</p> + +<p>Now there came a silence—with it seemed +to come the moment. Robert spoke—</p> + +<p>"Dorothea," he said, and her mind pricked +its ears suspiciously because he had not called +her Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you understand what these days +have been to me? I was so tired of the world +and its follies—this is like some calm haven +after a stormy sea."</p> + +<p>The words seemed strangely familiar. He +had a grating sense of talking like a book, and +something within him sneered at the scruple, +and said that Dolly would not notice it.</p> + +<p>But she said: "I'm sure I've read something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +like that in a school reading book, but it's +very touching, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh—if you're going to mock my holiest +sentiments," he said lightly—and withdrew +from the attack.</p> + +<p>The moment seemed to flutter near again +when she said good night to him in the porch +where the violet clematis swung against his head +as he stood. This time his opening was better +inspired.</p> + +<p>"Dolly, dear," he said, "how am I ever to go +away?"</p> + +<p>Her heart leaped against her side, for his tone +was tender. But so may a cousin's tone be—even +a second cousin's, and when one is thirty-five +she has little to fear from the pitying tenderness +of her relations.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you have liked being here," +she said sedately. "You must come again some +time."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go away at all," he said. +"Dolly, won't you let me stay—won't you +marry me?"</p> + +<p>Almost as he took her hand she snatched it +from him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You must be mad!" she said. "Why on +earth should you want to marry me?" Also +she said: "I am old and plain, and you don't +love me." But she said it to herself.</p> + +<p>"I do want it," he said, "and I want it more +than I want anything."</p> + +<p>His tone was convincing.</p> + +<p>"But why? but why?"</p> + +<p>An impulse of truth-telling came to Robert.</p> + +<p>"Because it's all so beautiful," he said with +straightforward enthusiasm. "All your lovely +quiet life—and the house, and these old gardens, +and the dainty, delicate, firm way you have of +managing everything—the whole thing's my +ideal. It's perfect—I can't bear any other +life."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you'll have to," she said with +bitter decision. "I am not going to marry a +man just because he admires my house and +garden, and is good enough to appreciate my +methods of household management. Good +night."</p> + +<p>She had shaken his hand coolly and shut the +front door from within before he could find a +word. He found one as the latch clicked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fool!" he said to himself, and stamped his +foot.</p> + +<p>Dorothea ran up the stairs two at a time to +say the same word to herself in the stillness of +her bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Fool—fool—fool!" she said. "Why +couldn't I have said 'No' quietly? Why did +I let him see I was angry? Why should I be +angry? It's better to be wanted because you're +a good manager than not to be wanted at all. +At least, I suppose it is. No—it <i>isn't!</i> it isn't! +it isn't! And nothing's any use now. It's all +gone. If he'd wanted to marry me when I was +young and pretty I could have made him love +me. And I <i>was</i> pretty—I know I was—I can +remember it perfectly well!"</p> + +<p>Her quiet years had taken from her no least +little touch of girlish sentiment. The longing to +be loved was as keen in her as it had been at +twenty. She cried herself to sleep, and had a +headache the next day. Also her eyes looked +smaller than usual and her nose was pink. She +went and sat in the black shade of a yew, and +trusted that in that deep shadow her eyes and +nose would not make Robert feel glad that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +had said "No." She wished him to be sorry. +She had put on the prettiest gown she had, in +the hope that he <i>would</i> be sorry; then she was +ashamed of the impulse; also its pale clear +greenness seemed to intensify the pinkness of her +nose. So she went back to the trailing grey +gown. Her wearing of her best Honiton lace +collar seemed pardonable. He would never notice +it—or know that real lace is more becoming +than anything else. She waited for him in +the deep shadow, and it was all the morning +that she waited. For he knew the value of suspense, +and he had not the generosity that disdains +the use of the obvious weapon. He was right so +far, that before he came she had had time to +wonder whether it was her life's one chance +of happiness that she had thrown away. But he +drove the knife home too far, for when at last +she heard the click of the gate and saw the +gleam of flannels through the shrubbery, the +anxious questioning, "Will he come?" "Have +I offended him beyond recall?" changed at one +heart-beat to an almost perfect understanding +of his reasons for delay. She greeted him coldly. +That he expected. But he saw—or believed he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +saw—the relief under the coldness—and he +brought up his forces for the attack.</p> + +<p>"Dear," he said—almost at once—"forgive +me for last night. It was true, and if I had +expressed it better you'd have understood. It +isn't just the house and garden, and the perfect +life. It's <i>you!</i> Don't you understand what it +is to come back from the world to all this, and +you—you—you—the very centre of the +star?"</p> + +<p>"It's all very well," she said, "but that wasn't +what you said last night."</p> + +<p>"It's what I meant," said he. "Dear, don't +you see how much I want you?"</p> + +<p>"But—I'm old—and plain, and—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with eyes still heavy from +last night's tears, and he experienced an unexpected +impulse of genuine tenderness.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, "when I first remember +your mother she was about your age. I used to +think she was the most beautiful person in the +world. She seemed to shed happiness and peace +around her—like—like a lamp sheds light. +And you are just like her. Ah—don't send +me away."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, struggling wildly with +the cross currents of emotion set up by his words. +"Thank you. I have not lived single all these +years to be married at last because I happen to +be like my mother."</p> + +<p>The words seemed a treason to the dead, and +the tears filled Dorothea's eyes.</p> + +<p>He saw them; he perceived that they ran in +worn channels, and the impulse of tenderness +grew.</p> + +<p>Till this moment he had spoken only the +truth. His eyes took in the sunny lawn beyond +the yew shadow, the still house: the whir of the +lawn-mower was music at once pastoral and +patriotic. He heard the break in her voice; he +saw the girlish grace of her thin shape, the +pathetic charm of her wistful mouth. And he +lied with a good heart.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, with a tremble in his +voice that sounded like passion, "my dear—it's +not for that—I love you, Dolly—I think I +must have loved you all my life!"</p> + +<p>And at the light that leaped into her eyes he +suddenly felt that this lie was nearer truth than +he had known.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I love you, dear—I love you," he repeated, +and the words were oddly pleasant to say. +"Won't you love me a little, too?"</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands. She +could no more have doubted him than she could +have doubted the God to whom she had prayed +night and morning for all these lonely years.</p> + +<p>"Love you a little?" she said softly. "Ah! +Robert, don't you know that I've loved you all +my life?"</p> + +<p>So a lie won what truth could not gain. And +the odd thing is that the lie has now grown +quite true, and he really believes that he has +always loved her, just as he certainly loves her +now. For some lies come true in the telling. +But most of them do not, and it is not wise to +try experiments.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE GIRL WITH THE GUITAR</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE last strains of the ill-treated, ill-fated +"Intermezzo" had died away, and after +them had died away also the rumbling of the +wheels of the murderous barrel-organ that had +so gaily executed that, along with the nine other +tunes of its repertory, to the admiration of the +housemaid at the window of the house opposite, +and the crowing delight of the two babies next +door.</div> + +<p>The young man drew a deep breath of relief, +and lighted the wax candles in the solid silver +candlesticks on his writing-table, for now the +late summer dusk was falling, and that organ, +please Heaven, made full the measure of the +day's appointed torture. There had been five +organs since dinner—and seven in the afternoon—one +and all urgently thumping their +heavy melodies into his brain, to the confusion +of the thoughts that waited there, eager to marshal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +themselves, orderly and firm, into the +phalanx of an article on "The Decadence of +Criticism."</p> + +<p>He filled his pipe, drew paper towards him, +dipped his pen, and wrote his title on the blank +page. The silence came round him, soothing +as a beloved presence, the scent of the may +bushes in the suburban gardens stole in pleasantly +through the open windows. After all, +it was a "quiet neighbourhood" as the advertisement +had said—at any rate, in the evening: +and in the evening a man's best efforts—</p> + +<p><i>Thrum</i>, tum, tum—<i>Thrum</i>, tum, tum came +the defiant strumming of a guitar close to the +window. He sprang to his feet—this was, +indeed, too much! But before he could draw +back the curtains and express himself to the +intruder, the humming of the guitar was dominated +by the first words of a song—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Oh picerella del vieni al'mare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Nella barchetta veletto di fiore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">La biancha prora somiglia al'altare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Tutte le stelle favellan d'amor,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>and so forth. The performer was evidently +singing "under her voice," but the effect was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +charming. He stood with his hand on the +curtain, listening—and with a pleasure that +astonished him. The song came to an end with +a chord in which all the strings twanged their +best. Then there was silence—then a sigh, +and the sound of light moving feet on the +gravel. He threw back the curtain and leaned +out of the window.</div> + +<p>"Here!" he called to the figure that moved +slowly towards the gate. She turned quickly, +and came back two steps. She wore the dress +of a Contadina, a very smart dress indeed, and +her hands looked small and white.</p> + +<p>"Won't you sing again?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She hesitated, then struck a chord or two and +began another of those little tuneful Italian +songs, all stars and flowers and hearts of gold. +And again he listened with a quiet pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I should like to hear her voice at its full +strength," he thought—and now it was time to +give the vagrant a few coppers, and, shutting the +window, to leave her to go on to the next front +garden.</p> + +<p>Never had any act seemed so impossible. He +had watched her through the singing of this last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +song, and he had grown aware of the beauty of +her face's oval—of the fine poise of her head—and +of the grace of hands and arms.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you tired?" he said. "Wouldn't you +like to sit down and rest? There is a seat in +the garden at the side of the house."</p> + +<p>Again she hesitated. Then she turned towards +the quarter indicated and disappeared round the +laurel bushes.</p> + +<p>He was alone in the house—his people and +the servants were in the country; the woman +who came to "do for him" had left for the +night. He went into the dining-room, dark with +mahogany and damask, found wine and cake in +the sideboard cupboard, put them on a tray, and +took them out through the garden door and round +to the corner where, almost sheltered by laburnums +and hawthorns from the view of the people +next door, the singer and her guitar rested on +the iron seat.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you some wine—will you +have it?"</p> + +<p>Again that strange hesitation—then quite +suddenly the girl put her hands up to her face +and began to cry.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here—I say, you know—don't—" he +said. "Oh, Lord! This is awful. I hardly +know a word of Italian, and apparently she has +no English. Here, signorina, ecco, prendi—vino—gatto—No, +gatto's a cat. I was thinking +of French. Oh, Lord!"</p> + +<p>The Contadina had pulled out a very small +handkerchief, and was drying her eyes with it. +She rose.</p> + +<p>"No—don't go," he said eagerly. "I can see +you are tired out. Sai fatigueé non č vero? Io +non parlate Italiano, sed vino habet, et cake ante +vous partez."</p> + +<p>She looked at him and spoke for the first +time.</p> + +<p>"It serves me right," she said in excellent, +yet unfamiliar, English. "I don't understand +a single word you say! I might have known +I couldn't do it, though it's just what girls in +books would do. It would have turned out all +right with them. Let me go—thank you very +much. I am sure you meant to be kind." And +then she began to cry again.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "this is all nonsense, +you know. You are tired out—and there's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +something wrong. What is it? Do drink this, +and then tell me. Perhaps I can help you."</p> + +<p>She drank obediently. Then she said: "I +have not had anything to eat since last +night—"</p> + +<p>He hurriedly cut cake and pressed it upon +her. He had no time to think, but he was +aware that this was the most exciting adventure +that had ever happened to him.</p> + +<p>"It's no use—and it all sounds so silly."</p> + +<p>"Ah—but do tell me!" His voice was +kinder than he meant it to be. Her eyes filled +again with tears.</p> + +<p>"You don't know how horrid everyone has +been. Oh—I never knew before what devils +people are to you when you're poor—"</p> + +<p>"Is it only that you're poor? Why, that's +nothing. I'm poor, too."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "I'm <i>not</i> poor—not really."</p> + +<p>"What is it, then? You've quarrelled with +your friends, and—Ah, tell me—and let me +try to help you."</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> kind—but—Well, then—it's +like this. My father brought me to England +from the States a month ago: he's 'made his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +pile': it was in pork, and I always wish he'd +made it of something else, even canned fruit +would be better, but that doesn't matter—We +didn't know anyone here, of course, and directly +we got here, he was wired for—business—and +he had to go home again."</p> + +<p>"But surely he didn't leave you without +money."</p> + +<p>Her little foot tapped the gravel impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I'm coming to that," she said. "Of course +he didn't. He told me to stay on at the hotel, +and I did—and then one night when I was at +the theatre my maid—a horrid French thing +we got in Paris—packed up all my trunks and +took all my money, and paid the bill, and went. +The hotel folks let her go—I can't think how +people can be so silly. But they wouldn't let +me stay, and I wired to papa—and there was +no answer, and I don't know whatever's the +matter with him. I know it all sounds as if I +was making it up as I go along—"</p> + +<p>She stopped short, and looked at him through +the dusk. He did not speak, but whatever she +saw in his face it satisfied her. She said again: +"You <i>are</i> kind."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go on," he said, "tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I went into lodgings; that +wicked woman had left me one street suit—and +to-day they turned me out because my money +was all gone. I had a little money in my purse—and +this dress had been ordered for a fancy +ball—it <i>is</i> smart, isn't it?—and it came after +that wretch had gone—and the guitar, too—and +I thought I could make a little money. I +really <i>can</i> sing, though you mightn't think it. +And I've been at it since five o'clock—and I've +only got one shilling and seven pence. And no +one but you has ever even thought of thinking +whether I was tired or hungry or anything—and +papa always took such care of me. I feel +as if I had been beaten."</p> + +<p>"Let me think," he said. "Oh—how glad I +am that you happened to come this way."</p> + +<p>He reflected a moment. Then he said—</p> + +<p>"I shall lock up all the doors and windows in +the house—and then I shall give you my latch-key, +and you can let yourself in and stay the +night here—there is no one in the house. I will +catch the night train, and bring my mother up +to-morrow. Then we will see what can be +done."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>The only excuse for this rash young man is to +be found in the fact that while he was feeding +his strange guest with cake and wine she was +feeding, with her beauty, the first fire of his first +love. Love at first sight is all nonsense, we +know—we who have come to forty year—but +at twenty-one one does not somehow recognise it +for the nonsense it is.</p> + +<p>"But don't you know anyone in London?" +he asked in a sensible postscript.</p> + +<p>It was not yet so dark but that he could see +the crimson flush on her face.</p> + +<p>"Not <i>know</i>," she said. "Papa wouldn't like +me to spoil my chances of knowing the right +people with any foolishness like this. There's +no one I could <i>let</i> know. You see, papa's so very +rich, and at home they expect me to—to get +acquainted with dukes and things—and—"</p> + +<p>She stopped.</p> + +<p>"American heiresses are expected to marry +English dukes," he said, with a distinct physical +pain at his heart.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't I who said that," said the girl, +smiling; "but that's so, anyhow." And then +she sighed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So it's your destiny to marry a duke, is it?" +the young man spoke slowly. "All the same," +he added irrelevantly, "you shall have the latch-key."</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> kind," she said for the third time, +and reached her hand out to him. He did not +kiss it then, only took it in his, and felt how +small and cold it was. Then it was taken away.</p> + +<p>He says that he only talked to her for half an +hour—but the neighbours, from whose eyes +suburban hawthorns and laburnums are powerless +to conceal the least of our actions, declare +that he sat with the guitar player on the iron +seat till well after midnight; further, that when +they parted he kissed her hand, and that she +then put her hands on his shoulders—"quite +shamelessly, you know"—and kissed him +lightly on both cheeks. It is known that he +passed the night prowling in our suburban lanes, +and caught the 6.25 train in the morning to the +place where his people were staying.</p> + +<p>The lady and the guitar certainly passed the +night at Hill View Villa, but when his mother, +very angry and very frightened, came up with +him at about noon, the house looked just as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +usual, and no one was there but the charwoman.</p> + +<p>"An adventuress! I told you so!" said his +mother at once—and the young man sat down +at his study table and looked at the title of his +article on "The Decadence of Criticism." It +was surely a very long time ago that he had +written that. And he sat there thinking, till his +mother's voice roused him.</p> + +<p>"The silver is all right, thank goodness," she +said, "but your banjo girl has taken a pair of +your sister's silk stockings, and those new shoes +of hers with the silver buckles—and she's left +<i>these</i>."</p> + +<p>She held out a pair of little patent leather +shoes, very worn and dusty—the slender silken +web of a black stocking, brown with dust, hung +from her hand. He answered nothing. She +spent the rest of that day in searching the house +for further losses, but all things were in their +place, except the silver-handled button-hook—and +that, as even his sister owned, had been +missing for months.</p> + +<p>Yet his family would never leave him to keep +house alone again: they said he is not to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +trusted. And perhaps they are right. The half +dozen pairs of embroidered silk stockings and +the dainty French silver-buckled shoes, which +arrived a month later addressed to Miss ——, +Hill View Villa, only confirmed their distrust. +<i>He</i> must have had them sent—that tambourine +girl could never have afforded these—why, they +were pure silk—and the quality! It was plain +that his castanet girl—his mother and sister +took a pleasure in crediting her daily with some +fresh and unpleasing instrument—could have +had neither taste, money, nor honesty to such a +point as this.</p> + +<p>As for the young man, he bore it all very +meekly, only he was glad when his essays on +the decadence of things in general led to a berth +on the staff of a big daily, and made it possible +for him to take rooms in town—because he had +grown weary of living with his family, and of +hearing so constantly that She played the bones +and the big drum and the concertina, and that +She was a twopenny adventuress who stole his +sister's shoes and stockings. He prefers to sit +in his quiet room in the Temple, and to remember +that she played the guitar and sang sweetly—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +she had a mouth like a tired child's +mouth, that her eyes were like stars, and that +she kissed him—on both cheeks—and that he +kissed—her hand only—as the scandalised +suburb knows.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE MAN WITH THE BOOTS</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>A YOUNG man with a little genius, a gift of +literary expression, and a distaste not +only for dissipation, but for the high-toned social +functions of his suburban acquaintances, may go +far—once he has chosen journalism for a profession, +and has realised that to success in any +profession a heart-whole service is necessary. A +certain young man, having been kissed in his +own garden by a girl with a guitar, ceased to +care for evening parties, and devoted himself +steadily to work. His relaxations were rowing +down the Thames among the shipping, and +thinking of the girl. In two years he was sent +to Paris by the Thunderer—to ferret out information +about a certain financial naughtiness +which threatened a trusting public in general, +and, in particular, a little band of blameless +English shareholders.</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>The details of the scheme are impertinent to +the present narrative.</p> + +<p>The young man went to Paris and began to +enjoy himself.</p> + +<p>He had good introductions. He had once +done a similar piece of business before—but +then luck aided him. As I said, he enjoyed +himself, but he did not see his way to accomplishing +his mission. But his luck stood by +him, as you will see, in a very remarkable manner. +At a masked ball he met a very charming +Corsican lady. She was dressed as a nun, but +the eyes that sparkled through her mask might +have taxed the resources of the most competent +abbess. She spoke very agreeable English, and +she was very kind to the young man, indicated +the celebrities—she seemed to know everyone—whom +she recognised quite easily in their +carnival disguises, and at last she did him the +kindness to point out a stout cardinal, and +named the name of the very Jew who was +pulling the strings of the very business which +had brought the young man to Paris.</p> + +<p>The young man's lucky star shone full on him, +and dazzled him to a seeming indiscretion.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He looks rather a beast," he said.</p> + +<p>The nun clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>"Oh—he <i>is!</i>" she said. "If you knew all +that I could tell you about him!"</p> + +<p>It was with the distinct idea of knowing all +that the lady could tell about the Jew that our +hero devoted himself to her throughout that evening, +and promised to call on her the next day. +He made himself very amiable indeed, and if +you think that he should not have done this, +I can only say that I am sorry, but facts are +facts.</p> + +<p>When he put her into her carriage—a very +pretty little brougham—he kissed her hand. +He did not do this because he desired to do +it, as in the case of the Girl with the Guitar, +but purely as a matter of business. If you +blame him here I can only say "ŕ la guerre +comme ŕ la guerre—"</p> + +<p>Next day he called on her. She received him +in a charming yellow silk boudoir and gave him +tea and sweets. Unmasked, the lady was seen +to be of uncommon beauty. He did not make +love to her—but he was very nice, and she +asked him to come again.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was at their third interview that his star +shone again, and again dazzled him to indiscreetness. +He told the beautiful lady exactly why +he wanted to know all that she could tell him +about the Jew financier. The beautiful lady +clapped her hands till all her gold bangles +rattled musically, and said—</p> + +<p>"But I will tell you all—everything! I felt +that you wished to know—but I thought ... +however ... are you sure it will all be in your +paper?"</p> + +<p>"But yes, Madame!" said he.</p> + +<p>Then she folded her hands on the greeny +satin lap of her tea-gown, and told him many +things. And as she spoke he pieced things together, +and was aware that she spoke the +truth.</p> + +<p>When she had finished speaking, his mission +was almost accomplished. His luck had done +all this for him. The lady promised even documents +and evidence. Then he thanked her, and +she said—</p> + +<p>"No thanks, please. I suppose this will ruin +him?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it will," said he.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>She gave a little sigh of contentment.</p> + +<p>"But why—?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind, somehow, telling <i>you</i> anything," +she said, and indeed as it seemed with +some truth. "He—he did me the honour to +admire me—and now he has behaved like the +pig he is."</p> + +<p>"And so you have betrayed him—told +me the things he told you when he loved +you?"</p> + +<p>She snapped her fingers, and the opals and +rubies of her rings shone like fire.</p> + +<p>"Love!" she said scornfully.</p> + +<p>Then he began to be a little ashamed and +sorry for his part in this adventure, and he +said so.</p> + +<p>"Ah—don't be sorry," she said softly. "I +<i>wanted</i> to betray him. I was simply longing to +do it—only I couldn't think of the right person +to betray him to! But you are the right person, +Monsieur. I am indeed fortunate!"</p> + +<p>A little shiver ran through him. But he had +gone too far to retreat.</p> + +<p>"And the documents, Madame?"</p> + +<p>"I will give you them to-morrow. There is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +ball at the American Embassy. I can get you a +card."</p> + +<p>"I have one." He had indeed made it his first +business to get one—was not the Girl with the +Guitar an American, and could he dare to waste +the least light chance of seeing her again?</p> + +<p>"Well—be there at twelve, and you shall have +everything. But," she looked sidelong at him, +"will Monsieur be very kind—very attentive—in +short, devote himself to me—for this one +evening? <i>He</i> will be there."</p> + +<p>He murmured something banal about the +devotion of a lifetime, and went away to his +lodging in a remote suburb, which he had chosen +because he loved boating.</p> + +<p>The next night at twelve saw him lounging, a +gloomy figure, on a seat in an ante-room at the +Embassy. He knew that the Lady was within, +yet he could not go to her. He sat there despairingly, +trying to hope that even now something +might happen to save him. Yet, as it +seemed, nothing short of a miracle could. But +his star shone, and the miracle happened. For, +as he sat, a radiant vision, all white lace and +diamonds, detached itself from the arm of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +grey-bearded gentleman, and floated towards +him.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> you!" said the darling vision, and the +next moment his hands—both hands—were +warmly clasped by little white-gloved ones, and +he was standing looking into the eyes of the +Girl.</p> + +<p>"I knew I should see you somewhere—this +continent <i>is</i> so tiny," she said. "Come right +along and be introduced to Papa—that's him +over there."</p> + +<p>"I—I can't," he answered, in an agony. "I—my +pocket's been picked—"</p> + +<p>"Do tell!" said the Girl, laughing; "but +Papa doesn't want tipping—he's got all he +wants—come right along."</p> + +<p>"I can't," he said, hoarse with the misery of +the degrading confession; "it wasn't my money—it +was my <i>shoes</i>. I came up in boots, brown +boots; distant suburb; train; my shoes were in +my overcoat pocket—I meant to change in the +cab. I must have dropped them or they were +taken out. And here I am in these things." +He looked down at his bright brown boots. +"And all the shops are shut—and my whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +future depends on my getting into that room +within the next half-hour. But never mind! +Why should <i>you</i> bother?—Besides, what does +it matter? I've seen you again. You'll speak +to me as you come back? I'll wait all night for +a word."</p> + +<p>"Don't be so silly," said the Girl; but she +smiled very prettily, and her dear eyes sparkled. +"If it's <i>really</i> important, I'll fix it for you! +But why does your future depend on it, and +all that?"</p> + +<p>"I have to meet a lady," said the wretched +young man.</p> + +<p>"The one you were with at the masked ball? +The nun? Yes—I made Papa take me. <i>Is</i> +it that one?" Her tone was imperious, but it +was anxious too.</p> + +<p>He looked imploringly at her. "Yes, but—"</p> + +<p>"You shall have the shoes, all the same," she +interrupted, and turned away before he could +add a word.</p> + +<p>A moment later the grey-bearded gentleman +was bowing to him.</p> + +<p>"My girl tells me you're in a corner for want +of shoes, Sir. Mine are at your service—we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +seem about of a size—we can change behind +that pillar."</p> + +<p>"But," stammered the young man, "it's too +much—I can't—"</p> + +<p>"It's nothing at all, Sir," said the man with +the grey beard warmly; "nothing compared to +the way you stood by my girl! Shake! John +B. Warner don't forget."</p> + +<p>"I can't thank you," said the other, when +they had shaken hands. "If you will—just +for a short time! I'll be back in half an +hour—"</p> + +<p>He was back in two minutes. The first face +he saw when he had made his duty bows was +the face of the Beautiful Lady. She was +radiant: and beside her stood her Jew, also +radiant. <i>They had made it up.</i> And what is +more—though he never knew it—they had +made it up in that half-hour of delay caused +by the Boots. The Lady passed our hero without +a word or even a glance to acknowledge +acquaintanceship, and he saw that the game +was absolutely up. He swore under his breath. +But the next moment he laughed to himself +with a free heart. After all—for any documents,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +any evidence, for any success in any +walk of life, how could he have borne to devote +himself, as he had promised to do, to that +Corsican lady, while the Girl, <i>the</i> Girl, was in +the room? And he perceived now that he +should not even use the information he already +had. It did not seem fitting that one to whom +the Girl stooped to speak, for ever so brief a +moment, should play the part of a spy—in +however good a cause.</p> + +<p>"Back already?" said the old gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Thank you—my business is completed."</p> + +<p>The young man resumed his brown boots.</p> + +<p>"Now, Papa," said the Girl, "just go right +along and do your devoirs in there—and I'll +stay and talk to <i>him</i>—"</p> + +<p>The father went obediently.</p> + +<p>"Have you quarrelled with her, then?" asked +the Girl, her eyes on the diamond buckles of +her satin shoes.</p> + +<p>He told her everything—or nearly.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said decisively, "I'm glad you're +out of it, anyway. Don't worry about it. It's +a nasty trade. Papa'll find you a berth. Come +out to the States and edit one of his papers!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You told me he was a millionaire! I suppose +everything went all right? He didn't lose +his money or anything?" His tone was wistful.</p> + +<p>"Not he! You don't know Papa!" said the +Girl; "but, say, you're not going to be too +proud to be acquainted with a self-made man?"</p> + +<p>He didn't answer.</p> + +<p>"Say," said she again, "I don't take so much +stock in dukes as I used to." She laid a hand +on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Don't make a fool of me," said the young +man, speaking very low.</p> + +<p>"I won't,"—her voice was a caress,—"but +Papa shall make Something of you. You don't +know Papa! He can make men's fortunes as +easily as other folks make men's shoes. And +he always does what I tell him. Aren't you +glad to see me again? And don't you remember—?" +said she, looking at him so +kindly that he lost his head and—</p> + +<p>"Ah! haven't you forgotten?" said he.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That is about all there is of the story. He +is now a Something—and he has married the +Girl. If you think that a young man of comparatively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +small income should not marry the girl +he loves because her father happens to have made +money in pork, I can only remind you that +your opinion is not shared by the bulk of our +English aristocracy. And they don't even bother +about the love, as often as not.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE SECOND BEST</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE letter was brief and abrupt.</div> + +<p>"I am in London. I have just come back +from Jamaica. Will you come and see me? I +can be in at any time you appoint."</p> + +<p>There was no signature, but he knew the +handwriting well enough. The letter came to +him by the morning post, sandwiched between +his tailor's bill and a catalogue of Rare and +Choice Editions.</p> + +<p>He read it twice. Then he got up from the +breakfast-table, unlocked a drawer, and took +out a packet of letters and a photograph.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have burned them long ago," he +said; "I'll burn them now." He did burn them +but first he read them through, and as he read +them he sighed, more than once. They were +passionate, pretty letters,—the phrases simply +turned, the endearments delicately chosen. They +breathed of love and constancy and faith, a faith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +that should move mountains, a love that should +shine like gold in the furnace of adversity, +a constancy that death itself should be powerless +to shake. And he sighed. No later love +had come to draw with soft lips the poison +from this old wound. She had married Benoliel, +the West Indian Jew. It is a far cry +from Jamaica to London, but some whispers +had reached her jilted lover. The kindest of +them said that Benoliel neglected his wife, the +harshest, that he beat her.</p> + +<p>He looked at the photograph. It was two +years since he had seen the living woman. Yet +still, when he shut his eyes, he could see the +delicate tints, the coral, and rose, and pearl, +and gold that went to the making up of her. +He could always see these. And now he should +see the reality. Would the two years have +dulled that bright hair, withered at all that +flower-face? For he never doubted that he +must go to her.</p> + +<p>He was a lawyer; perhaps she wanted that +sort of help from him, wanted to know how to +rid herself of the bitter bad bargain that she had +made in marrying the Jew. Whatever he could +do he would, of course, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>He went out at once and sent a telegram to +her.</p> + +<p>"Four to-day."</p> + +<p>And at four o'clock he found himself on the +doorstep of a house in Eaton Square. He hated +the wealthy look of the house, the footman who +opened the door, and the thick carpets of the +stairs up which he was led. He hated the soft +luxury of the room in which he was left to wait +for her. Everything spoke, decorously and without +shouting, but with unmistakable distinctness, +of money, Benoliel's money: money that had been +able to buy all these beautiful things, and, as one +of them, to buy her.</p> + +<p>She came in quietly. Long simple folds of +grey trailed after her: she wore no ornament of +any kind. Her fingers were ringless, every one. +He saw all this, but before he saw anything else +he saw that the two years had taken nothing +from her charm, had indeed but added a wistful +patient look that made her seem more a child +than when he had last seen her.</p> + +<p>The meaningless contact of their hands was +over, and still neither had spoken. She was +looking at him questioningly. The silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +appeared silly; there was, and there could be, +no emotion to justify, to transfigure it. He +spoke.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" he said.</p> + +<p>She drew a deep breath, and lifted her eyebrows +slightly.</p> + +<p>"Won't you sit down?" she said; "you are +looking just like you used to." She had the +tiniest lisp; once it had used to charm him.</p> + +<p>"You, too, are quite your old self," he said. +Then there was a pause.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to say anything?" she said.</p> + +<p>"It was you who sent for me," said he.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why did you?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see you." She opened her +pretty child-eyes at him, and he noted, only to +bitterly resent, the appeal in them. He remembered +that old appealing look too well.</p> + +<p>"No, Madam," he said inwardly, "not again! +You can't whistle the dog to heel at your will +and pleasure. I was a fool once, but I'm not +fool enough to play the fool with Benoliel's +wife."</p> + +<p>Aloud he said, smiling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I suppose you did, or you would not have +written. And now what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>She leaned forward to look at him.</p> + +<p>"Then you really have forgotten? You didn't +grieve for me long! You used to say you would +never leave off loving me as long as you lived."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Benoliel," he said, "if I ever +said anything so thoughtless as that, I certainly +<i>have</i> forgotten it."</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said; "then go!"</p> + +<p>This straight hitting embarrassed him mortally.</p> + +<p>"But," he said, "I've not forgotten that you +and I were once friends for a little while, and I +do beg you to consider me as a friend. Let me +help you. You must have some need of a +friend's services, or you would not have sent for +me. I assure you I am entirely at your commands. +Come, tell me how I can help you—"</p> + +<p>"You can't help me at all," she said hopelessly, +"nobody can now."</p> + +<p>"I've heard—I hope you'll forgive me for +saying so—I've heard that your married life +has been—hasn't been—"</p> + +<p>"My married life has been hell," she said;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +"but I don't want to talk about that. I deserved +it all."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear lady, why not get a divorce or, +at least, a separation? My services—anything +I can do to advise or—"</p> + +<p>She sprang from her chair and knelt beside +him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how <i>could</i> you think that of me? How +could you? He's dead—Benoliel's dead. I +thought you'd understand that by my sending to +you. Do you think I'd ever have seen you again +as long as <i>he</i> was alive? I'm not a wicked +woman, dear, I'm only a fool."</p> + +<p>She had caught the hand that lay on the arm +of his chair, her face was pressed on it, and on +it he could feel her tears and her kisses.</p> + +<p>"Don't," he said harshly, "don't." But he +could not bring himself to draw his hand away +otherwise than very gently, and after a decent +pause. He stood up and held out his hand. +She put hers in it, he raised her to her feet +and put her back in her chair, and artfully +entrenching himself behind a little table, sat +down in a very stiff chair with a high seat and +gilt legs.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>She laughed. "Oh, don't trouble! You +needn't barricade yourself like a besieged castle. +Don't be afraid of me. You're really quite safe. +I'm not so mad as you think. Only, you know, +all this time I've never been able to get the idea +out of my head—"</p> + +<p>He was afraid to ask what idea.</p> + +<p>"I always believed you meant it; that you +always would love me, just as you said. I was +wrong, that's all. Now go! Do go!"</p> + +<p>He was afraid to go.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "let's talk quietly, and like +the old friends we were before we—"</p> + +<p>"Before we weren't. Well?"</p> + +<p>He was now afraid to say anything.</p> + +<p>"Look here," she said suddenly, "let <i>me</i> talk. +There are some things I do really want to say, +since you won't let it go without saying. One is +that I know now you're not so much to blame +as I thought, and I <i>do</i> forgive you. I mean it, +really, not just pretending forgiveness; I forgive +you altogether—"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i>—forgive <i>me?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, didn't you understand that that was +what I meant? I didn't want to <i>say</i> 'I forgive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +you,' and I thought if I sent for you you'd +understand."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have thought your sending for +me a more enlightening move than I found it."</p> + +<p>"Yes—because you don't care now. If you +had, you'd have understood."</p> + +<p>"I really think I should like to understand."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly what it is you're kind enough to +forgive."</p> + +<p>"Why—your never coming to see me. Benoliel +told me before we'd been married a month +that he had got my aunt to stop your letters and +mine, so I don't blame you now as I did then. +But you might have come when you found I +didn't write."</p> + +<p>"I did come. The house was shut up, and +the caretaker could give no address."</p> + +<p>"Did you really? And there was no address? +I never thought of that."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you did," he said savagely; +"you never <i>did</i> think!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>was</i> a fool! I was!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But I have been punished."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not you!" he said. "You got what you +wanted—money, money, money—the only +thing I couldn't give you. If it comes to that, +why didn't <i>you</i> come and see <i>me?</i> I hadn't gone +away and left no address."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of it."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>"And, besides, you wouldn't have been +there—"</p> + +<p>"I? I sat day after day waiting for a letter."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of it," she said again.</p> + +<p>And again he said: "No, of course you didn't; +you wouldn't, you know—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't! please don't! Oh, you don't +know how sorry I've been—"</p> + +<p>"But why did you marry him?"</p> + +<p>"To spite you—to show you I didn't care—because +I was in a rage—because I was a fool! +You might as well tell me at once that you're in +love with someone else."</p> + +<p>"Must one always be in love, then?" he +sneered.</p> + +<p>"I thought men always were," she said simply. +"Please tell me."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not in love with anybody. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +had enough of that to last me for a year or +two."</p> + +<p>"Then—oh, won't you try to like me again? +Nobody will ever love you so much as I do—you +said I looked just the same—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you <i>aren't</i> the same."</p> + +<p>"Yes I am. I think really I'm better than I +used to be," she said timidly.</p> + +<p>"You're <i>not</i> the same," he went on, growing +angrier to feel that he had allowed himself to +grow angry with her. "You were a girl, and +my sweetheart; now you're a widow—that +man's widow! You're not the same. The past +can't be undone so easily, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, clenching her hands, "I know +there must be something I could say that you +would listen to—oh, I wish I could think what! +I suppose as it is I'm saying things no other +woman ever would have said—but I don't care! +I won't be reserved and dignified, and leave +everything to you, like girls in books. I lost +too much by that before. I will say every single +thing I can think of. I will! Dearest, you said +you would always love me—you don't care for +anyone else. I <i>know</i> you would love me again if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +you would only let yourself. Won't you forgive +me?"</p> + +<p>"I can't," he said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Have you never done anything that needed +to be forgiven? I would forgive you anything +in the world! Didn't you care for other people +before you knew me? And I'm not angry about +it. And I never cared for him."</p> + +<p>"That only makes it worse," he said.</p> + +<p>She sprang to her feet. "It makes it worse +for me! But if you loved me it ought to make +it better for you. If you had loved me with +your heart and mind you would be glad to think +how little it was, after all, that I did give to that +man."</p> + +<p>"Sold—not gave—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't spare me! But there's no need to +tell <i>you</i> not to spare me. But I don't care what +you say. You've loved other women. I've +never loved anyone but you. And yet you can't +forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"It's not the same," he repeated dully.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> the same—only I'm more patient, I +hope, and not so selfish. But your pride is hurt, +and you think it's not quite the right thing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +marry a rich man's widow. And you want to +go home and feel how strong and heroic you've +been, and be proud of yourself because you +haven't let me make a fool of you."</p> + +<p>It was so nearly true that he denied it instantly.</p> + +<p>"I don't," he said. "I could have forgiven +you anything, however wicked you'd been—but +I can't forgive you for having been—"</p> + +<p>"Been a fool? I can't forgive myself for +that, either. My dear, my dear, you don't love +anyone else; you don't hate me. Do you know +that your eyes are quite changed from what +they were when you came in? And your +voice, and your face—everything. Think, dear, +if I am not the same woman you loved, I'm +still more like her than anyone else in the world. +And you did love me—oh, don't hate me for +anything I've said. Don't you see I'm fighting +for my life? Look at me. I am just like your +old sweetheart, only I love you more, and I can +understand better now how not to make you +unhappy. Ah, don't throw everything away +without thinking. I <i>am</i> more like the woman +you loved than anyone else can ever be. Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +my God! my God! what shall I say to him? +Oh, God help me!"</p> + +<p>She had said enough. The one phrase "If I +am not the same woman you loved, still I am +more like her than anyone else in the world" +had struck straight at his heart. It was true. +What if this, the second best, were now the +best life had to offer? If he threw this away, +would any other woman be able to inspire him +with any sentiment more like love than this +passion of memory, regret, tenderness, pity—this +desire to hold, protect, and comfort, with +which, ever since her tears fell on his hand, he +had been fighting in fierce resentment. He +looked at the huddled grey figure. He must +decide—now, at this moment—he must decide +for two lives.</p> + +<p>But before he had time to decide anything +he found that he had taken her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"My own, my dear," he was saying again and +again, "I didn't mean it. It wasn't true. I +love you better than anything. Let's forget it +all. I don't care for anything now I have you +again."</p> + +<p>"Then why—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, don't let's ask each other questions—let's +begin all over again at two years ago. +We'll forget all the rest—my dear—my +own!"</p> + +<p>Of course neither has ever forgotten it, but +they always pretend to each other that they +have.</p> + +<p>Her defiance of the literary sense in him and +in her was justified. His literary sense, or some +deeper instinct, prompted him to refuse to use +Benoliel's money—but her acquiescence in his +decision reversed it. And they live very comfortably +on the money to this day.</p> + +<p>The odd thing is that they are extremely +happy. Perhaps it is not, after all, such a bad +thing to be quite sure, before marriage, that the +second-best happiness is all you are likely to +get in this world.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>A HOLIDAY</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE month was June, the street was Gower +Street, the room was an attic. And in it +a poet sat, struggling with the rebellious third act +of the poetic drama that was to set him in the +immediate shadow of Shakespeare, and on the +level of those who ring Parnassus round just +below the summit. The attic roof sloped, the +furniture was vilely painted in grained yellow, +the arm-chair's prickly horsehair had broken to +let loose lumps of dark-coloured flock. The +curtains were dark and damask and dusty. The +carpet was Kidderminster and sand-coloured. +It had holes in it; so had the Dutch hearthrug. +The poet's penholder was the kind at twopence +the dozen. The ink was in a penny bottle. +Outside on a blackened flowerless lilac a strayed +thrush sang madly of spring and hope and joy +and love.</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>The clear strong June sunshine streamed in +through the window and turned the white of +the poet's page to a dazzling silver splendour.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all!" he cried, and he threw down +the yellow-brown penholder. "It's too much! +It's not to be borne! It's not human!"</p> + +<p>He turned out his pockets. Two-and-seven-pence. +He could draw the price of an ode and +a roundelay from the <i>Spectator</i>—but not to-day, +for this was a Bank Holiday, Whit Monday, in +fact. Then he thought of his tobacco jar. Sure +enough, there lurked some halfpence among the +mossy shag, and—oh, wonder and joy and +cursed carelessness for ever to be blessed—a +gleaming coy half-sovereign. In the ticket-pocket +of his overcoat a splendid unforeseen shilling—a +florin and a sixpence in the velveteen jacket +he had not worn since last year. Ten—and +two—and one—and two and sevenpence and +sixpence—sixteen shillings and a penny. +Enough, more than enough, to take him out of +this world of burst horsehair chairs and greedy +foolscap, of arid authorship and burst bubbles +of dreams to the real world, where spring, still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +laughing, shrank from the kisses of summer, +where white may blossomed and thrushes sang.</p> + +<p>"I'll have a holiday," he said, "who knows—I +may get an idea for a poem!"</p> + +<p>He cleaned his boots with ink; they were not +shiny after it, but they were at least black. He +put on his last clean shirt and the greeny-blue +Liberty tie that his sister had sent him for his +April birthday. He brushed his soft hat—counted +his money again—found for it a pocket +still lacking holes—and went out whistling. +The front door slammed behind him with a +cheerful conclusive bang.</p> + +<p>From the top of an omnibus he noted the +town gilded with June sunlight. And it was +very good.</p> + +<p>He bought food, and had it packed in decent +brown paper, so that it looked like something +superfluous from the stores.</p> + +<p>And he caught the ten something train to +Halstead. He only just caught it.</p> + +<p>He blundered into a third-class carriage, and +nearly broke his neck over an umbrella which +lay across the door like an amateur trap for +undesired company.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>By some extraordinary apotheosis of Bank +Holiday mismanagement, there was only one +person in the carriage—the owner of the trap-umbrella. +A girl, of course. That was inevitable +in this magic weather. He had knocked +her basket off the seat, and had only just saved +himself from buffeting her with his uncontrolled +shoulder before he saw that she was a girl. He +took off his hat and apologised. She smiled, +murmured, and blushed.</p> + +<p>He settled himself in his corner, and unfolded +the evening paper of yesterday which, by the +most fortunate chance, happened to be in his +pocket.</p> + +<p>Over it he glanced at her. She was pretty—with +a vague unawakened prettiness. Her eyes +and hair were dark. Her hat seemed dowdy, yet +becoming. Her gloves were rubbed at the +fingers. Her blouse was light and bright. Her +skirt obscure and severe. He decided that she +was not well off.</p> + +<p>His eyes followed a dull leader on the question +of the government of India. But he did +not want to read. He wanted to talk. On this +June day, when the life of full-grown spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +thrilled one to the finger tips, how could one +feed one's vitality, one's over-mastering joy of +life, with printer's ink and the greyest paper in +London?</p> + +<p>He glanced at her again. She was looking out +of the window at the sordid little Bermondsey +houses, where the red buds of the Virginia +creeper were already waking to their green +summer life-work. He spoke. And no one +would have guessed from his speech that he was +a poet.</p> + +<p>"What a beautiful day!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very," said she, and her tone gave no +indication of any exuberant spring expansiveness +to match his own.</p> + +<p>He looked at her again. No. Yes. Yes, he +would try the experiment he had long wanted +to try—had often in long, silent, tęte-ŕ-tęte +journeys dreamed of trying. He would skip all +the pitiful formalities of chance acquaintanceship. +He would speak as one human being to another—would +assume the sure bond of a common +kinship. He said—</p> + +<p>"It is such a beautiful day that I want to +talk about it! Mayn't I talk to you? Don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +you feel that you want to say how beautiful it +is—just as much as I do?"</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him. A scared fold in her +brow warned him of the idea that had seized +her.</p> + +<p>"I'm really not mad," he said; "but it does +seem so frightfully silly that we should travel +all the way to—to wherever you are going, and +not tell each other how good June weather is."</p> + +<p>"Well—it is!" she owned.</p> + +<p>He eagerly spoke: he wanted to entangle her +in talk before her conventional shrinking from +chance acquaintanceship should shrivel her interest +past hope.</p> + +<p>"I often think how silly people are," he said, +"not to talk in railway carriages. One can't +read without blinding oneself. I've seen women +knit, but that's unspeakable. Many a time in +frosty, foggy weather, when the South Eastern +has taken two hours to get from Cannon Street +to Blackheath, I've looked round the carriage +and wanted to say, 'Gentlemen, seeing that we +are thus delayed, let us each contribute to the +general hilarity by telling a story—we might +gather them into a Christmas number afterwards—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +the manner of the late Mr. Charles Dickens,' +then I've looked round the carriage full of +city-centred people, and wondered how they'd +deal with the lunatic who ventured to suggest +such an All-the-year-round idea. But nobody +could be city-centred on such a day, and so +early. So let's talk."</p> + +<p>She had laughed, as he had meant her to +laugh. Now she seemed to throw away some +scruple in the gesture with which she shrugged +her shoulders and turned to him.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said, and she was smiling. +"Only I've nothing to say."</p> + +<p>"Never mind; I have," he rejoined, and proceeded +to say it. It seemed amusing to him as +an experiment to talk to this girl, this perfect +stranger, with a delicate candour that he would +not have shown to his oldest friend. It seemed +interesting to lay bare, save for a veiling of +woven transparent impersonality, his inmost +mind. It <i>was</i> interesting, for the revelation drew +her till they were talking together in a world +where it seemed no more than natural for her to +show him her soul: and she had no skill to +weave veils for it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>Such talk is rare: so rare and so keen a +pleasure, indeed, as to leave upon one's life, if +one be not a poet, a mark strong and never to +be effaced.</p> + +<p>The slackening of the train at Halstead broke +the spell which lay on both with a force equal +in strength, if diverse in kind.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said, "I get out here. Good-bye, +good-bye."</p> + +<p>He would not spoil the parting by banalities +of hat-raising amid the group of friends or relations +who would doubtless meet her.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said, and his eyes made her +take his offered hand. "Good-bye. I shall +never forget you. Never!"</p> + +<p>And then it seemed to him that the farewell +lacked fire: and he lifted her hand to his face. +He did not kiss it. He laid it against his cheek, +sighed, and dropped it. The action was delicate +and very effective. It suggested the impulse, +almost irresistible yet resisted, the well-nigh +overwhelming longing to kiss the hand, kept in +check by a respect that was almost devotion.</p> + +<p>She should have torn her hand away. She +took it away gently, and went.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Leisurely he got out of the train. She had +disappeared. Well—the bright little interlude +was over. Still, it would give food for dreams +among the ferny woods. The first lines of a +little song hummed themselves in his brain—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Eyes like stars in the night of life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Seen but a moment and seen for ever."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>He would finish them and send them to the <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>. That would be a guinea.</div> + +<p>He wished the journey had been longer. He +would never see her again. Perhaps it was just +as well. He crushed that last thought. It +would be good to dwell through the day on the +thought of her—the almost loved, the wholly +lost.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"That could but have happened once<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And we missed it, lost it for ever!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Her eyes were very pretty, especially when +they opened themselves so widely as she tried +to express the thoughts that no one but he had +ever cared to hear expressed. The definite biography—dead +father, ailing mother—hard work—hard +life—hard-won post as High School +Mistress, were but as the hoarding on which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +was pasted the artistic poster of their meeting—their +parting. He sighed as he walked along +the platform. The promise of June had fulfilled +itself: he was rich in a sorrow that did not hurt—a +regret that did not sting. Poor little girl! +Poor pretty eyes! Poor timid, brave maiden-soul!</p> + +<p>Suddenly in his walk he stopped short.</p> + +<p>Obliquely through the door of the booking-office +he saw her. She was alone. No troops +of friends or relations had borne her off. She +was waiting for someone; and someone had +not come.</p> + +<p>What was to be done? He felt an odd chill. +If he had only not taken her hand in that silly +way which had seemed at the time so artistically +perfect. The railway carriage talk might have +been prolonged prettily, indefinitely. But that +foolish contact had rung up the curtain on a +transformation scene, whose footlights needed, +at least, a good make-up for the facing of them.</p> + +<p>She stood there—looking down the road; in +every line of her figure was dejection; hopelessness +itself had drawn the line of her head's +sideward droop. His make-up need be but of +the simplest.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had expected to meet someone, and someone +had not come.</p> + +<p>His chivalric impulses, leaping to meet the +occasion's call, bade him substitute a splendid +replacement—himself, for the laggard tryst-breaker. +Even though he knew that that touch +of the hand must inaugurate the second volume +of the day's romance.</p> + +<p>He came behind her and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he come?" He did not like himself +for saying "he"—but he said it. It belonged +to the second volume.</p> + +<p>She turned with a start and a lighting of +eyes and lips that almost taught him pity. +Not quite: for the poet's nature is hard to +teach.</p> + +<p>"He?" she said, decently covering the light +of lips and eyes as soon as might be. "It was +a friend. She was to come from Sevenoaks. +She ought to be here. We were to have a +little picnic together." She glanced at her +basket. "I didn't know you were getting +out here. Why—" The question died on +trembling lips.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he repeated. There was a pause.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And now, what are you going to do?" he +asked, and his voice was full of tender raillery +for her lost tryst with the girl friend, and for +her pretty helplessness.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she said.</p> + +<p>"But I do!" he looked in her eyes. "You +are going to be kind. Life is so cruel. You +are going to help me to cheat Life and Destiny. +You are going to leave your friend to the waste +desolation of this place, if she comes by the +next train: but she won't—she's kept at home +by toothache, or a broken heart, or some little +foolish ailment like that,"—he prided himself +on the light touch here,—"and you are going to +be adorably kind and sweet and generous, and +to let me drink the pure wine of life for this +one day."</p> + +<p>Her eyes drooped. Fully inspired, he struck +a master-chord in the lighter key.</p> + +<p>"You have a basket. I have a brown paper +parcel. Let me carry both, and we will share +both. We'll go to Chevening Park. It will be +fun. Will you?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause: he wondered whether by +any least likely chance the chord had not rung +true. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said half defiantly. "I don't see +why I shouldn't—Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then give me the basket," he said, "and hey +for the green wood!"</p> + +<p>The way led through green lanes—through +a green park, where tall red sorrel and white +daisies grew high among the grass that was up +for hay. The hawthorns were silvery, the buttercups +golden. The gold sun shone, the blue sky +arched over a world of green and glory. And +so through Knockholt, and up the narrow road +to the meadow whose path leads to the steep +wood-way where Chevening Park begins.</p> + +<p>They walked side by side, and to both of them—for +he was now wholly lost in the delightful +part for which this good summer world was the +fitting stage—to both of them it seemed that +the green country was enchanted land, and they +under a spell that could never break.</p> + +<p>They talked of all things under the sun: he, +eager to impress her with that splendid self of +his; she, anxious to show herself not wholly +unworthy. She, too, had read her Keats and +her Shelley and her Browning—and could cap +and even overshadow his random quotations.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is no one like you," he said as they +passed the stile above the wood; "no one in this +beautiful world."</p> + +<p>Her heart replied—</p> + +<p>"If there is anyone like you I have never +met him, and oh, thank God, thank God, that I +have met you now."</p> + +<p>Aloud she said—</p> + +<p>"There's a place under beech trees—a sort of +chalk plateau—I used to have picnics there with +my brothers when I was a little girl—"</p> + +<p>"Shall we go there?" he asked. "Will you +really take me to the place that your pretty +memories haunt? Ah—how good you are to +me."</p> + +<p>As they went down the steep wood-path she +slipped, stumbled—he caught her.</p> + +<p>"Give me your hand!" he said. "This path's +not safe for you."</p> + +<p>It was not. She gave him her hand, and they +went down into the wood together.</p> + +<p>The picnic was gay as an August garden. +After a life of repression—to meet someone to +whom one might be oneself! It was very good.</p> + +<p>She said so. That was when he did kiss her +hand.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>When lunch was over they sat on the sloped, +short turf and watched the rabbits in the warren +below. They sat there and they talked. And +to the end of her days no one will know her soul +as he knew it that day, and no one ever knew +better than she that aspect of his soul which he +chose that day to represent as its permanent form.</p> + +<p>The hours went by, and when the shadows +began to lengthen and the sun to hide behind +the wood they were sitting hand in hand. All +the entrenchments of her life's training, her barriers +of maidenly reserve, had been swept away +by the torrent of his caprice, his indolently +formed determination to drink the delicate sweet +cup of this day to the full.</p> + +<p>It was in silence that they went back along +the wood-path—her hand in his, as before. Yet +not as before, for now he held it pressed against +his heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a day—what a day of days!" he +murmured. "Was there ever such a day? +Could there ever have been? Tell me—tell +me! Could there?"</p> + +<p>And she answered, turning aside a changed, +softened, transfigured face.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know—you know!"</p> + +<p>So they reached the stile at the top of the +wood—and here, when he had lent her his hand +to climb it, he paused, still holding in his her +hand.</p> + +<p>Now or never, should the third volume begin—and +end. Should he? Should he not? +Which would yield the more perfect memory—the +one kiss to crown the day, or the kiss renounced, +the crown refused? Her eyes, beseeching, +deprecating, fearing, alluring, decided the +question. He framed her soft face in his hands +and kissed her, full on the lips. Then not so +much for insurance against future entanglement +as for the sound of the phrase, which pleased +him—he was easily pleased at the moment—he +said—</p> + +<p>"A kiss for love—for memory—for despair!"</p> + +<p>It was almost in silence that they went +through lanes still and dark, across the widespread +park lawns and down the narrow road to +the station. Her hand still lay against his heart. +The kiss still thrilled through them both. They +parted at the station. He would not risk the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +lessening of the day's charming impression by a +railway journey. He could go to town by a +later train. He put her into a crowded carriage, +and murmured with the last hand pressure—</p> + +<p>"Thank God for this one day. I shall never +forget. You will never forget. This day is all +our lives—all that might have been."</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget," she said.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In point of fact, she never has forgotten. She +has remembered all, even to the least light touch +of his hand, the slightest change in his soft kind +voice. That is why she has refused to marry +the excellent solicitor who might have made her +happy, and, faded and harassed, still teaches to +High School girls the Euclid and Algebra which +they so deeply hate to learn.</p> + +<p>As for him, he went home in a beautiful +dream, and in the morning he wrote a song +about her eyes which was so good that he sent +it to the <i>Athenćum</i>, and got two guineas for it—so +that his holiday was really not altogether +wasted.</p> +<hr class='chap' /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>THE FORCE OF HABIT</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>FROM her very earliest teens every man she +met had fallen at her feet. Her father in +paternal transports—dignified and symbolic as +the adoration of the Magi, uncles in forced unwilling +tribute, cousins according to their kind, +even brothers, resentful of their chains yet still +enslaved, lovers by the score, persons disposed to +marriage by the half-dozen.</div> + +<p>And she had smiled on them all, because it was +so nice to be loved, and if one could make those +who loved happy by smiling, why, smiles were +cheap! Not cheap like inferior soap, but like the +roses from a full June garden.</p> + +<p>To one she gave something more than smiles—herself +to wit—and behold her at twenty, +married to the one among her slaves to whom +she had deigned to throw the handkerchief—real +Brussels, be sure! Behold her happy in the +adoration of the one, the only one among her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +adorers whom she herself could adore. His +name was John, of course, and it was a foregone +conclusion that he should be a stock-broker.</p> + +<p>All the same, he was nice, which is something: +and she loved him, which is everything.</p> + +<p>The little new red-brick Queen Anne villa was +as the Garden of Eden to the man and the +woman—but the jerry builder is a reptile more +cursed than the graceful serpent who, in his +handsome suit of green and gold, pulled out the +lynch-pin from the wedding chariot of our first +parents. The new house—"Cloudesley" its +name was—was damp as any cloud, and the +Paradise was shattered, not by any romantic serpent-and-apple +business, but by plain, honest, +every-day rheumatism. It was, indeed, as near +rheumatic fever as one may go without tumbling +over the grisly fence.</p> + +<p>The doctor said "Buxton." John could not +leave town. There was a boom or a slump or +something that required his personal supervision.</p> + +<p>So her old nurse was called up from out of the +mists of the grey past before he and she were +hers and his, and she went to Buxton in a specially +reserved invalid carriage. She went, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +half her dainty trousseau clothes—a helpless +invalid.</p> + +<p>Now I don't want to advertise Buxton waters +as a cure for rheumatism, but I know for a fact +that she had to be carried down to her first bath. +It was a marble bath, and she felt like a Roman +empress in it. And before she had had ten days +of marble baths she was almost her own man +again, and the youth in her danced like an imprisoned +bottle-imp. But she was dull because +there was no one to adore her. She had always +been fed on adoration, and she missed her wonted +food—without the shadow of a guess that it +was this she was missing. It was, perhaps, unfortunate +that her old nurse should have sprained +a stout ankle in the very first of those walks on +the moors which the Doctor recommended for +the completion of the cure so magnificently inaugurated +by the Marble Roman Empress baths.</p> + +<p>She wrote to her John every day. Long +letters. But when the letter was done, what else +was there left to do with what was left of the +day? She was very, very bored.</p> + +<p>One must obey one's doctor. Else why pay +him guineas?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>So she walked out, after pretty apologies to +the nurse, left lonely, across the wonder-wide +moors. She learned the springy gait of the true +hill climber, and drank in health and strength +from the keen hill air. The month was March. +She seemed to be the only person of her own +dainty feather in Buxton. So she walked the +moors alone. All her life joy had come to her +in green elm and meadow land, and this strange +grey-stone walled rocky country made her breathless +with its austere challenge. Yet life was +good; strength grew. No longer she seemed to +have a body to care for. Soul and spirit were +carried by something so strong as to delight in +the burden. A month, her town doctor had said. +A fortnight taught her to wonder why he had +said it. Yet she felt lonely—too small for those +great hills.</p> + +<p>The old nurse, patient, loving, urged her lamb +to "go out in the fresh air"; and the lamb +went.</p> + +<p>It was on a grey day, when the vast hill +slopes seemed more than ever sinister and +reluctant to the little figure that braved them. +She wore an old skirt and an old jacket—her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +husband had slipped them in when he strapped +her boxes.</p> + +<p>"They're warm," he had said; "you may need +them."</p> + +<p>She had a rainbow-dyed neckerchief and a +little fur hat, perky with a peacock's iridescent +head and crest.</p> + +<p>She was very pretty. The paleness of her +illness lent her a new charm. And she walked +the lonely road with an air. She had never +been a great walker, and she was proud of each +of the steps that this clear hill air gave her the +courage to take.</p> + +<p>And it was glorious, after all, to be alone—the +only human thing on these wide moors, +where the curlews mewed as if the place belonged +to them. There was a sound behind her. +The rattle of wheels.</p> + +<p>She stopped. She turned and looked. Far +below her lay the valley—all about her was the +immense quiet of the hills. On the white road, +quite a long way off, yet audible in that noble +stillness, hoofs rang, wheels whirred. She +waited for the thing to pass, for its rings of +sound to die out in that wide pool of silence.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>The wheels and the hoofs drew near. The +rattle and jolt grew louder. She saw the horse +and cart grow bigger and plainer. In a moment +it would have passed. She waited.</p> + +<p>It drew near. In another moment it would +be gone, and she be left alone to meet again the +serious inscrutable face of the grey landscape.</p> + +<p>But the cart—as it drew near—drew up, +the driver tightened rein, and the rough brown +horse stopped—his hairy legs set at a strong +angle.</p> + +<p>"Have a lift?" asked the driver.</p> + +<p>There was something subtly coercive in the +absolute carelessness of the tone. There was +the hearer on foot—here was the speaker in a +cart. She being on foot and he on wheels, it +was natural that he should offer her a lift in his +cart—it was a greengrocer's cart. She could +see celery, cabbages, a barrel or two, and the +honest blue eyes of the man who drove it—the +man who, seeing a fellow creature at a disadvantage, +instantly offered to share such odds as Fate +had allotted to him in life's dull handicap.</p> + +<p>The sudden new impossible situation appealed +to her. If lifts were offered—well—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +must mean that lifts were generally accepted. +In Rome one does as Rome does. In Derbyshire, +evidently, a peacock crested toque might +ride, unreproved by social criticism, in a greengrocer's +cart. A tea-tray on wheels it seemed to +her.</p> + +<p>She was a born actress; she had that gift of +throwing herself at a moment's notice into a +given part which in our silly conventional jargon +we nickname tact.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, "I should like it very +much."</p> + +<p>The box on which he arranged a seat for her +contained haddocks. He cushioned it with a +sack and his own shabby greatcoat, and lent her +a thick rough hand for the mounting.</p> + +<p>"Which way were you going?" he asked, and +his voice was not the soft Peak sing-song—but +something far more familiar.</p> + +<p>"I was only going for a walk," she said, "but +it's much nicer to drive. I wasn't going anywhere. +Only I want to get back to Buxton +some time."</p> + +<p>"I live there," said he. "I must be home by +five. I've a goodish round to do. Will five be +soon enough for you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Quite," she said, and considered within herself +what rôle it would be kindest, most tactful, +most truly gentlewomanly to play. She sought +to find, in a word, the part to play that would +best please the man who was with her. That +was what she had always tried to find. With +what success let those who love her tell.</p> + +<p>"I mustn't seem too clever," she said to herself; +"I must just be interested in what he cares +about. That's true politeness: mother always +said so."</p> + +<p>So she talked of the price of herrings and the +price of onions, and of trade, and of the difficulty +of finding customers who had at once appreciation +and a free hand.</p> + +<p>When he drew up in some lean grey village, +or at the repellent gates of some isolated slate-roofed +house, he gave her the reins to hold, +while he, with his samples of fruit and fish +laid out on basket lids, wooed custom at the +doors.</p> + +<p>She experienced a strangely crescent interest +in his sales.</p> + +<p>Between the sales they talked. She found it +quite easy, having swept back and penned in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +major part of her knowledges and interests, to +leave a residuum that was quite enough to meet +his needs.</p> + +<p>As the chill dusk fell in cloudy folds over the +giant hill shoulders and the cart turned towards +home, she shivered.</p> + +<p>"Are you cold?" he asked solicitously. "The +wind strikes keen down between these beastly +hills."</p> + +<p>"Beastly?" she repeated. "Don't you think +they're beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "of course I see they're beautiful—for +other folks, but not for me. What I +like is lanes an' elm trees and farm buildings +with red tiles and red walls round fruit gardens—and +cherry orchards and thorough good rich +medders up for hay, and lilac bushes and bits o' +flowers in the gardens, same what I was used to +at home."</p> + +<p>She thrilled to the homely picture.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's what I like too!" she said. +"These great hills—I don't see how they can +feel like home to anyone. There's a bit of an +orchard—one end of it is just a red barn wall—and +there are hedges round, and it's all soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +warm green lights and shadows—and thrushes +sing like mad. That's home!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said slowly, "that's home."</p> + +<p>"And then," she went on, "the lanes with the +high green hedges, dog-roses and brambles and +may bushes and traveller's joy—and the grey +wooden hurdles, and the gates with yellow +lichen on them, and the white roads and the +light in the farm windows as you come home +from work—and the fire—and the smell of +apples from the loft."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "that's it—I'm a Kentish +man myself. You've got a lot o' words to +talk with."</p> + +<p>When he put her down at the edge of the +town she went to rejoin her nurse feeling that +to one human being, at least, she had that day +been the voice of the home-ideal, and of all +things sweet and fair. And, of course, this +pleased her very much.</p> + +<p>Next morning she woke with the vague but +sure sense of something pleasant to come. She +remembered almost instantly. She had met a +man on whom it was pleasant to smile, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +whom her smiles and her talk pleased. And +she thought,—quite honestly,—that she was +being very philanthropic and lightening a dull +life.</p> + +<p>She wrote a long loving letter to John, did a +little shopping, and walked out along a road. +It was the road by which he had told her that +he would go the next day. He overtook her and +pulled up with a glad face, that showed her the +worth of her smiles and almost repaid it.</p> + +<p>"I was wondering if I'd see you," he said; +"was you tired yesterday? It's a fine day +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it glorious!" she returned, blinking at +the pale clear sun.</p> + +<p>"It makes everything look a heap prettier, +doesn't it? Even this country that looks like +as if it had had all the colour washed out of +it in strong soda and suds."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. And then he spoke of yesterday's +trade—he had done well; and of the +round he had to go to-day. But he did not offer +her a lift.</p> + +<p>"Won't you give me a drive to-day?" she +asked suddenly. "I enjoyed it so much."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you?" he cried, his face lighting up as +he moved to arrange the sacks. "I didn't like +to offer. I thought you'd think I was takin' too +much on myself. Come up—reach me your +hand. Right oh!"</p> + +<p>The cart clattered away.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking ever since yesterday when I +see you how is it you can think o' so many +words all at once. It's just as if you was +seeing it all—the way you talked about the +red barns and the grey gates and all such."</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> see it," she said, "inside my mind, you +know. I can see it all as plainly as I see these +great cruel hills."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he, "that's just what they are—they're +cruel. And the fields and woods is kind—like +folks you're friends with."</p> + +<p>She was charmed with the phrase. She talked +to him, coaxing him to make new phrases. It +was like teaching a child to walk.</p> + +<p>He told her about his home. It was a farm +in Kent—"red brick with the glorydyjohn rose +growin' all up over the front door—so that they +never opened it."</p> + +<p>"The paint had stuck it fast," said he, "it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +quite a job to get it open to get father's coffin +out. I scraped the paint off then, and oiled the +hinges, because I knew mother wouldn't last +long. And she didn't neither."</p> + +<p>Then he told her how there had been no +money to carry on the fruit-growing, and how +his sister had married a greengrocer at Buxton, +and when everything went wrong he had come +to lend a hand with their business.</p> + +<p>"And now I takes the rounds," said he; "it's +more to my mind nor mimming in the shop and +being perlite to ladies."</p> + +<p>"You're very polite to <i>me</i>," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said, "but you're not a lady—leastways, +I'm sure you are in your 'art—but +you ain't a regular tip-topper, are you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no," she said, "perhaps not that."</p> + +<p>It piqued her that he should not have seen +that she <i>was</i> a lady—and yet it pleased her too. +It was a tribute to her power of adapting herself +to her environment.</p> + +<p>The cart rattled gaily on—he talked with +more and more confidence; she with a more +and more pleased consciousness of her perfect +tact. As they went a beautiful idea came to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +her. She would do the thing thoroughly—why +not? The episode might as well be complete.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me help you to sell the +things," she said. "I should like it."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you be above it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," she answered gaily. "Only I +must learn the prices of things. Tell me. How +much are the herrings?"</p> + +<p>He told her—and at the first village she successfully +sold seven herrings, five haddocks, three +score of potatoes, and so many separate pounds +of apples that she lost count.</p> + +<p>He was lavish of his praises.</p> + +<p>"You might have been brought up to it from +a girl," he said, and she wondered how old he +thought she was then.</p> + +<p>She yawned no more over dull novels now—Buxton +no longer bored her. She had suddenly +discovered a new life—a new stage on which to +play a part, her own ability in mastering which +filled her with the pleasure of a clever child, or +a dog who has learned a new trick. Of course, +it was not a new trick; it was the old one.</p> + +<p>It was impossible not to go out with the +greengrocer every day. What else was there to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +do? How else could she exercise her most perfectly +developed talent—that of smiling on +people till they loved her? We all like to do +that which we can do best. And she never felt +so contented as when she was exercising this incontestable +talent of hers. She did not know the +talent for what it was. She called it "being +nice to people."</p> + +<p>So every day saw her, with roses freshening +in her cheeks, driving over the moors in the +wheeled tea-tray. And now she sold regularly. +One day he said—</p> + +<p>"What a wife you'd make for a business +chap!" But even that didn't warn her, because +she happened to be thinking of Jack—and she +thought how good a wife she meant to be to +him. <i>He</i> was a "business chap" too.</p> + +<p>"What are you really—by trade, I mean?" +he said on another occasion.</p> + +<p>"Nothing in particular. What did you think +I was?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh—I dunno—I thought a lady's maid, as +likely as not, or maybe in the dressmaking. You +aren't a common sort—anyone can see that."</p> + +<p>Again pique and pleasure fought in her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>She never so much as thought of telling him +that she was married. She saw no reason for it. +It was her rôle to enter into his life, not to dazzle +him with visions of hers.</p> + +<p>At last that happened which was bound to happen. +And it happened under the shadow of a +great rock, in a cleft, green-grown and sheltered, +where the road runs beside the noisy, stony, +rapid, unnavigable river.</p> + +<p>He had drawn the cart up on the grass, and +she had got down and was sitting on a stone +eating sandwiches, for her nurse had persuaded +her to take her lunch with her so as to spend +every possible hour on these life-giving moors. +He had eaten bread and cheese standing by +the horse's head. It was a holiday. He was +not selling fish and vegetables. He was in his +best, and she had never liked him so little. As +she finished her last dainty bite he threw away +the crusts and rinds of his meal and came over +to her.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, with an abrupt tenderness +that at once thrilled and revolted her, "don't +you think it's time as we settled something +betwixt us?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean," she said. +But, quite suddenly and terribly, she did.</p> + +<p>"Why," he said, "I know well enough you're +miles too good for a chap like me—but if you +don't think so, that's all right. And I tell you +straight, you're the only girl I ever so much as +fancied."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she breathed, "do you mean—"</p> + +<p>"You know well enough what I mean, my +pretty," he said; "but if you want it said out +like in books, I've got it all on my tongue. I +love every inch of you, and your clever ways, +and your pretty talk. I haven't touched a drop +these eight months—I shall get on right enough +with you to help me—and we'll be so happy as +never was. There ain't ne'er a man in England'll +set more store by his wife nor I will by +you, nor be prouder on her. You shan't do no +hard work—I promise you that. Only just +drive out with me and turn the customers round +your finger. I don't ask no questions about you +nor your folks. I <i>know</i> you're an honest girl, +and I'd trust you with my head. Come, give +me a kiss, love, and call it a bargain."</p> + +<p>She had stood up while he was speaking, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +she literally could not find words to stop the +flow of his speech. Now she shrank back and +said, "No—no!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you be so shy, my dear," he said. +"Come—just one! And then I'll take you +home and interduce you to my sister. You'll +like her. I've told her all about you."</p> + +<p>Waves of unthinkable horror seemed to be +closing over her head. She struck out bravely, +and it seemed as though she were swimming for +her life.</p> + +<p>"No," she cried, "it's impossible! You don't +understand! You don't know!"</p> + +<p>"I know you've been keeping company with +me these ten days," he said, and his voice had +changed. "What did you do it for if you didn't +mean nothing by it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know," she said wretchedly. "I +thought you liked being friends."</p> + +<p>"If it's what you call 'friends,' being all +day long with a chap, I don't so call it," he +said. "But come—you're playing skittish now, +ain't you? Don't tease a chap like this. Can't +you see I love you too much to stand it? I +know it sounds silly to say it—but I love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +you before all the world—I do—my word I +do!"</p> + +<p>He held out his arms.</p> + +<p>"I see—I see you do," she cried, all her tact +washed away by this mighty sea that had suddenly +swept over her. "But I can't. I'm—I'm +en—I'm promised to another young man."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what he'll say to this," he said +slowly.</p> + +<p>"I'm so—so sorry," she said; "I'd no +idea—"</p> + +<p>"I see," he said, "you was just passing the +time with me—and you never wanted me at +all. And I thought you did. Get in, miss. I'll +take you back to the town. I've just about +had enough holiday for one day."</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> so sorry," she kept saying. But he +never answered.</p> + +<p>"Do forgive me!" she said at last. "Indeed, +I didn't mean—"</p> + +<p>"Didn't mean," said he, lashing up the brown +horse; "no—and it don't matter to you if I +think about you and want you every day and +every night so long as I live. It ain't nothing +to you. You've had your fun. And you've got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +your sweetheart. God, I wish him joy of +you!"</p> + +<p>"Ah—don't," she said, and her soft voice +even here, even now, did not miss its effect. +"I <i>do</i> like you very, very much—and—"</p> + +<p>She had never failed. She did not fail now. +Before they reached the town he had formally +forgiven her.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you meant no harm," he +said grudgingly; "though coming from Kent you +ought to know how it is about walking out +with a chap. But you say you didn't, and I'll +believe you. But I shan't get over this, this +many a long day, so don't you make no mistake. +Why, I ain't thought o' nothing else but you +ever since I first set eyes on you. There—don't +you cry no more. I can't abear to see you +cry."</p> + +<p>He was blinking himself.</p> + +<p>Outside the town he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said. "I haven't got nothing +agin you—but I wish to Lord above I'd never +seen you. I shan't never fancy no one else after +you."</p> + +<p>"Don't be unhappy," she said. And then she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +ought to have said good-bye. But the devil we +call the force of habit would not let her leave +well alone.</p> + +<p>"I want to give you something," she said; +"a keepsake, to show I shall always be your +friend. Will you call at the house where I'm +staying this evening at eight? I'll have it +ready for you. Don't think too unkindly of +me! Will you come?"</p> + +<p>He asked the address, and said "Yes." He +wanted to see her—just once again, and he +would certainly like the keepsake.</p> + +<p>She went home and looked out a beautiful +book of Kentish photographs. It was a wedding +present, and she had brought it with her +to solace her in her exile by pictures of the +home-land. Her unconscious thought was something +like this: "Poor fellow; poor, poor fellow! +But he behaved like a gentleman about +it. I suppose there is something in the influence +of a sympathetic woman—I am glad I +was a good influence."</p> + +<p>She bathed her burning face, cooled it with +soft powder, and slipped into a tea-gown. It +was a trousseau one of rich, heavy, yellow silk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +and old lace and fur. She chose it because it +was warm, and she was shivering with agitation +and misery. Then she went and sat with +the old nurse, and a few minutes before eight +she ran out and stood by the front door so as +to open it before he should knock. She +achieved this.</p> + +<p>"Come in," she said, and led him into the +lodging-house parlour and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"It was good of you to come," she said, +taking the big, beautiful book from the table. +"This is what I want you to take, just to +remind you that we're friends."</p> + +<p>She had forgotten the tea-gown. She was +not conscious that the accustomed suavity of +line, the soft richness of texture influenced +voice, gait, smile, gesture. But they did. Her +face was flushed after her tears, and the powder, +which she had forgotten to dust off, added the +last touch to her beauty.</p> + +<p>He took the book, but he never even glanced +at the silver and tortoise-shell of its inlaid cover. +He was looking at her, and his eyes were covetous +and angry.</p> + +<p>"Are you an actress, or what?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," she said, shrinking. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"What the hell are you, then?" he snarled +furiously.</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm—a—"</p> + +<p>The old nurse, scared by the voice raised beyond +discretion, had dragged herself to the door +of division between her room and the parlour, +and now stood clinging to the door handle.</p> + +<p>"She's a lady, young man," said the nurse +severely; "and her aunt's a lady of title, and +don't you forget it!"</p> + +<p>"Forget it," he cried, with a laugh that +Jack's wife remembers still; "she's a lady, and +she's fooled me this way? I won't forget it, +nor she shan't neither! By God, I'll give her +something to forget!"</p> + +<p>With that he caught the silken tea-gown and +Jack's trembling wife in his arms and kissed her +more than once. They were horrible kisses, and +the man smelt of onions and hair-oil.</p> + +<p>"And I loved her—curse her!" he cried, +flinging her away, so that she fell against the +arm of the chair by the fire.</p> + +<p>He went out, slamming both doors. She had +softened and bewitched him to the forgiving of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +the outrage that her indifference was to his love. +The outrage of her station's condescension to his +was unforgivable.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She went back to her Jack next day. She +was passionately glad to see him. "Oh, Jack," +she said, "I'll never, never go away from you +again!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But the greengrocer from Kent reeled down +the street to the nearest public-house. At closing +time he was telling, in muffled, muddled +speech, the wondrous tale, how his girl was a +real lady, awfully gone on him, pretty as paint, +and wore silk dresses every day.</p> + +<p>"She's a real lady—she is," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ay!" said the chucker out, "we know all +about them sort o' ladies. Time, please!"</p> + +<p>"I tell you she is—her aunt's a lady of title, +and the gal's that gone on me I expect I'll have +to marry her to keep her quiet."</p> + +<p>"I'll have to chuck you out to keep <i>you</i> quiet," +returned the other. "Come on—outside!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE BRUTE</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE pearl of the dawn was not yet dissolved +in the gold cup of the sunshine, but in the +northwest the dripping opal waves were ebbing +fast to the horizon, and the sun was already half +risen from his couch of dull crimson. She leaned +out of her window. By fortunate chance it was +a jasmine-muffled lattice, as a girl's window +should be, and looked down on the dewy stillness +of the garden. The cloudy shadows that +had clung in the earliest dawn about the lilac +bushes and rhododendrons had faded like grey +ghosts, and slowly on lawn and bed and path +new black shadows were deepening and intensifying.</div> + +<p>She drew a deep breath. What a picture! +The green garden, the awakened birds, the roses +that still looked asleep, the scented jasmine +stars! She saw and loved it all. Nor was she +unduly insensible to the charm of the central<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +figure, the girl in the white lace-trimmed gown +who leaned her soft arms on the window-sill and +looked out on the dawn with large dark eyes. +Of course, she knew that her eyes were large +and dark, also that her hair was now at its +prettiest, rumpled and tumbled from the pillow, +and far prettier so than one dared to allow it to +be in the daytime. It seemed a pity that there +should be no one in the garden save the birds, +no one who had awakened thus early just that +he might gather a rose and cover it with kisses +and throw it up to the window of his pretty +sweetheart. She had but recently learned that +she was pretty. It was on the evening after the +little dance at the Rectory. She had worn red +roses at her neck, and when she had let down +her hair she had picked up the roses from her +dressing-table and stuck them in the loose, rough, +brown mass, and stared into the glass till she +was half mesmerised by her own dark eyes. +She had come to herself with a start, and then +she had known quite surely that she was pretty +enough to be anyone's sweetheart. When she +was a child a well-meaning aunt had told her +that as she would never be pretty or clever she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +had better try to be good, or no one would love +her. She had tried, and she had never till that +red-rose day doubted that such goodness as she +had achieved must be her only claim to love. +Now she knew better, and she looked out of her +window at the brightening sky and the deepening +shadows. But there was no one to throw +her a rose with kisses on it.</p> + +<p>"If I were a man," she said to herself, but +in a very secret shadowy corner of her inmost +heart, and in a wordless whisper, "if I were a +man, I would go out this minute and find a +sweetheart. She should have dark eyes, too, +and rough brown hair, and pink cheeks."</p> + +<p>In the outer chamber of her mind she said +briskly—</p> + +<p>"It's a lovely morning. It's a shame to waste +it indoors. I'll go out."</p> + +<p>The sun was fully up when she stole down +through the still sleeping house and out into +the garden, now as awake as a lady in full dress +at the court of the King.</p> + +<p>The garden gate fell to behind her, and the +swing of her white skirts went down the green +lane. On such a morning who would not wear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +white? She walked with the quick grace of +her nineteen years, and as she went fragments +of the undigested poetry that had been her literary +diet of late swirled in her mind—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"With tears and smiles from heaven again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The maiden spring upon the plain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Came in a sunlit fall of rain,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>and so on, though this was July, and not spring +at all. And—</div> + +<div class='poem'> +"A man had given all other bliss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And all his worldly work for this,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To waste his whole heart in one kiss</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon her perfect lips."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Her own lips were not perfect, yet, as lips +went, they were well enough, and, anyway, +kisses would not be wasted on them.</p> + +<p>She went down the lane, full of the anxious +trembling longing that is youth's unrecognised +joy, and at the corner, where the lane meets the +high white road, she met him. That is to say, +she stopped short, as the whispering silence of +the morning was broken by a sudden rattle and +a heavy thud, not pleasant to hear. And he and +his bicycle fell together, six yards from her feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +The bicycle bounded, and twisted, and settled +itself down with bold, resentful clatterings. +The man lay without moving.</p> + +<p>Her Tennyson quotations were swept away. +She ran to help.</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you hurt?" she said. He lay quite +still. There was blood on his head, and one +arm was doubled under his back. What could +she do? She tried to lift him from the road +to the grass edge of it. He was a big man, but +she did succeed in raising his shoulders, and freeing +that right arm. As she lifted it, he groaned. +She sat down in the dust of the road, and lowered +his shoulders till his head lay on her lap. +Then she tied her handkerchief round his head, +and waited till someone should pass on the way +to work. Three men and a boy came after the +long half hour in which he lay unconscious, the +red patch on her handkerchief spreading slowly, +and she looking at him, and getting by heart +every line of the pale, worn, handsome face. +She spoke to him, she stroked his hair. She +touched his white cheek with her finger-tips, and +wondered about him, and pitied him, and took +possession of him as a new and precious appanage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +of her life, so that when the labourers +appeared, she said—</p> + +<p>"He's very badly hurt. Go and fetch some +more men and a hurdle, and the boy might run +for the doctor. Tell him to come to the White +House. It's nearest, and it may be dangerous to +move him further."</p> + +<p>"The 'Blue Lion' ain't but a furlong further, +miss," said one of the men, touching his cap.</p> + +<p>"It's much more than that," said she, who +had but the vaguest notion of a furlong's length. +"Do go and do what I tell you."</p> + +<p>They went, and, as they went, remorselessly +dissected, with the bluntest instruments, her +motives and her sentiments. It was not hidden +from them, that wordless whisper in the shadowy +inner chamber of her heart. "Perhaps the 'Blue +Lion' isn't so very much further, but I can't give +him up. No, I can't." But it was almost hidden +from <i>her</i>. In her mind's outer hall she said—</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I ought to take him home. No +girl in a book would hesitate. And I can make +it all right with mother. It would be cruel to +give him up to strangers."</p> + +<p>Deep in her heart the faint whisper followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I found him; he's mine. I won't let +him go."</p> + +<p>He stirred a little before they came back with +the hurdle, and she took his uninjured hand, and +pressed it firmly and kindly, and told him it was +"all right," he would feel better presently.</p> + +<p>She did have him carried home, and when the +doctor had set the arm and the collar-bone, and +had owned that it would be better not to move +him at present, she knew that her romance +would not be cut short just yet. She did not +nurse him, because it is only in books that +young girls of the best families act as sick-nurses +to gentlemen. But her mother—dear, +kind, clever, foolish gentlewoman—did the +nursing, and the daughter gathered flowers daily +to brighten his room. And when he was better, +yet still not well enough to resume the bicycle +tour so sharply interrupted by a flawed nut, she +read to him, and talked to him, and sat with +him in the hushed August garden. Up to this +point, observe, her interest had been purely +romantic. He was a man of forty-five. Perhaps +he had a younger brother, a splendid young +man, and the brother would like her because she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +had been kind. <i>He</i> had lived long abroad, had +no relatives in England. He knew her Cousin +Reginald at Johannesburg—everyone knew +everyone else out there. The brother—there +really was a brother—would come some day to +thank her mother for all her goodness, and she +would be at the window and look down, and he +would look up, and the lamp of life would be +lighted. She longed, with heart-whole earnestness, +to be in love with someone, for as yet she +was only in love with love.</p> + +<p>But on the evening when there was a full +moon—the time of madness as everybody +knows—her mother falling asleep after dinner +in her cushioned chair in the lamp lit drawing-room, +he and she wandered out into the garden. +They sat on the seat under the great apple tree. +He was talking gently of kindness and gratitude, +and of how he would soon be well enough to go +away. She listened in silence, and presently he +grew silent, too, under the spell of the moonlight. +She never knew exactly how it was that +he took her hand, but he was holding it gently, +strongly, as if he would never let it go. Their +shoulders touched. The silence grew deeper and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +deeper. She sighed involuntarily; not because +she was unhappy, but because her heart was +beating so fast. Both were looking straight +before them into the moonlight. Suddenly he +turned, put his other hand on her shoulder, and +kissed her on the lips. At that instant her +mother called her, and she went into the lamp-light. +She said good night at once. She wanted +to be alone, to realise the great and wonderful +awakening of her nature, its awakening to love—for +this was love, the love the poets sang +about—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"A kiss, a touch, the charm, was snapped."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>She wanted to be alone to think about him. +But she did not think. She hugged to her heart +the physical memory of that strong magnetic +hand-clasp, the touch of those smooth sensitive +lips on hers—held it close to her till she fell +asleep, still thrilling with the ecstasy of her first +lover's kiss.</div> + +<p>Next day they were formally engaged, and +now her life became an intermittent delirium. +She longed always to be alone with him, to +touch his hands, to feel his cheek against hers. +She could not understand the pleasure which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +said he felt in just sitting near her and watching +her sewing or reading, as he sat talking to her +mother of dull things—politics, and the war, +and landscape gardening. If she had been a +man, she said to herself, always far down in her +heart, she would have found a way to sit near +the beloved, so that at least hands might meet +now and then unseen. But he disliked public +demonstrations, and he loved her. She, however, +was merely in love with him.</p> + +<p>That was why, when he went away, she found +it so difficult to write to him. She thought his +letters cold, though they told her of all his work, +his aims, ambitions, hopes, because not more +than half a page was filled with lover's talk. +He could have written very different letters—indeed, +he had written such in his time, and to +more than one address; but he was wise with +the wisdom of forty years, and he was beginning +to tremble for her happiness, because he +loved her.</p> + +<p>When she complained that his letters were +cold he knew that he had been wise. She found +it very difficult to write to him. It was far +easier to write to Cousin Reginald, who always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +wrote such long, interesting letters, all about +interesting things—Cousin Reginald who had +lived with them at the White House till a year +ago, and who knew all the little family jokes, +and the old family worries.</p> + +<p>They had been engaged for eight months when +he came down to see her without any warning +letter.</p> + +<p>She was alone in the drawing-room when he +was announced, and with a cry of joy, she let +fall her work on the floor, and ran to meet him +with arms outstretched. He caught her wrists.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, and the light of joy in her face +made it not easy to say it. "My dear, I've come +to say something to you, and I mustn't kiss you +till I've said it."</p> + +<p>The light had died out.</p> + +<p>"You're not tired of me?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "No, not tired of you, my little +princess, but I am going away for a year. If +you still love me when I come back we'll be +married. But before I go I must say something +to you."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were streaming with tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can you be so cruel?" she said, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +her longing to cling to him, to reassure herself +by personal contact, set her heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be cruel," he said; "you +understand, dear, that I love you, and it's just +because I love you that I must say it. Now sit +down there and let me speak. Don't interrupt +me if you can help it. Consider it a sort of +lecture you're bound to sit through."</p> + +<p>He pushed her gently towards a chair. She +sat down sulkily, awkwardly, and he stood by +the window, looking out at the daffodils and +early tulips.</p> + +<p>"Dear, I am afraid I have found something +out. I don't think you love me—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can you, how can you?"</p> + +<p>"Be patient," he said. "I've wondered almost +from the first. You're almost a child, and I'm +an old man—oh, no, I don't mean that that's +any reason why you shouldn't love me, but it's +a reason for my making very sure that you <i>do</i> +before I let you marry me. It's your happiness +I have to think of most. Now shall I just +go away for a year, or shall I speak straight out +and tell you everything? If your father were +alive I would try to tell him; I can't tell your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +mother, she wouldn't understand. You can understand. +Shall I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, looking at him with frightened +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well: look back. You think you love me. +Haven't my letters always bored you a little, +though they were about all the things I care for +most?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand politics," she said sullenly.</p> + +<p>"And I don't understand needle-work, but I +could sit and watch you sew for ever and a +day."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on. What other crime have I committed +besides not going into raptures over Parliament?"</p> + +<p>She was growing angry, and he was glad. It +is not so easy to hurt people when they are +angry.</p> + +<p>"And when I am talking to your mother, that +bores you too, and when we are alone, you don't +care to talk of anything, but—but—"</p> + +<p>This task was harder than he had imagined +possible.</p> + +<p>"I've loved you too much, and I've shown it +too plainly," she said bitterly.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear, you've never loved me at all. You +have only been in love with me."</p> + +<p>"And isn't that the same thing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! it's no use," he said, "I must <i>be</i> a brute +then. No, it's not the same thing. It's your +poets and novelists who pretend it is. It's they +who have taught you all wrong. It's only half +of love, and the worst half, the most untrustworthy, +the least lasting. My little girl, when +I kissed you first, you were just waking up to +your womanhood, you were ready for love, as +a flower-bud is ready for sunshine, and I happened +to be the first man who had the chance +to kiss you and hold your dear little hands."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that I should have liked anyone +else as well if he had only been kind enough +to kiss me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; but ... I wish girls were taught +these things out of books. If you only knew +what it costs me to be honest with you, how I +have been tempted to let you marry me and +chance everything! Don't you see you're a +woman now—women were made to be kissed, +and when a man behaves like a brute and kisses +a girl without even asking first, or finding out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +first whether she loves him, it's not fair on the +girl. I shall never forgive myself. Don't you +see I took part of you by storm, the part of you +that is just woman nature, not yours but everyone's; +and how were you to know that you +didn't love me, that it was only the awakening +of your woman nature?"</p> + +<p>"I hate you," she said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered simply, "I knew you +would. Hate is only one step from passion."</p> + +<p>She rose in a fury. "How dare you use that +word to me!" she cried. "Oh, you are a brute! +You are quite right: I don't love you—I hate +you, I despise you. Oh, you brute!"</p> + +<p>"Don't," he said; "I only used that word +because it's what people call the thing when +it's a man who feels it. With you it's what I +said, the unconscious awakening of the womanhood +God gave you. Try to forgive me. Have +I said anything so very dreadful? It's a very +little thing, dear, the sweet kindness you've +felt for me. It's nothing to be ashamed or +angry about. It's not a hundredth part of what +I have felt when you have kissed me. It's because +it's such a poor foundation to build a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +home on that I am frightened for you. Suppose +you got tired of my kisses, and there was nothing +more in me that you did care for. And that +sort of ... lover's love doesn't last for ever—without +the other kind of love—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't say any more," she cried, jumping +up from her chair. "I did love you with all +my heart. I was sorry for you. I thought you +were so different. Oh, how could you say these +things to me? Go!"</p> + +<p>"Shall I come back in a year?" he asked, +smiling rather sadly.</p> + +<p>"Come back? <i>Never!</i> I'll never speak to +you again. I'll never see you again. I hope to +God I shall never hear your name again. Go +at once!"</p> + +<p>"You'll be grateful to me some day," he said, +"when you've found out that love and being in +love are not the same thing."</p> + +<p>"What is love, then? The kind of love <i>you'd</i> +care for?"</p> + +<p>"I care for it all," he said. "I think love is +tenderness, esteem, affection, interest, pity, protection, +and passion. Yes, you needn't be +frightened by the word; it is the force that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +moves the world, but it's only a part of love. +Oh, I see it's no good. God bless you, child: +you'll understand some day!"</p> + +<p>She does understand now; she has married +her Cousin Reginald, and she understands deeply +and completely. But she only admits this in +that deep, shadowy, almost disowned corner +of her heart. In the reception room of her +mind she still thinks of her first lover as "That +Brute!"</p> +<hr class='chap' /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>DICK, TOM, AND HARRY</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>"AND so I look in to see her whenever I can +spare half an hour. I fancy it cheers her +up a bit to have some one to talk to about Edinburgh—and +all that. You say you're going to +tell her about its having been my doing, your +getting that berth. Now, I won't have it. You +promised you wouldn't. I hate jaw, as you +know, and I don't want to have her gassing +about gratitude and all that rot. I don't like it, +even from you. So stow all that piffle. You'd +do as much for me, any day. I suppose Edinburgh +<i>is</i> a bit dull, but you've got all the higher +emotions of our fallen nature to cheer you up. +Essex Court is dull, if you like! It's three years +since I had the place to myself, and I tell you +it's pretty poor sport. I don't seem to care about +duchesses or the gilded halls nowadays. Getting +old, I suppose. Really, my sole recreation is +going to see another man's girl, and letting her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +prattle prettily about him. Lord, what fools +these mortals be! Sorry I couldn't answer your +letter before. I suppose you'll be running up +for Christmas! So long! I'm taking her down +those Ruskins she wanted. Here's luck!"</div> + +<p>The twisted knot of three thin initials at the +end of the letter stood for one of the set of +names painted on the black door of the Temple +Chambers. The other names were those of Tom, +who had strained a slender competence to +become a barrister, and finding the achievement +unremunerative, had been glad enough to get the +chance of sub-editing a paper in Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>Dick enveloped and stamped his letter, threw +it on the table, and went into his bedroom. +When he came back in a better coat and a newer +tie he looked at the letter and shrugged his +shoulders, and he frowned all the way down the +three flights and as far as Brick Court. Here he +posted the letter. Then he shrugged his shoulders +again, but after the second shrug the set of +them was firmer.</p> + +<p>As his hansom swung through the dancing +lights of the Strand, he shrugged his shoulders for +the third time.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, at that, his tame devil came as at a +signal, and drew a pretty curtain across all +thoughts save one—the thought of the "other +man's girl." Indeed, hardly a thought was left, +rather a sense of her—of those disquieting soft +eyes of hers—the pretty hands, the frank laugh—the +long, beautiful lines her gowns took on—the +unexpected twists and curves of her hair—above +all, the reserve, veiling tenderness as snowflakes +might veil a rose, with which she spoke of +the other man.</p> + +<p>Dick had known Tom for all of their men's +lives, and they had been friends. Both had said +so often enough. But now he thought of him as +the "other man."</p> + +<p>The lights flashed past. Dick's eyes were +fixed on a picture. A pleasant room—an +artist's room—prints, sketches, green curtains, +the sparkle of old china, fire and candle light. +A girl in a long straight dress; he could see the +little line where it would catch against her knee +as she came forward to meet him with both +hands outstretched. Would it be both hands? +He decided that it would—to-night.</p> + +<p>He was right, even to the little line in the +sea-blue gown.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>Both hands; such long, thin, magnetic hands.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> good," she said at once. "Oh—you +must let me thank you. Tom's told me who +it was that got him that splendid berth. Oh—what +a friend you are! And lending him the +money and everything. I can't tell you—It's +too much—You are—"</p> + +<p>"Don't," he said; "it's nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"It's everything," said she. "Tom's told me +quite all about it, mind! I know we owe everything +to you."</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Harcourt," he began. But she +interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Why not Harry?" she asked. "I thought—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Thank you. But it was nothing. +You see I couldn't let poor old Tom go on breaking +his heart in silence, when just writing a +letter or two would put him in a position to +speak."</p> + +<p>She had held his hands, or he hers, or both, +all this time. Now she moved away to the fire.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit down and be comfortable," +she said. "This is the chair you like. And +I've got some cigarettes, your very own kind, +from the Stores."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>She remembered a time when she had thought +that it was he, Dick, who might break his heart +for her. The remembrance of that vain thought +was a constant pin-prick to her vanity, a constant +affront to her modesty. She had tried to +snub him in those days—to show him that his +hopes were vain. And after all he hadn't had +any hopes: he'd only been anxious about Tom! +In the desolation of her parting from Tom she +had longed for sympathy. Dick had given it, +and she had been kinder to him than she had +ever been to any man but her lover—first, because +he was her lover's friend, and, secondly, +because she wanted to pretend to herself that +she had never fancied that there was any reason +for not being kind to him.</p> + +<p>She sat down in the chair opposite to his.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "I won't thank you any +more, if you hate it so; but you are good, and +neither of us will ever forget it."</p> + +<p>He sat silent for a moment. He had played +for this—for this he had delayed to answer the +letter wherein Tom announced his intention of +telling Harriet the whole fair tale of his friend's +goodness. He had won the trick. Yet for an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +instant he hesitated to turn it over. Then he +shrugged his shoulders—I will not mention this +again, but it was a tiresome way he had when +the devil or the guardian angel were working +that curtain I told you of—and said—</p> + +<p>"Dear little lady—you make me wish that I +<i>were</i> good."</p> + +<p>Then he sighed: it was quite a real sigh, and +she wondered whether he could possibly not be +good right through. Was it possible that he was +wicked in some of those strange, mysterious ways +peculiar to men: billiards—barmaids—opera-balls +flashed into her mind. Perhaps she might +help him to be good. She had heard the usual +pretty romances about the influence of a good +woman.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said, "light up—and tell me all +about everything."</p> + +<p>So he told her many things. And now and +then he spoke of Tom, just to give himself the +pleasure-pain of that snow-veiled-rose aspect.</p> + +<p>He kissed her hand when he left her—a kiss +of studied brotherliness. Yet the kiss had in it +a tiny heart of fire, fierce enough to make her +wonder, when he had left her, whether, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +all.... But she put the thought away hastily. +"I may be a vain fool," she said, "but I won't +be fooled by my vanity twice over."</p> + +<p>And she kissed Tom's portrait and went to +bed.</p> + +<p>Dick went home in a heavenly haze of happiness—so +he told himself as he went. When he +woke up at about three o'clock, and began to +analyse his sensations, he had cooled enough to +call it an intoxication of pleasurable emotion. +At three in the morning, if ever, the gilt is off +the ginger-bread.</p> + +<p>Dick lay on his back, his hands clenched at +his sides, and, gazing open-eyed into the darkness, +he saw many things. He saw all the old +friendship: the easy, jolly life in those rooms, +the meeting with Harriet Harcourt—it was at +a fancy-ball, and she wore the white-and-black +dress of a Beardsley lady; he remembered the +contrast of the dress with her eyes and mouth.</p> + +<p>He saw the days when his thoughts turned +more and more to every chance of meeting her, +as though each had been his only chance of life. +He saw the Essex Court sitting-room as it had +looked on the night when Tom had announced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +that Harriet was the only girl in the world—adding, +at almost a night's length, that impassioned +statement of his hopeless, financial condition. +He could hear Tom's voice as he said—</p> + +<p>"And I <i>know</i> she cares!"</p> + +<p>Dick felt again the thrill of pleasure that had +come with the impulse to be, for once, really +noble, to efface himself, to give up the pursuit +that lighted his days, the dream that enchanted +his nights. His own voice, too, he heard—</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, old chap! We'll find a lucrative +post for you in five minutes, and set the wedding +bells a-ringing in half an hour, or less! Why on +earth didn't you tell me before?"</p> + +<p>The glow of conscious nobility had lasted a +long while—nearly a week, if he recollected +aright. Then had come the choice of two openings +for Tom, one in London, and one, equally +good, in Edinburgh. Dick had chosen to offer +to his friend the one in Edinburgh. He had +told himself then that both lovers would work +better if they were not near enough to waste +each other's time, and he had almost believed—he +was almost sure, even now, that he had almost +believed—that this was the real reason.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>But when Tom had gone there had been frank +tears in the lovers' parting, and Dick had walked +up the platform to avoid the embarrassment of +witnessing them.</p> + +<p>"You beast, you brute, you hound!" said +Dick to himself, lying rigid and wretched in the +darkness. "You knew well enough that you +wanted him out of the way. And you promised +to look after her and keep her from being dull. +And you've done all you can to keep your word, +haven't you? She hasn't been dull, I swear. +And you've been playing for your own hand—and +that poor stupid honest chap down there +slaving away and trusting you as he trusts God. +And you've written him lying letters twice a +week, and betrayed him, as far as you got the +chance, every day, and seen what a cur you are, +every night, as you see it now. Oh, yes—you're +succeeding splendidly. She forgets to +think of Tom when she's talking to you. How +often did <i>she</i> mention him last night? It was +<i>you</i> every time. You're not fit to speak to a +decent man, you reptile!"</p> + +<p>He relaxed the clenched hands.</p> + +<p>"Can't you stop this infernal see-saw?" he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +asked, pounding at his pillow; "light and fire +every day, and hell-black ice every night. Look +at it straight, you coward! If you're game to +face the music, why, face it! Marry her, and +friendship and honesty be damned! Or perhaps +you might screw yourself up to another noble act—not +a shoddy one this time."</p> + +<p>Still sneering, he got up and pottered about in +slippers and pyjamas till he had stirred together +the fire and made himself cocoa. He drank it +and smoked two pipes. This is very unromantic, +but so it was. He slept after that.</p> + +<p>When he woke in the morning all things +looked brighter. He almost succeeded in pretending +that he did not despise himself.</p> + +<p>But there was a letter from Tom, and the +guardian angel took charge of the curtain again.</p> + +<p>He was tired, brain and body. The prize +seemed hardly worth the cost. The question of +relative values, at any rate, seemed debatable. +The day passed miserably.</p> + +<p>At about five o'clock he was startled to feel +the genuine throb of an honest impulse. Such +an impulse in him at that hour of the day, when +usually the devil was arranging the curtain for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +the evening's tragi-comedy, was so unusual as to +rouse in him a psychologic interest strong enough +to come near to destroying its object. But the +flame of pleasure lighted by the impulse fought +successfully against the cold wind of cynical +analysis, and he stood up.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," said he, "the copy-books +are right—'Be virtuous and you will be happy.' +At least if you aren't, you won't. And if you +are.... One could but try!"</p> + +<p>He packed a bag. He went out and sent telegrams +to his people at King's Lynn, and to all +the folk in town with whom he ought in these +next weeks to have danced and dined, and he +wrote a telegram to her. But that went no +further than the floor of the Fleet Street +Post Office, where it lay in trampled, scattered +rhomboids.</p> + +<p>Then he dined in Hall—he could not spare +from his great renunciation even such a thread +of a thought as should have decided his choice of +a restaurant; and he went back to the gloomy +little rooms and wrote a letter to Tom.</p> + +<p>It seemed, until his scientific curiosity was +aroused by the seeming, that he wrote with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +heart's blood. After the curiosity awoke, the +heart's blood was only highly-coloured water.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Look here. I can't stand it any longer. I'm +a brute and I know it, and I know you'll think +so. The fact is I've fallen in love with your +Harry, and I simply can't bear it seeing her +every day almost and knowing she's yours and +not mine" (there the analytic demon pricked up +its ears and the scratching of the pen ceased). +"I have fought against this," the letter went on +after a long pause. "You don't know how I've +fought, but it's stronger than I am. I love her—impossibly, +unbearably—the only right and +honourable thing to do is to go away, and I'm +going. My only hope is that she'll never know.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +"Your old friend."<br /> +</div></blockquote> + +<p>As he scrawled the signatory hieroglyphic, his +only hope was that she <i>would</i> know it, and that +the knowledge would leaven, with tenderly pitying +thoughts of him, the heroic figure, her happiness +with Tom, the commonplace.</p> + +<p>He addressed and stamped the envelope; but +he did not close it.</p> + +<p>"I might want to put in another word or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +two," he said to himself. And even then in his +inmost heart he hardly knew that he was going +to her. He knew it when he was driving +towards Chenies Street, and then he told himself +that he was going to bid her good-bye—for ever.</p> + +<p>Angel and devil were so busy shifting the curtain +to and fro that he could not see any scene +clearly.</p> + +<p>He came into her presence pale with his resolution +to be noble, to leave her for ever to happiness—and +Tom. It was difficult though, even +at that supreme moment, to look at her and to +couple those two ideas.</p> + +<p>"I've come to say good-bye," he said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Good-bye?</i>" the dismay in her eyes seemed to +make that unsealed letter leap in his side pocket.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I'm going—circumstances I can't help—I'm +going away for a long time."</p> + +<p>"Is it bad news? Oh—I <i>am</i> sorry. When +are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," he said, even as he decided to +say, "to-night."</p> + +<p>"But you can stay a little now, can't you? +Don't go like this. It's dreadful. I shall miss +you so—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>He fingered the letter.</p> + +<p>"I must go and post a letter; then I'll come +back, if I may. Where did I put that hat of +mine?"</p> + +<p>As she turned to pick up the hat from the +table, he dropped the letter—the heart's blood +written letter—on the floor behind him.</p> + +<p>"I'll be back in a minute or two," he said, +and went out to walk up and down the far end +of Chenies Street and to picture her—alone +with his letter.</p> + +<p>She saw it at the instant when the latch of +her flat clicked behind him. She picked it up, +and mechanically turned it over to look at the +address.</p> + +<p>He, in the street outside, knew just how she +would do it. Then she saw that the letter was +unfastened.</p> + +<p>How often had Tom said that there were to +be no secrets between them! This was <i>his</i> letter. +But it might hold Dick's secrets. But then, +if she knew Dick's secrets she might be able to +help him. He was in trouble—anyone could +see that—awful trouble. She turned the letter +over and over in her hands.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>He, without, walking with half-closed eyes, +felt that she was so turning it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she pulled the letter out and read it. +He, out in the gas-lit night, knew how it would +strike at her pity, her tenderness, her strong love +of all that was generous and noble. He pictured +the scene that must be when he should re-enter +her room, and his heart beat wildly. He held +himself in; he was playing the game now in +deadly earnest. He would give her time to +think of him, to pity him—time even to wonder +whether, after all, duty and honour had not +risen up in their might to forbid him to dare to +try his faith by another sight of her. He waited, +keenly aware that long as the waiting was to him, +who knew what the ending was to be, it must +be far, far longer for her, who did not know.</p> + +<p>At last he went back to her. And the scene +that he had pictured in the night where the east +wind swept the street was acted out now, exactly +as he had foreseen it.</p> + +<p>She held in her hand the open letter. She +came towards him, still holding it.</p> + +<p>"I've read your letter," she said.</p> + +<p>In her heart she was saying, "I must be brave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +Never mind modesty and propriety. Tom could +never love me like this. <i>He's</i> a hero—my +hero."</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed her confession he +seemed to hear almost the very words of her +thought.</p> + +<p>He hung his head and stood before her in the +deep humility of a chidden child.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," he said. "I am ashamed. Forgive +me. I couldn't help it. No one could. +Good-bye. Try to forgive me—"</p> + +<p>He turned to go, but she caught him by the +arms. He had been almost sure she would.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't go," she said. "Oh—I <i>am</i> sorry +for Tom—but it's not the same for him. There +are lots of people he'd like just as well—but +you—"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" he said gently, "don't think of me. +I shall be all right. I shall get over it."</p> + +<p>His sad, set smile assured her that he never +would—never, in this world or the next.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were shining with the stress of the +scene: his with the charm of it.</p> + +<p>"You are so strong, so brave, so good," she +made herself say. "I can't let you go. Oh—don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +you see—I can't let you suffer. You've +suffered so much already—you've been so noble. +Oh—it's better to know now. If I'd found out +later—"</p> + +<p>She hung her head and waited.</p> + +<p>But he would not spare her. Since he had +sold his soul he would have the price: the full +price, to the last blush, the last tear, the last +tremble in the pretty voice.</p> + +<p>"Let me go," he said, and his voice shook with +real passion, "let me go—I can't bear it." He +took her hands gently from his arms and held +them lightly.</p> + +<p>Next moment they were round his neck, and +she was clinging wildly to him.</p> + +<p>"Don't be unhappy! I can't bear it. Don't +you see? Ah—don't you see?"</p> + +<p>Then he allowed himself to let her know that +he did see. When he left her an hour later she +stood in the middle of her room and drew a +long breath.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh!</i>" she cried. "What have I done? +What <i>have</i> I done?"</p> + +<p>He walked away with the maiden fire of her +kisses thrilling his lips. "I've won—I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +won—I've won!" His heart sang within +him.</p> + +<p>But when he woke in the night—these +months had taught him the habit of waking +in the night and facing his soul—he said—</p> + +<p>"It was very easy, after all—very, very easy. +And was it worth while?"</p> + +<p>But the next evening, when they met, neither +tasted in the other's kisses the bitterness of last +night's regrets. And in three days Tom was to +come home. He came. All the long way in the +rattling, shaking train a song of delight sang +itself over and over in his brain. He, too, had +his visions: he was not too commonplace for +those. He saw her, her bright beauty transfigured +by the joy of reunion, rushing to meet +him with eager hands and gladly given lips. He +thought of all he had to tell her. The fifty +pounds saved already. The Editor's probable +resignation, his own almost certain promotion, +the incredibly dear possibility of their marriage +before another year had passed. It seemed a +month before he pressed the electric button at +her door, and pressed it with a hand that trembled +for joy.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>The door opened and she met him, but this +was not the radiant figure of his vision. It +seemed to be not she, but an image of her—an +image without life, without colour.</p> + +<p>"Come in," she said; "I've something to tell +you."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked bluntly. "What's +happened, Harry? What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I've found out," she said slowly, but without +hesitation: had she not rehearsed the speech +a thousand times in these three days? "I've +found out that it was a mistake, Tom. I—I +love somebody else. Don't ask who it is. I +love him. Ah—<i>don't!</i>"</p> + +<p>For his face had turned a leaden white, and +he was groping blindly for something to hold +on to.</p> + +<p>He sat down heavily on the chair where Dick +had knelt at her feet the night before. But +now it was she who was kneeling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>don't</i>, Tom, dear—don't. I can't bear +it. I'm not worth it. He's so brave and noble—and +he loves me so."</p> + +<p>"And don't <i>I</i> love you?" said poor Tom, and +then without ado or disguise he burst into tears.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had ceased to think or to reason. Her +head was on his shoulder, and they clung blindly +to each other and cried like two children.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Tom went to the Temple that night +he carried a note from Harry to Dick. With +sublime audacity and a confidence deserved she +made Tom her messenger.</p> + +<p>"It's a little secret," she said, smiling at him, +"and you're not to know."</p> + +<p>Tom thought it must be something about a +Christmas present for himself. He laughed—a +little shakily—and took the note.</p> + +<p>Dick read it and crushed it in his hand while +Tom poured out his full heart.</p> + +<p>"There's been some nonsense while I was +away," he said; "she must have been dull and +unhinged—you left her too much alone, old +man. But it's all right now. She couldn't +care for anyone but me, after all, and she knew +it directly she saw me again. And we're to be +married before next year's out, if luck holds."</p> + +<p>"Here's luck, old man!" said Dick, lifting +his whisky. When Tom had gone to bed, +weary with the quick sequence of joy and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +misery and returning joy, Dick read the letter +again.</p> + +<p>"I can't do it," said the letter, "it's not in +me. He loves me too much. And I <i>am</i> fond +of him. He couldn't bear it. He's weak, you +see. He's not like you—brave and strong and +noble. But I shall always be better because +you've loved me. I'm going to try to be brave +and noble and strong like you. And you must +help me, Dear. God bless you. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"After all," said Dick, as he watched the +white letter turn in the fire to black, gold +spangled, "after all, it was not so easy. And +oh, how it would have been worth while!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>MISS EDEN'S BABY</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>MISS EDEN'S life-history was a sad one. +She told it to her employer before she had +been a week at the Beeches. Mrs. Despard came +into the school-room and surprised the governess +in tears. No one could ever resist Mrs. Despard—I +suppose she has had more confidences than +any woman in Sussex. Anyhow, Miss Eden +dried her tears and faltered out her poor little +story.</div> + +<p>She had been engaged to be married—Mrs. +Despard's was a face trained to serve and not to +betray its owner, so she did not look astonished, +though Miss Eden was so very homely, poor +thing, that the idea of a lover seemed almost +ludicrous—she had been engaged to be married: +and her lover had been killed at Elendslaagte, +and her father had died of heart disease—an +attack brought on by the shock of the +news, and his partner had gone off with all his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +money, and now she had to go out as a governess: +her mother and sister were living quietly +on the mother's little fortune. There was +enough for two but not enough for three. So +Miss Eden had gone governessing.</p> + +<p>"But you needn't pity me for that," she said, +when Mrs. Despard said something kind, "because, +really, it's better for me. If I were at +home doing nothing I should just sit and think +of <i>him</i>—for hours and hours at a time. He +was so brave and strong and good—he died +cheering his men on and waving his sword, +and he did love me so. We were to have been +married in August."</p> + +<p>She was weeping again, more violently than +before; Mrs. Despard comforted her—there is +no one who comforts so well—and the governess +poured out her heart. When the dressing-bell +rang Miss Eden pulled herself together with +a manifest effort.</p> + +<p>"I've been awfully weak and foolish," she said, +"and you've been most kind. Please forgive +me—and—and I think I'd rather not speak of +it any more—ever. It's been a relief, just this +once—but I'm going to be brave. Thank you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +thank you for all your goodness to me. I shall +never forget it."</p> + +<p>And now Miss Eden went about her duties +with a courageous smile, and Mrs. Despard could +not but see and pity the sad heart beneath the +bravely assumed armour. Miss Eden was fairly +well educated, and she certainly was an excellent +teacher. The children made good progress. She +worshipped Mrs. Despard—but then every one +did that—and she made herself pleasures of the +little things she was able to do for her—mending +linen, arranging flowers, running errands, and +nursing the Baby. She adored the Baby. She +used to walk by herself in the Sussex lanes, for +Mrs. Despard often set her free for two or three +hours at a time, and more than once the mother +and children, turning some leafy corner in their +blackberrying or nutting expeditions, came upon +Miss Eden walking along with a far-away look +in her eyes, and a face set in a mask of steadfast +endurance. She would sit sewing on the +lawn with Mabel and Gracie playing about +her, answering their ceaseless chatter with a +patient smile. To Mrs. Despard she was a +pathetic figure. Mr. Despard loathed her, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +then he never liked women unless they were +pretty.</p> + +<p>"I ought to be used to your queer pets by +now," he said; "but really this one is almost +too much. Upon my soul, she's the ugliest +woman I've ever seen."</p> + +<p>She certainty was not handsome. Her eyes +were fairly good, but mouth and nose were +clumsy, and hers was one of those faces that +seem to have no definite outline. Her complexion +was dull and unequal. Her hair was +straight and coarse, and somehow it always +looked dusty. Her figure was her only good +point, and, as Mr. Despard observed, "If a figure +without a face is any good, why not have a +dressmaker's dummy, and have done with it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Despard was very glad when he heard +that a little legacy had come from an uncle, and +that Miss Eden was going to give up governessing +and live with her people.</p> + +<p>Miss Eden left in floods of tears, and she +clung almost frantically to Mrs. Despard.</p> + +<p>"You have been so good to me," she said. "I +may write to you, mayn't I? and come and see +you sometimes? You will let me, won't you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tears choked her, and she was driven off in +the station fly. And a new governess, young, +commonplacely pretty, and entirely heart-whole, +came to take her place, to the open relief of Mr. +Despard, and the little less pronounced satisfaction +of the little girls.</p> + +<p>"She'll write to you by every post now, I suppose," +said Mr. Despard when the conventional +letter of thanks for kindness came to his wife. +But Miss Eden did not write again till Christmas. +Then she wrote to ask Mrs. Despard's +advice. There was a gentleman, a retired tea-broker, +in a very good position. She liked him—did +Mrs. Despard think it would be fair to +marry him when her heart was buried for ever +in that grave at Elendslaagte?</p> + +<p>"But I don't want to be selfish, and poor Mr. +Cave is so devoted. My dear mother thinks he +would never be the same again if I refused him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Despard read the letter, and told his wife +to tell the girl to take the tea-broker, for goodness' +sake, and be thankful. She'd never get +such another chance. His wife told him not to +be coarse, and wrote a gentle, motherly letter +to Miss Eden.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>On New Year's Day came a beautiful and +very expensive handkerchief-sachet for Mrs. Despard, +and the news that Miss Eden was engaged. +"And already," she wrote, "I feel that I can +really become attached to Edward. He is goodness +itself. Of course, it is not like the other. +That only comes once in a woman's life, but +I believe I shall really be happy in a quiet, +humdrum way."</p> + +<p>After that, news of Miss Eden came thick and +fast. Edward was building a house for her. +Edward had bought her a pony-carriage. Edward +had to call his house No. 70, Queen's Road—a +new Town Council resolution—and it +wasn't in a street at all, but quite in the country, +only there was going to be a road there some +day. And she had so wanted to call it the +Beeches, after dear Mrs. Despard's house, where +she had been so happy. The wedding-day was +fixed, and would Mrs. Despard come to the +wedding? Miss Eden knew it was a good deal +to ask; but if she only would!</p> + +<p>"It would add more than you can possibly +guess to my happiness," she said, "if you could +come. There is plenty of room in my mother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +little house. It is small, but very convenient, +and it has such a lovely old garden, so unusual, +you know, in the middle of a town; and if only +dear Mabel and Gracie might be among my +little bridesmaids! The dresses are to be half-transparent +white silk over rose colour. Dear +Edward's father insists on ordering them himself +from Liberty's. The other bridesmaids will +be Edward's little nieces—such sweet children. +Mother is giving me the loveliest trousseau. Of +course, I shall make it up to her; but she will +do it, and I give way, just to please her. It's +not pretentious, you know, but everything so +<i>good</i>. Real lace on all the under things, and +twelve of everything, and—"</p> + +<p>The letter wandered on into a maze of <i>lingerie</i> +and millinery and silk petticoats.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Despard were still debating the +question of the bridesmaids whose dresses were +to come from Liberty's when a telegraph boy +crossed the lawn.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard tore open the envelope.</p> + +<p>"Oh—how frightfully sad!" she said. "I +<i>am</i> sorry! 'Edward's father dangerously ill. +Wedding postponed.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next letter was black-edged, and was not +signed "Eden." Edward's father had insisted +on the marriage taking place before he died—it +had, in fact, been performed by his bedside. +It had been a sad time, but Mrs. Edward was +very happy now.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"My husband is so good to me, his thoughtful +kindness is beyond belief," she wrote. "He +anticipates my every wish. I should be indeed +ungrateful if I did not love him dearly. Dear +Mrs. Despard, this gentle domestic love is very +beautiful. I hope I am not treacherous to my +dead in being as happy as I am with Edward. +Ah! I hear the gate click—I must run and +meet him. He says it is not like coming home +unless my face is the first he sees when he comes +in. Good-bye. A thousand thanks for ever for +all your goodness.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +"Your grateful Ella Cave."<br /> +</div></blockquote> + +<p>"Either their carriage drive is unusually long, +or her face was <i>not</i> the first," said Mr. Despard. +"Why didn't she go and meet the man, and not +stop to write all that rot?"</p> + +<p>"Don't, Bill," said his wife. "You were always +so unjust to that girl."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Girl!" said Mr. Despard.</p> + +<p>And now the letters were full of detail: the +late Miss Eden wrote a good hand, and expressed +herself with clearness. Her letters were a pleasure +to Mrs. Despard.</p> + +<p>"Poor dear!" she said. "It really rejoices my +heart to think of her being so happy. She describes +things very well. I almost feel as though +I knew every room in her house; it must be very +pretty with all those Liberty muslin blinds, and +the Persian rugs, and the chair-backs Edward's +grandmother worked—and then the beautiful +garden. I think I must go to see it all. I do +love to see people happy."</p> + +<p>"You generally do see them happy," said her +husband; "it's a way people have when they're +near you. Go and see her, by all means."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Despard would have gone, but a +letter, bearing the same date as her own, crossed +it in the post; it must have been delayed, for it +reached her on the day when she expected an +answer to her own letter, offering a visit. But +the late Miss Eden had evidently not received +this, for her letter was a mere wail of anguish.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Edward is ill—typhoid. I am distracted. +Write to me when you can. The very thought +of you comforts me."</p> + +<p>"Poor thing," said Mrs. Despard, "I really +did think she was going to be happy."</p> + +<p>Her sympathetic interest followed Edward +through all the stages of illness and convalescence, +as chronicled by his wife's unwearying +pen.</p> + +<p>Then came the news of the need of a miniature +trousseau, and the letters breathed of +head-flannels, robes, and the charm of tiny embroidered +caps. "They were Edward's when +he was a baby—the daintiest embroidery and +thread lace. The christening cap is Honiton. +They are a little yellow with time, of course, +but I am bleaching them on the sweet-brier +hedge. I can see the white patches on the +green as I write. They look like some strange +sort of flowers, and they make me dream of +the beautiful future."</p> + +<p>In due season Baby was born and christened; +and then Miss Eden, that was, wrote to ask if +she might come to the Beeches, and bring the +darling little one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard was delighted. She loved +babies. It was a beautiful baby—beautifully +dressed, and it rested contentedly in the arms +of a beautifully dressed lady, whose happy face +Mrs. Despard could hardly reconcile with her +recollections of Miss Eden. The young mother's +happiness radiated from her, and glorified her +lips and eyes. Even Mr. Despard owned, when +the pair had gone, that marriage and motherhood +had incredibly improved Miss Eden.</p> + +<p>And now, the sudden departure of a brother +for the other side of the world took Mrs. +Despard to Southampton, whence his boat +sailed, and where lived the happy wife and +mother, who had been Miss Eden.</p> + +<p>When the tears of parting were shed, and the +last waving handkerchief from the steamer's +deck had dwindled to a sharp point of light, +and from a sharp point of light to an invisible +point of parting and sorrow, Mrs. Despard +dried her pretty eyes, and thought of trains. +There was no convenient one for an hour or +two.</p> + +<p>"I'll go and see Ella Cave," said she, and +went in a hired carriage. "No. 70, Queen's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +Road," she said. "I think it's somewhere outside +the town."</p> + +<p>"Not it," said the driver, and presently set +her down in a horrid little street, at a horrid +little shop, where they sold tobacco and sweets +and newspapers and walking-sticks.</p> + +<p>"This can't be it! There must be some +other Queen's Road?" said Mrs. Despard.</p> + +<p>"No there ain't," said the man. "What +name did yer want?"</p> + +<p>"Cave," said Mrs. Despard absently; "Mrs. +Edward Cave."</p> + +<p>The man went into the shop. Presently he +returned.</p> + +<p>"She don't live here," he said; "she only +calls here for letters."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard assured herself of this in a +brief interview with a frowsy woman across a +glass-topped show-box of silk-embroidered cigar-cases.</p> + +<p>"The young person calls every day, mum," +she said; "quite a respectable young person, +mum, I should say—if she was after your +situation."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Mrs. Despard mechanically,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +yet with her own smile—the smile that +still stamps her in the frowsy woman's memory +as "that pleasant-spoken lady."</p> + +<p>She paused a moment on the dirty pavement, +and then gave the cabman the address of the +mother and sister, the address of the little +house—small, but very convenient—and with +a garden—such a lovely old garden—and so +unusual in the middle of a town.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped at a large, sparkling, plate-glassy +shop—a very high-class fruiterer's and +greengrocer's.</p> + +<p>The name on the elaborately gilded facia +was, beyond any doubt, Eden—Frederick +Eden.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard got out and walked into the +shop. To this hour the scent of Tangerine +oranges brings to her a strange, sick, helpless +feeling of disillusionment.</p> + +<p>A stout well-oiled woman, in a very tight +puce velveteen bodice with bright buttons and +a large yellow lace collar, fastened with a blue +enamel brooch, leaned forward interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Cave?" said Mrs. Despard.</p> + +<p>"Don't know the name, madam."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wasn't that the name of the gentleman +Miss Eden married?"</p> + +<p>"It seems to me you're making a mistake, +madam. Excuse me, but might I ask your +name?"</p> + +<p>"I'm Mrs. Despard. Miss Eden lived with +me as governess."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes"—the puce velvet seemed to soften—"very +pleased to see you, I'm sure! Come +inside, madam. Ellen's just run round to the +fishmonger's. I'm not enjoying very good +health just now"—the glance was intolerably +confidential—"and I thought I could fancy a +bit of filleted plaice for my supper, or a nice +whiting. Come inside, do!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard, stunned, could think of no +course save that suggested. She followed Mrs. +Eden into the impossible parlour that bounded +the shop on the north.</p> + +<p>"Do sit down," said Mrs. Eden hospitably, +"and the girl shall get you a cup of tea. It's +full early, but a cup of tea's always welcome, +early or late, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Despard, automatically. +Then she roused herself and added, "But please<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +don't trouble, I can't stay more than a few +minutes. I hope Miss Eden is well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—she's all right. She lives in +clover, as you might say, since her uncle on the +mother's side left her that hundred a year. +Made it all in fried fish, too. I should have +thought it a risk myself, but you never +know."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard was struggling with a sensation +as of sawdust in the throat—sawdust, and a +great deal of it, and very dry.</p> + +<p>"But I heard that Miss Eden was married—"</p> + +<p>"Not she!" said Mrs. Eden, with the natural +contempt of one who was.</p> + +<p>"I understood that she had married a Mr. +Cave."</p> + +<p>"It's some other Eden, then. There isn't a +Cave in the town, so far as I know, except Mr. +Augustus; he's a solicitor and Commissioner for +Oaths, a very good business, and of course he'd +never look the same side of the road as she was, +nor she couldn't expect it."</p> + +<p>"But really," Mrs. Despard persisted, "I do +think there must be some mistake. Because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +she came to see me—and—and she brought her +baby."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Eden laughed outright.</p> + +<p>"Her baby? Oh, really! But she's never so +much as had a young man after her, let alone a +husband. It's not what she could look for, +either, for she's no beauty—poor girl!"</p> + +<p>Yet the Baby was evidence—of a sort. Mrs. +Despard hated herself for hinting that perhaps +Mrs. Eden did not know everything.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean, madam." +The puce bodice was visibly moved. "That was +<i>my</i> baby, bless his little heart. Poor Ellen's a +respectable girl—she's been with me since she +was a little trot of six—all except the eleven +months she was away with you—and then my +Fred see her to the door, and fetched her from +your station. She <i>would</i> go—though not <i>our</i> +wish. I suppose she wanted a change. But since +then she's never been over an hour away, except +when she took my Gustavus over to see you. +She must have told you whose he was—but I +suppose you weren't paying attention. And I +must say I don't think it's becoming in you, if +you'll excuse me saying so, to come here taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +away a young girl's character. At least, if she's +not so young as she was, of course—we none +of us are, not even yourself, madam, if you'll +pardon me saying so."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Despard. She +had never felt so helpless—so silly. The +absurd parlour, ponderous with plush, dusky +with double curtains, had for her all the effect of +a nightmare.</p> + +<p>She felt that she was swimming blindly in a +sea of disenchantment.</p> + +<p>"Don't think me inquisitive," she said, "but +Miss Eden was engaged, wasn't she, some time +ago, to someone who was killed in South +Africa?"</p> + +<p>"Never—in all her born days," said Mrs. +Eden, with emphasis. "I suppose it's her looks. +I've had a good many offers myself, though I'm +not what you might call anything out of the +way—but poor Ellen—never had so much as a +nibble."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard gasped. She clung against +reason to the one spar of hope in this sea of +faiths dissolved. It might be—it must be—some +mistake!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You see, poor Ellen"—Mrs. Eden made as +much haste to smash up the spar as though she +had seen it—"poor Ellen, when her mother and +father died she was but six. There was only +her and my Fred, so naturally we took her, and +what little money the old lady left we spent on +her, sending her to a good school, and never +counting the bit of clothes and victuals. She +was always for learning something, and above +her station, and the Rev. Mrs. Peterson at St. +Michael, and All Angels—she made a sort of +pet of Ellen, and set her up, more than a bit."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard remembered that Mrs. Peterson +had been Miss Eden's reference.</p> + +<p>"And then she <i>would</i> come to you—though +welcome to share along with us, and you can see +for yourself it's a good business—and when that +little bit was left her, of course, she'd no need to +work, so she came home here, and I must say +she's always been as handy a girl and obliging as +you could wish, but wandering, too, in her +thoughts. Always pens and ink. I shouldn't +wonder but what she wrote poetry. Yards and +yards of writing she does. I don't know what +she does with it all."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Mrs. Despard knew.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Eden talked on gaily and gladly—till +not even a straw was left for her hearer to cling +to.</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much," she said. "I see +it was all a mistake. I must have been wrong +about the address." She spoke hurriedly—for +she had heard in the shop a step that she knew.</p> + +<p>For one moment a white face peered in at the +glass door—then vanished; it was Miss Eden's +face—her face as it had been when she told of +her lost lover who died waving his sword at +Elendslaagte! But the telling of that tale had +moved Mrs. Despard to no such passion of pity +as this. For from that face now something was +blotted out, and the lack of it was piteous +beyond thought.</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. I am so sorry to +have troubled you," she said, and somehow got +out of the plush parlour, and through the shop, +fruit-filled, orange-scented.</p> + +<p>At the station there was still time, and too +much time. The bookstall yielded pencil, paper, +envelope, and stamp. She wrote—</p> + +<p>"Ella, dear, whatever happens, I am always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +your friend. Let me know—can I do anything +for you? I know all about everything now. +But don't think I'm angry—I am only so sorry +for you, dear—so very, very sorry. Do let me +help you."</p> + +<p>She addressed the letter to Miss Eden at the +greengrocer's. Afterwards she thought that she +had better have left it alone. It could do no +good, and it might mean trouble with her sister-in-law, +for Miss Eden, late Mrs. Cave, the happy +wife and mother. She need not have troubled +herself—for the letter came back a week later +with a note from Mrs. Eden of the bursting, +bright-buttoned, velvet bodice. Ellen had gone +away—no one knew where she had gone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Despard will always reproach herself +for not having rushed towards the white face +that peered through the glass door. She could +have done something—anything. So she thinks, +but I am not sure.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"And it was none of it true, Bill," she said +piteously, when, Mabel and Gracie safely tucked +up in bed, she told him all about it. "I don't +know how she could. No dead lover—no retired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +tea-broker—no pretty house, and sweet-brier +hedge with ... and no Baby."</p> + +<p>"She was a lying lunatic," said Bill. "I never +liked her. Hark! what's that? All right, Love-a-duck—daddy's +here!"</p> + +<p>He went up the stairs three at a time to catch +up his baby, who had a way of wandering, with +half-awake wailings, out of her crib in the small +hours.</p> + +<p>"All right, Kiddie-winks, daddy's got you," he +murmured, coming back into the drawing-room +with the little soft, warm, flannelly bundle cuddled +close to him.</p> + +<p>"She's asleep again already," he said, settling +her comfortably in his arms. "Don't worry any +more about that Eden girl, Molly—she's not +worth it."</p> + +<p>His wife knelt beside him and buried her face +against his waistcoat and against the little flannel +night-gown.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bill," she said, and her voice was thick +with tears, "don't say things like that. Don't +you see? It was cruel, cruel! She was all +alone—no mother, no sister, no lover. She was +made so that no one could ever love her. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +she wanted love so much—so frightfully much, +so that she just <i>had</i> to pretend that she had it."</p> + +<p>"And what about the Baby?" asked Mr. +Despard, taking one arm from his own baby +to pass it round his wife's shoulders. "Don't +be a darling idiot, Molly. What about the +Baby?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—don't you see?" Mrs. Despard was +sobbing now in good earnest. "She wanted the +Baby more than anything else. Oh—don't say +horrid things about her, Bill! We've got everything—and +she'd got nothing at all—don't say +things—don't!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Despard said nothing. He thumped his +wife sympathetically on the back. It was the +baby who spoke.</p> + +<p>"Want mammy," she said sleepily, and at the +transfer remembered her father, "and daddy +too," she added politely.</p> + +<p>Miss Eden was somewhere or other. Wherever +she was she was alone.</p> + +<p>And these three were together.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you're right about that girl," said +Mr. Despard. "Poor wretch! By Jove, she was +ugly!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE LOVER, THE GIRL, AND THE ONLOOKER</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>The two were alone in the grassy courtyard +of the ruined castle. The rest of the picnic +party had wandered away from them, or they +from it. Out of the green-grown mound of +fallen masonry by the corner of the chapel a +great may-bush grew, silvered and pearled on +every scented, still spray. The sky was deep, +clear, strong blue above, and against the blue, +the wallflowers shone bravely from the cracks +and crevices of ruined arch and wall and buttress.</div> + +<p>"They shine like gold," she said. "I wish +one could get at them!"</p> + +<p>"Do you want some?" he said, and on the +instant his hand had found a strong jutting +stone, his foot a firm ledge—and she saw his +figure, grey flannel against grey stone, go up the +wall towards the yellow flowers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't!" she cried. "I don't <i>really</i> want +them—please not—I wish—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she stopped, because he was already +some twelve feet from the ground, and she +knew that one should not speak to a man who +is climbing ruined walls. So she clasped her +hands and waited, and her heart seemed to go +out like a candle in the wind, and to leave only +a dark, empty, sickening space where, a moment +before, it had beat in anxious joy. For she +loved him, had loved him these two years, had +loved him since the day of their first meeting. +And that was just as long as he had loved her. +But he had never told his love. There is a code +of honour, right or wrong, and it forbids a man +with an income of a hundred and fifty a year to +speak of love to a girl who is reckoned an heiress. +There are plenty who transgress the code, but +they are in all the other stories. He drove his +passion on the curb, and mastered it. Yet the +questions—Does she love me? Does she know +I love her? Does she wonder why I don't +speak? and the counter-questions—Will she +think I don't care? Doesn't she perhaps care +at all? Will she marry someone else before +I've earned the right to try to make her love +me? afforded a see-saw of reflection, agonising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +enough, for those small hours of wakefulness +when we let our emotions play the primitive +games with us. But always the morning +brought strength to keep to his resolution. +He saw her three times a year, when Christmas, +Easter, and Midsummer brought her to +stay with an aunt, brought him home to his +people for holidays. And though he had denied +himself the joy of speaking in words, he +had let his eyes speak more than he knew. And +now he had reached the wallflowers high up, +and was plucking them and throwing them +down so that they fell in a wavering bright +shower round her feet. She did not pick them +up. Her eyes were on him; and the empty +place where her heart used to be seemed to +swell till it almost choked her.</p> + +<p>He was coming down now. He was only +about twenty-five feet from the ground. There +was no sound at all but the grating of his feet +as he set them on the stones, and the movement, +now and then, of a bird in the ivy. Then came +a rustle, a gritty clatter, loud falling stones: his +foot had slipped, and he had fallen. No—he +was hanging by his hands above the great refectory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +arch, and his body swung heavily with +the impetus of the checked fall. He was moving +along now, slowly—hanging by his hands; now +he grasped an ivy root—another—and pulled +himself up till his knee was on the moulding of +the arch. She would never have believed anyone +who had told her that only two minutes had +been lived between the moment of his stumble +and the other moment when his foot touched +the grass and he came towards her among the +fallen wallflowers. She was a very nice girl +and not at all forward, and I cannot understand +or excuse her conduct. She made two steps +towards him with her hands held out—caught +him by the arms just above the elbow—shook +him angrily, as one shakes a naughty child—looked +him once in the eyes and buried her face +in his neck—sobbing long, dry, breathless sobs.</p> + +<p>Even then he tried to be strong.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" he said tenderly, "don't worry. It's +all right—I was a fool. Pull yourself together—there's +someone coming."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," she said, for the touch of his +cheek, pressed against her hair, told her all that +she wanted to know. "Let them come, I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +care! Oh, how could you be so silly and horrid? +Oh, thank God, thank God! Oh, how could +you?"</p> + +<p>Of course, a really honourable young man +would have got out of the situation somehow. +He didn't. He accepted it, with his arms round +her and his lips against the face where the tears +now ran warm and salt. It was one of the +immortal moments.</p> + +<p>The picture was charming, too—a picture to +wring the heart of the onlooker with envy, or +sympathy, according to his nature. But there +was only one onlooker, a man of forty, or +thereabouts, who paused for an instant under +the great gate of the castle and took in the full +charm and meaning of the scene. He turned +away, and went back along the green path +with hell in his heart. The other two were +in Paradise. The Onlooker fell like the third +in Eden—the serpent, in fact. Two miles +away he stopped and lit a pipe.</p> + +<p>"It's got to be borne, I suppose," he said, +"like all the rest of it. <i>She's</i> happy enough. +I ought to be glad. Anyway, I can't stop it." +Perhaps he swore a little. If he did, the less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +precise and devotional may pardon him. He +had loved the Girl since her early teens, and it +was only yesterday's post that had brought him +the appointment that one might marry on. The +appointment had come through her father, for +whom the Onlooker had fagged at Eton. He +went back to London, hell burning briskly. +Moral maxims and ethereal ideas notwithstanding, +it was impossible for him to be glad that +she was happy—like that.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The Lover who came to his love over strewn +wallflowers desired always, as has been seen, to +act up to his moral ideas. So he took next day +a much earlier train than was at all pleasant, +and called on her father to explain his position +and set forth his prospects. His coming was +heralded by a letter from her. One must not +quote it—it is not proper to read other people's +letters, especially letters to a trusted father, from +a child, only and adored. Its effect may be indicated +briefly. It showed the father that the +Girl's happiness had had two long years in +which to learn to grow round the thought of +the young man, whom he now faced for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +first time. Odd, for to the father he seemed +just like other young men. It seemed to him +that there were so many more of the same +pattern from whom she might have chosen. +And many of them well off, too. However, the +letter lay in the prosperous pocket-book in the +breast of the father's frock-coat, and the Lover +was received as though that letter were a charm +to ensure success. A faulty, or at least a slow-working, +charm, however, for the father did not +lift a bag of gold from his safe and say: "Take +her, take this also—be happy"—he only consented +to a provisional engagement, took an +earnest interest in the young man's affairs, and +offered to make his daughter an annual allowance +on her marriage.</p> + +<p>"At my death she will have more," he said, +"for, of course, I have insured my life. You, +of course, will insure yours."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will," the Lover echoed warmly; +"does it matter what office?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, any good office—the Influential, if you +like. I'm a director, you know."</p> + +<p>The young man made a reverent note of the +name, and the interview seemed played out.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a complicated nuisance," the father +mused; "it isn't even as if I knew anything +of the chap. I oughtn't to have allowed the +child to make these long visits to her aunt. Or +I ought to have gone with her. But I never +could stand my sister Fanny. Well, well," and +he went back to his work with the plain unvarnished +heartache of the anxious father—not +romantic and pretty like the lover's pangs, but +as uncomfortable as toothache, all the same.</p> + +<p>He had another caller that afternoon; he +whom we know as the Onlooker came to thank +him for the influence that had got him the +appointment as doctor to the Influential Insurance +Company.</p> + +<p>The father opened his heart to the Onlooker—and +the Onlooker had to bear it. It was an +hour full of poignant sentiments. The only +definite thought that came to the Onlooker was +this—"I must hold my tongue. I must hold +my tongue." He held it.</p> + +<p>Three days later he took up his new work. +And the very first man who came to him for +medical examination was the man in whose +arms he had seen the girl he loved.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Onlooker asked the first needful questions +automatically. To himself he was saying: "The +situation is dramatically good; but I don't see +how to develop the action. It really is rather +amusing that I—<i>I</i> should have to tap his +beastly chest, and listen to his cursed lungs, and +ask sympathetic questions about his idiotic infant +illnesses—one thing, he ought to be able +to remember those pretty vividly—the confounded +pup."</p> + +<p>The Onlooker had never done anything wronger +than you have done, my good reader, and he +never expected to meet a giant temptation, any +more than you do. A man may go all his days +and never meet Apollyon. On the other hand, +Apollyon may be waiting for one round the +corner of the next street. The devil was waiting +for the Onlooker in the answers to his +careless questions—"Father alive? No? What +did he die of?" For the answer was "Heart," +and in it the devil rose and showed the Onlooker +the really only true and artistic way to develop +the action in this situation, so dramatic in its possibilities. +The illuminative flash of temptation +was so sudden, so brilliant, that the Doctor-Onlooker<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +closed his soul's eyes and yielded without +even the least pretence of resistance.</p> + +<p>He took his stethoscope from the table, and +he felt as though he had picked up a knife to +stab the other man in the back. As, in fact, +he had.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, the stabbed man was reeling +from the Onlooker's consulting room. Mind +and soul reeled, that is, but his body was stiffer +and straighter than usual. He walked with +more than his ordinary firmness of gait, as a +man does who is just drunk enough to know +that he must try to look sober.</p> + +<p>He walked down the street, certain words +ringing in his ears—"Heart affected—probably +hereditary weakness. No office in the world +would insure you."</p> + +<p>And so it was all over—the dreams, the +hopes, the palpitating faith in a beautiful future. +His days might be long, they might be brief; +but be his life long or short, he must live it +alone. He had a little fight with himself as +he went down Wimpole Street; then he hailed +a hansom, and went and told her father, who +quite agreed with him that it was all over.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +The father wondered at himself for being more +sorry than glad.</p> + +<p>Then the Lover went and told the Girl. He +had told the father first to insure himself against +any chance of yielding to what he knew the Girl +would say. She said it, of course, with her +dear arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"I won't give you up just because you're ill," +she said; "why, you want me more than ever!"</p> + +<p>"But I may die at any moment."</p> + +<p>"So may I! And you may live to be a hundred—I'll +take my chance. Oh, don't you see, +too, that if there <i>is</i> only a little time we ought +to spend it together?"</p> + +<p>"It's impossible," he said, "it's no good. I +must set my teeth and bear it. And you—I +hope it won't be as hard for you as it will for +me."</p> + +<p>"But you <i>can't</i> give me up if I won't <i>be</i> given +up, can you?"</p> + +<p>His smile struck her dumb. It was more +convincing than his words.</p> + +<p>"But why?" she said presently. "Why—why—<i>why?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Because I won't; because it's wrong. My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +father ought never to have married. He had +no right to bring me into the world to suffer +like this. It's a crime. And I'll not be a +criminal. Not even for you—not even for you. +You'll forgive me—won't you? I didn't know—and—oh, +what's the use of talking?"</p> + +<p>Yet they talked for hours. Conventionally he +should have torn himself away, unable to bear +the strain of his agony. As a matter of fact, he +sat by her holding her hand. It was for the last +time—the last, last time. There was really a +third at that interview. The Onlooker had +imagination enough to see the scene between the +parting lovers.</p> + +<p>They parted.</p> + +<p>And now the Onlooker dared not meet her—dared +not call at the house as he had used to do. +At last—the father pressed him—he went. +He met her. And it was as though he had met +the ghost of her whom he had loved. Her eyes +had blue marks under them, her chin had grown +more pointed, her nose sharper. There was a +new line on her forehead, and her eyes had +changed.</p> + +<p>Over the wine he heard from the father that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +she was pining for the Lover who had inherited +heart disease.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it was you who saw him, by the +way," said he, "a tall, well-set-up young fellow—dark—not +bad looking."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't remember," lied the Onlooker, +with the eyes of his memory on the white face +of the man he had stabbed.</p> + +<p>Now the Lover and the Onlooker had each his +own burden to bear. And the Lover's was the +easier. He worked still, though there was now +nothing to work for more; he worked as he had +never worked in his life, because he knew that if +he did not take to work he should take to drink +or worse devils, and he set his teeth and swore +that her Lover should not be degraded. He +knew that she loved him, and there was a kind +of fierce pain-pleasure—like that of scratching a +sore—in the thought that she was as wretched +as he was, that, divided in all else, they were yet +united in their suffering. He thought it made +him more miserable to know of her misery. But +it didn't. He never saw her, but he dreamed of +her, and sometimes the dreams got out of hand, +and carried him a thousand worlds from all that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +lay between them. Then he had to wake up. +And that was bad.</p> + +<p>But the Onlooker was no dreamer, and he saw +her about three times a week. He saw how the +light of life that his lying lips had blown out +was not to be rekindled by his or any man's +breath. He saw her slenderness turn to thinness, +the pure, healthy pallor of her rounded cheek +change to a sickly white, covering a clear-cut +mask of set endurance. And there was no work +that could shut out that sight—no temptation +of the world, the flesh, or the devil to give him +even the relief of a fight. He had no temptations; +he had never had but the one. His soul +was naked to the bitter wind of the actual; and +the days went by, went by, and every day he +knew more and more surely that he had lied and +thrown away his soul, and that the wages of sin +were death, and no other thing whatever. And +gradually, little by little, the whole worth of life +seemed to lie in the faint, far chance of his being +able to undo the one triumphantly impulsive and +unreasoning action of his life.</p> + +<p>But there are some acts that there is no undoing. +And the hell that had burned in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +heart so fiercely when he had seen her in the +other man's arms burned now with new bright +lights and infernal flickering flame tongues.</p> + +<p>And at last, out of hell, the Onlooker reached +out his hands and caught at prayer. He caught +at it as a drowning man catches at a white gleam +in the black of the surging sea about him—it +may be a painted spar, it may be empty foam. +The Onlooker prayed.</p> + +<p>And that very evening he ran up against the +Lover at the Temple Station, and he got into the +same carriage with him.</p> + +<p>He said, "Excuse me. You don't remember +me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not likely to have forgotten you," said +the Lover.</p> + +<p>"I fear my verdict was a great blow. You +look very worried, very ill. News like that is a +great shock."</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> a little unsettling," said the Lover.</p> + +<p>"Are you still going on with your usual work?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Speaking professionally, I think you are +wrong. You lessen your chances of life! Why +don't you try a complete change?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because—if you must know, my chances of +life have ceased to interest me."</p> + +<p>The Lover was short with the Onlooker; but +he persisted.</p> + +<p>"Well, if one isn't interested in one's life, one +may be interested in one's death—or the manner +of it. In your place, I should enlist. It's better +to die of a bullet in South Africa than of fright +in London."</p> + +<p>That roused the Lover, as it was meant to do.</p> + +<p>"I don't really know what business it is of +yours, sir," he said; "but it's your business to +know that they wouldn't pass a man with a +heart like mine."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. They're not so particular +just now. They want men. I should try it if +I were you. If you don't have a complete +change you'll go all to pieces. That's all."</p> + +<p>The Onlooker got out at the next station. +Short of owning to his own lie, he had done +what he could to insure its being found out for +the lie it was—or, at least, for a mistake. +And when he had done what he could, he saw +that the Lover might not find it out—might be +passed for the Army—might go to the Front—might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +be killed—and then—"Well, I've +done my best, anyhow," he said to himself—and +himself answered him: "Liar—you have +<i>not</i> done your best! You will have to eat your +lie. Yes—though it will smash your life and +ruin you socially and professionally. You will +have to tell him you lied—and tell him why. +You will never let him go to South Africa without +telling him the truth—and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Well—you know best, I suppose," he said +to himself.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"But are you perfectly certain?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. I tell you, man, you're sound's +a bell, and a fine fathom of a young man ye are, +too. Certain? Losh, man—ye can call in the +whole College of Physeecians in consultation, an' +I'll wager me professional reputation they'll +endorse me opeenion. Yer hairt's as sound's a +roach. T'other man must ha' been asleep when +ye consulted him. Ye'll mak' a fine soldier, my +lad."</p> + +<p>"I think not," said the Lover—and he went +out from the presence. This time he reeled like +a man too drunk to care how drunk he looks.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>He drove in cabs from Harley Street to Wimpole +Street, and from Wimpole Street to Brooke +Street—and he saw Sir William this and Sir +Henry that, and Mr. The-other-thing, the great +heart specialist.</p> + +<p>And then he bought a gardenia, and went +home and dressed himself in his most beautiful +frock-coat and his softest white silk tie, and put +the gardenia in his button-hole—and went to +see the Girl.</p> + +<p>"Looks like as if he was going to a wedding," +said his landlady.</p> + +<p>When he had told the Girl everything, and +when she was able to do anything but laugh +and cry and cling to him with thin hands, she +said—</p> + +<p>"Dear—I do so hate to think badly of anyone. +But do you really think that man was +mistaken? He's very, very clever."</p> + +<p>"My child—Sir Henry—and Sir William +and Mr.—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! I don't mean <i>that</i>. I <i>know</i> you're all +right. Thank God! Oh, thank God! I mean, +don't you think he may have lied to you to prevent +your—marrying me?"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But why should he?"</p> + +<p>"He asked me to marry him three weeks +ago. He's a very old friend of ours. I do hate +to be suspicious—but—it is odd. And then +his trying to get you to South Africa. I'm certain +he wanted you out of the way. He wanted +you to get killed. Oh, how can people be so +cruel!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you're right," said the Lover +thoughtfully; "I couldn't have believed that +a man could be base like that, through and +through. But I suppose some people <i>are</i> like +that—without a gleam of feeling or remorse or +pity."</p> + +<p>"You ought to expose him."</p> + +<p>"Not I—we'll just cut him. That's all I'll +trouble to do. I've got <i>you</i>—I've got you in +spite of him—I can't waste my time in hunting +down vermin."</p> +<hr class='chap' /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE DUEL</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>"BUT I wasn't doing any harm," she urged +piteously. She looked like a child just +going to cry.</div> + +<p>"He was holding your hand."</p> + +<p>"He wasn't—I was holding his. I was telling +him his fortune. And, anyhow, it's not +your business."</p> + +<p>She had remembered this late and phrased it +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"It is my Master's business," said he.</p> + +<p>She repressed the retort that touched her lips. +After all, there was something fine about this +man, who, in the first month of his ministrations +as Parish Priest, could actually dare to call on +her, the richest and most popular woman in the +district, and accuse her of—well, most people +would hardly have gone so far as to call it flirting. +Propriety only knew what the Reverend +Christopher Cassilis might be disposed to call it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>They sat in the pleasant fire-lit drawing-room +looking at each other.</p> + +<p>"He's got a glorious face," she thought. "Like +a Greek god—or a Christian martyr! I wonder +whether he's ever been in love?"</p> + +<p>He thought: "She is abominably pretty. I +suppose beauty <i>is</i> a temptation."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said impatiently, "you've been +very rude indeed, and I've listened to you. Is +your sermon quite done? Have you any more +to say? Or shall I give you some tea?"</p> + +<p>"I have more to say," he answered, turning +his eyes from hers. "You are beautiful and +young and rich—you have a kind heart—oh, +yes—I've heard little things in the village +already. You are a born general. You organise +better than any woman I ever knew, though it's +only dances and picnics and theatricals and concerts. +You have great gifts. You could do +great work in the world, and you throw it all +away; you give your life to the devil's dance you +call pleasure. Why do you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Is that your business too?" she asked +again.</p> + +<p>And again he answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"It is my Master's business."</p> + +<p>Had she read his words in a novel they +would have seemed to her priggish, unnatural, +and superlatively impertinent. Spoken by those +thin, perfectly curved lips, they were at least +interesting.</p> + +<p>"That wasn't what you began about," she +said, twisting the rings on her fingers. The +catalogue of her gifts and graces was less a +novelty to her than the reproaches to her +virtue.</p> + +<p>"No—am I to repeat what I began about? +Ah—but I will. I began by saying what I +came here to say: that you, as a married +woman, have no right to turn men's heads +and make them long for what can never be."</p> + +<p>"But you don't know," she said. "My husband—"</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to know," he interrupted. +"Your husband is alive, and you are bound +to be faithful to him, in thought, word, and +deed. What I saw and heard in the little copse +last night—"</p> + +<p>"I do wish you wouldn't," she said. "You +talk as if—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I'm willing—even anxious, +I think—to believe that you would not—could +not—"</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, jumping up, "this is intolerable! +How dare you!"</p> + +<p>He had risen too.</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of you," he said. "I'm not +afraid of your anger, nor of your—your other +weapons. Think what you are! Think of your +great powers—and you are wasting them all +in making fools of a pack of young idiots—"</p> + +<p>"But what could I do with my gifts—as +you call them?"</p> + +<p>"Do?—why, you could endow and organise +and run any one of a hundred schemes for helping +on God's work in the world."</p> + +<p>"For instance?" Her charming smile enraged +him.</p> + +<p>"For instance? Well—<i>for instance</i>—you +might start a home for those women who began +as you have begun, and who have gone down +into hell, as you will go—unless you let yourself +be warned."</p> + +<p>She was for the moment literally speechless. +Then she remembered how he had said: "I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +not afraid of—your weapons." She drew a +deep breath and spoke gently—</p> + +<p>"I believe you don't mean to be insulting—I +believe you mean kindly to me. Please say no +more now. I'll think over it all. I'm not +angry—only—do you really think you understand +everything?"</p> + +<p>He might have answered that he did not +understand her. She did not mean him to understand. +She knew well enough that she was +giving him something to puzzle over when she +smiled that beautiful, troubled, humble, appealing +half-smile.</p> + +<p>He did not answer at all. He stood a moment +twisting his soft hat in his hands: she admired +his hands very much.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me if I've pained you more than was +needed," he said at last, "it is only because—" +here her smile caught him, and he ended vaguely +in a decreasing undertone. She heard the words +"king's jewels," "pearl of great price."</p> + +<p>When he was gone she said "<i>Well!</i>" more +than once. Then she ran to the low mirror +over the mantelpiece, and looked earnestly at +herself.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You do look rather nice to-day," she said. +"And so he's not afraid of any of your weapons! +And I'm not afraid of any of his. It's a fair +duel. Only all the provocation came from him—so +the choice of weapons is mine. And they +shall be <i>my</i> weapons: he has weapons to match +them right enough, only the poor dear doesn't +know it." She went away to dress for dinner, +humming gaily—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"My love has breath o' roses,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">O' roses, o' roses;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And arms like lily posies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To fold a lassie in!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Not next day—she was far too clever for +that, but on the day after that he received a +note. Her handwriting was charming; no extravagances, +every letter soberly but perfectly +formed.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking of all you said the +other day. You are quite mistaken about some +things—but in some you are right. Will you +show me how to work? I will do whatever +you tell me."</p> + +<p>Then the Reverend Christopher was glad of +the courage that had inspired him to denounce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +to his parishioners all that seemed to him amiss +in them.</p> + +<p>"I am glad," he said to himself, "that I had +the courage to treat her exactly as I have done +the others—even if she <i>has</i> beautiful hair, and +eyes like—like—"</p> + +<p>He stopped the thought before he found the +simile—not because he imagined that there +could be danger in it, but because he had been +trained to stop thoughts of eyes and hair as +neatly as a skilful boxer stops a blow.</p> + +<p>She had not been so trained, and she admired +his eyes and hair quite as much as he might have +admired hers if she had not been married.</p> + +<p>So now the Reverend Christopher had a helper +in his parish work; and he needed help, for his +plain-speaking had already offended half his +parish. And his helper was, as he had had +the sense to know she could be, the most +accomplished organiser in the country. She +ran the parish library, she arranged the school +treat, she started evening classes for wood carving +and art needlework. She spent money like +water, and time as freely as money. Quietly, +persistently, relentlessly, she was making herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +necessary to the Reverend Christopher. He +wrote to her every day—there were so many instructions +to give—but he seldom spoke with +her. When he called she was never at home. +Sometimes they met in the village and exchanged +a few sentences. She was always gravely sweet, +intensely earnest. There was a certain smile +which he remembered—a beautiful, troubled, +appealing smile. He wondered why she smiled +no more.</p> + +<p>Her friends shrugged their shoulders over her +new fancy.</p> + +<p>"It is odd," her bosom friend said. "It can't +be the parson, though he's as beautiful as he can +possibly be, because she sees next to nothing of +him. And yet I can't think that Betty of all +people could really—"</p> + +<p>"Oh—I don't know," said the bosom friend +of her bosom friend. "Women often do take to +that sort of thing, you know, when they get tired +of—"</p> + +<p>"Of?"</p> + +<p>"The other sort of thing, don't you know!"</p> + +<p>"How horrid you are," said Betty's bosom +friend. "I believe you're a most dreadful cynic, +really."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not at all," said the friend, complacently +stroking his moustache.</p> + +<p>Betty certainly was enjoying herself. She +had the great gift of enjoying thoroughly any +new game. She enjoyed, first, the newness; +and, besides, the hidden lining of her new masquerade +dress enchanted her. But as her new +industries developed she began to enjoy the +things for themselves. It is always delightful +to do what we can do well, and the Reverend +Christopher had been right when he said she was +a born general.</p> + +<p>"How easy it all is," she said, "and what a +fuss those clergy-hags make about it! What +a wife I should be for a bishop!" She smiled +and sighed.</p> + +<p>It was pleasant, too, to wake in the morning, +not to the recollection of the particular stage +which yesterday's flirtation happened to have +reached, but to the sense of some difficulty overcome, +some object achieved, some rough place +made smooth for her Girls' Friendly, or her wood +carvers, or her Parish Magazine. And within +it all the secret charm of a purpose transfiguring +with its magic this eager, strenuous, working life.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her avoidance of the Reverend Christopher +struck him at first as modest, discreet, and in +the best possible taste. But presently it seemed +to him that she rather overdid it. There were +many things he would have liked to discuss with +her, but she always evaded talk with him. Why? +he began to ask himself why. And the question +wormed through his brain more and more searchingly. +He had seen her at work now; he knew +her powers, and her graces—the powers and +the graces that made her the adored of her +Friendly girls and her carving boys. He remembered, +with hot ears and neck crimson above +his clerical collar, that interview. The things +he had said to her! How could he have done +it? Blind idiot that he had been! And she +had taken it all so sweetly, so nobly, so humbly. +She had only needed a word to turn her from +the frivolities of the world to better things. It +need not have been the sort of word he had used. +And at a word she had turned. That it should +have been at <i>his</i> word was not perhaps a very +subtle flattery—but the Reverend Christopher +swallowed it and never tasted it. He was not +trained to distinguish the flavours of flatteries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +He never tasted it, but it worked in his blood, +for all that. And why, why, why would she +never speak to him? Could it be that she was +afraid that he would speak to her now as he had +once spoken? He blushed again.</p> + +<p>Next time he met her she was coming up to +the church with a big basket of flowers for the +altar. He took the basket from her and carried +it in.</p> + +<p>"Let me help you," he said.</p> + +<p>"No," she said in that sweet, simple, grave +way of hers. "I can do it very well. Indeed, +I would rather."</p> + +<p>He had to go. The arrangement of the flowers +took more than an hour, but when she came out +with the empty basket, he was waiting in the +porch. Her heart gave a little joyful jump.</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to you," said he.</p> + +<p>"I'm rather late," she said, as usual; "couldn't +you write?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I can't write this. Sit down +a moment in the porch."</p> + +<p>She loved the masterfulness of his tone. He +stood before her.</p> + +<p>"I want you to forgive me for speaking to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +you as I did—once. I'm afraid you're afraid +that I shall behave like that again. You +needn't be."</p> + +<p>"Score number one," she said to herself. +Aloud she said—</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," and she said it sweetly, +seriously.</p> + +<p>"I was wrong," he went on eagerly. "I was +terribly wrong. I see it quite plainly now. +You do forgive me—don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she soberly, and sighed.</p> + +<p>There was a little silence. Her serious eyes +watched the way of the wind dimpling the tall, +feathery grass that grew above the graves.</p> + +<p>"Are you unhappy?" he asked; "you never +smile now."</p> + +<p>"I am too busy to smile, I suppose!" she +said, and smiled the beautiful, humble, appealing +smile he had so longed to see again, though +he had not known the longing by its right name.</p> + +<p>"Can't we be friends?" he ventured. "You—I +am afraid you can never trust me again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can," she said. "It was very bitter +at the time, but I thought it was so brave of +you—and kind, too—to care what became of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +me. If you remember, I did want to trust you, +even on that dreadful day, but you wouldn't let +me."</p> + +<p>"I was a brute," he said remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"I do want to tell you one thing. Even if +that boy had been holding my hand I should +have thought I had a right to let him, if I liked—just +as much as though I were a girl, or a +widow."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand. But tell me—please +tell me anything you <i>will</i> tell me." His tone +was very humble.</p> + +<p>"My husband was a beast," she said calmly. +"He betrayed me, he beat me, he had every vile +quality a man can have. No, I'll be just to +him: he was always good tempered when he +was drunk. But when he was sober he used +to beat me and pinch me—"</p> + +<p>"But—but you could have got a separation, +a divorce," he gasped.</p> + +<p>"A separation wouldn't have freed me—really. +And the Church doesn't believe in divorce," +she said demurely. "<i>I</i> did, however, +and I left him, and instructed a solicitor. But +the brute went mad before I could get free from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +him; and now, I suppose, I'm tied for life to a +mad dog."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" said the Reverend Christopher.</p> + +<p>"I thought it all out—oh, many, many +nights!—and I made up my mind that I would +go out and enjoy myself. I never had a good +time when I was a girl. And another thing I +decided—quite definitely—that if ever I fell +in love I would—I should have the right to—I +mean that I wouldn't let a horrible, degraded +brute of a lunatic stand between me and the +man I loved. And I was quite sure that I was +right."</p> + +<p>"And do you still think this?" he asked in +a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "you've changed everything! +I don't think the same about anything as I used +to do. I think those two years with him must +have made me nearly as mad as he is. And +then I was so young! I am only twenty-three +now, you know—and it did seem hard never to +have had any fun. I did want so much to be +happy."</p> + +<p>She had not intended to speak like this, but +even as she spoke she saw that this truth-telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +far outshone the lamp of lies she had trimmed +ready.</p> + +<p>"You <i>will</i> be happy," he said; "there are +better things in the world than—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said; "oh, yes!"</p> + +<p>Betty did nothing by halves. She had kept a +barrier between her and him till she had excited +him to break it down. The barrier once broken, +she let it lie where he had thrown it, and became, +all at once, in the most natural, matter-of-fact, +guileless way, his friend.</p> + +<p>She consulted him about everything. Let +him call when he would, she always received +him. She surrounded him with the dainty feminine +spider webs from which his life, almost +monastic till now, had been quite free. She +imported a knitting aunt, so that he should not +take fright at long tęte-ŕ-tętes. The knitting +aunt was deafish and blindish, and did not walk +much in the rose garden. Betty knew a good +deal about roses, and she taught the Reverend +Christopher all she knew. She knew a little of +the hearts of men, and she gently pushed him +on the road to forgiveness from that half of the +parish whom his first enthusiastic denunciations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +had offended. She rounded his angles. She +turned a wayward ascetic into a fairly good parish +priest. And he talked to her of ideals and +honour and the service of God and the work of +the world. And she listened, and her beauty +spoke to him so softly that he did not know +that he heard.</p> + +<p>One day after long silence she turned quickly +and met his eyes. After that she ceased to spin +webs, for she saw. Yet she was as blind as he, +though she did not know it any more than he +did.</p> + +<p>At last he saw, in his turn, and the flash of +the illumination nearly blinded him.</p> + +<p>It was late evening: Betty was nailing up a +trailing rose, and he was standing by the ladder +holding the nails and the snippets of scarlet +cloth. The ladder slipped, and he caught her in +his arms. As soon as she had assured him that +she was not hurt, he said good night and left +her.</p> + +<p>Betty went indoors and cried. "What a +pity!" she said. "Oh, what a pity! Now he'll +be frightened, and it's all over. He'll never +come again."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the next evening he came, and when they +had walked through the rose garden and had +come to the sun-dial he stopped and spoke—</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking of nothing else since I +saw you. When I caught you last night. Forgive +me if I'm a fool—but when I held you—don't +be angry—but it seemed to me that you +loved me—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort," said Betty very angrily.</p> + +<p>"Then I must be mad," he said; "the way +you caught my neck with your arm, and your +face was against mine, and your hair crushed up +against my ear. Oh, Betty, if you don't love +me, what shall I do? For I can't live without +you."</p> + +<p>Betty had won.</p> + +<p>"But—even if I had loved you—I'm +married," she urged softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes—do you suppose I've forgotten that? +But you remember what you said—about being +really free, and not being bound to that beast. +I see that you were right—right, right. It's +the rest of the world that's wrong. Oh, my +dear—I can't live without you. Couldn't you +love me? Let's go away—right away together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +No one will love you as I do. No one knows +you as I do—how good and strong and brave +and unselfish you are. Oh, try to love me a +little!"</p> + +<p>Betty had leaned her elbows on the sun-dial, +and her chin on her hands.</p> + +<p>"But you used to think ..." she began.</p> + +<p>"Ah—but I know better now. You've +taught me everything. Only I never knew it +till last night when I touched you. It was like +a spark to a bonfire that I've been piling up ever +since I've known you. You've taught me what +life is, and love. Love can't be wrong. It's +only wrong when it's stealing. We shouldn't +be robbing anybody. We should both work +better—happiness makes people work—I see +that now. I should have to give up parish work—but +there's plenty of good work wants doing. +Why, I've nearly finished that book of mine. +I've worked at it night after night—with the +thought of you hidden behind the work. If you +were my wife, what work I could do! Oh, +Betty, if you only loved me!"</p> + +<p>She lifted her face and looked at him gravely. +He flung his arm round her shoulders and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +turned her face up to his. She was passive to +his kisses. At last she kissed him, once, and +drew herself from his arms.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said.</p> + +<p>She led him to the garden seat in the nut-avenue.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, when he had taken his place +beside her, "I'm going to tell you the whole +truth. I was very angry with you when you +came to me that first day. You were quite right. +That boy had been holding my hand: what's +more, he had been kissing it. It amused me, +and if it hurt him I didn't care. Then you +came. And you said things. And then you +said you weren't afraid of me or my weapons. +It was a challenge. And I determined to make +you love me. It was all planned, the helping +in your work—and keeping out of your way at +first was to make you wish to see me. And, +you see, I succeeded. You <i>did</i> love me."</p> + +<p>"I do," he said. He caught her hand and +held it fiercely. "I deserved it all. I was a +brute to you."</p> + +<p>"I meant you to love me—and you did love +me. I lied to you in almost everything—at first."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"About that man—was that a lie?" he +asked fiercely.</p> + +<p>"No," she laughed drearily. "That was +true enough. You see, it was more effective +than any lie I could have invented. No lie +could have added a single horror to <i>that</i> story! +And so I've won—as I swore I would!"</p> + +<p>"Is that all," he said, "all the truth?"</p> + +<p>"It's all there's any need for," she said.</p> + +<p>"I want it all. I want to know where I +am—whether I really was mad last night. +Betty—in spite of all your truth I can't believe +one thing. I can't believe that you don't love +me."</p> + +<p>"Man's vanity," she began, with a flippant +laugh.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" he said harshly. "How dare you +try to play with me? Man's vanity! But it's +your honour! I know you love me. If you +didn't you would be—"</p> + +<p>"How do you know I'm not?"</p> + +<p>"Silence," he said. "If you can't speak the +truth hold your tongue and let me speak it. I +love you—and you love me—and we are going +to be happy."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will speak the truth," said Betty, giving +him her other hand. "You love me—and I +love you, and we are going to be miserable. +Yes—I will speak. Dear, I can't do it. Not +even for you. I used to think I thought I +could. I was bitter. I think I wanted to be +revenged on life and God and everything. I +thought I didn't believe in God, but I wanted +to spite Him all the same. But when you came—after +that day in the porch—when you came +and talked to me about all the good and beautiful +things—why, then I knew that I really did +believe in them, and I began to love you because +you had believed them all the time, and because.... +And I didn't try to make you love me—after +that day in the porch—at least, not very +much—oh, I do want to speak the truth! I +used to try so <i>not</i> to try. I—I did want you +to love me, though; I didn't want you to love +anyone else. I wanted you to love me just +enough to make you happy, and not enough to +make you miserable. And so long as you didn't +know you loved me it was all right: and when +you caught me last night I knew that you +would know, and it would be all over. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +made up your mind to teach me that there are +better things in the world than love—truth and +honour and—and—things like that. And +you've taught it me. It was a duel, and you've +won."</p> + +<p>"And you meant to teach me that love is +stronger than anything in the world. And you +have won too."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "we've both won. That's +the worst of it—or the best."</p> + +<p>"What is to become of us?" he said. "Oh, +my dear—what are we to do? Do you forgive +me? If you are right, I must be wrong—but +I can't see anything now except that I want +you so."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you loved me enough to be silly," +she said; "but, oh, my dear, how glad I am that +I love you too much to let you."</p> + +<p>"But what are we to do?"</p> + +<p>"Do? Nothing. Don't you see we've taught +each other everything we know. We've given +each other everything we can give. Isn't it +good to love like this—even if this has to +be all?"</p> + +<p>"It's all very difficult," he said; "but everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +shall be as you choose, only somehow I +think it's worse for me than for you. I loved +you before—and now I adore you. I seem to +have made a saint of you—but you've made me +a man."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One wishes with all one's heart that that +lunatic would die. The situation is, one would +say—impossible. Yet the lovers do not find it +so. They work together, and parish scandal has +almost ceased to patter about their names. +There is a subtle pleasure for both in the ceremonious +courtesy with which ever since that +day they treat each other. It contrasts so +splendidly with the living flame upon each +heart-altar. So far the mutual passion has improved +the character of each. All the same, one +wishes that the lunatic would die—for she is +not so much of a saint as he thinks her, and he +is more of a man than she knows.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>CINDERELLA</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>"HOOTS!" said the gardener, "there's nae +sense in't. The suppression o' the truth's +bad as a lee. Indeed, I doot mair hae been +damned for t'ane than t'ither."</div> + +<p>"Law! Mr. Murchison, you do use language, +I'm sure!" tittered the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>"I say nae mair than the truth," he answered, +cutting bloom after bloom quickly yet tenderly. +"To bring hame a new mistress to the hoose +and never to tell your bairn a word aboot the +matter till all's made fast—it's a thing he'll +hae to answer for to his Maker, I'm thinking. +Here's the flowers, wumman; carry them canny. +I'll send the lad up wi' the lave o' the flowers +an' a bit green stuff in a wee meenit. And mind +you your flaunting streamers agin the pots."</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid gathered her skirts closely, +and delicately tip-toed to the door of the hothouse. +Here she took the basket of bright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +beauty from his hand and walked away across +the green blaze of the lawn.</p> + +<p>Mr. Murchison grunted relief. He was not +fond of parlourmaids, no matter how pretty and +streamered.</p> + +<p>He left the hot, sweet air of the big hothouse +and threaded his way among the glittering +glasshouses to the potting-shed. At its door +a sound caught his ear.</p> + +<p>"Hoots!" he said again, but this time with +a gentle, anxious intonation.</p> + +<p>"Eh! ma lammie," said he, stepping quickly +forward, "what deevilment hae ye been after +the noo, and wha is't's been catching ye at it?"</p> + +<p>The "lammie" crept out from under the +potting-shelf; a pair of small arms went round +Murchison's legs, and a little face, round and +red and very dirty, was lifted towards his. He +raised the child in his arms and set her on the +shelf, so that she could lean her flushed face on +his shirt-front.</p> + +<p>"Toots, toots!" said he, "noo tell me—"</p> + +<p>"It isn't true, is it?" said the child.</p> + +<p>"Hoots!" said Murchison for the third time, +but he said it under his breath. Aloud he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Tell old Murchison a' aboot it, Miss Charling, +dearie."</p> + +<p>"It was when I wanted some more of the +strawberries," she began, with another sob, "and +the new cook said not, and I was a greedy little +pig: and I said I'd rather be a greedy little pig +than a spiteful old cat!" The tears broke out +afresh.</p> + +<p>"And you eight past! Ye should hae mair +sense at siccan age than to ca' names." The +head gardener spoke reprovingly, but he stroked +her rough hair.</p> + +<p>"I didn't—not one single name—not even +when she said I was enough to make a cat laugh, +even an old one—and she wondered any good +servant ever stayed a week in the place."</p> + +<p>"And what was ye sayin'?"</p> + +<p>"I said, 'Guid ye may be, but ye're no bonny'—I've +heard you say that, Murchison, so I know +it wasn't wrong, and then she said I was a minx, +and other things, and I wanted keeping in order, +and it was a very good thing I had a new mamma +coming home to-day, to keep me under a bit, and +a lot more—and—and things about my own, +own mother, and that father wouldn't love me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +any more. But it's not true, is it? Oh! it isn't +true? She only just said it?"</p> + +<p>"Ma lammie," said he gravely, kissing the top +of the head nestled against him, "it's true that +yer guid feyther, wha' never crossed ye except +for yer ain sake syne the day ye were born, is +bringing hame a guid wife the day, but ye mun +be a wumman and no cry oot afore ye're hurted. +I'll be bound it's a kind, genteel lady he's got, +that'll love ye, and mak' much o' ye, and teach +ye to sew fine—aye, an' play at the piano as +like's no."</p> + +<p>The child's mouth tightened resentfully, but +Murchison did not see it.</p> + +<p>"Noo, ye'll jest be a douce lassie," he went on, +"and say me fair that ye'll never gie an unkind +word tae yer feyther's new lady. Noo, promise +me that, an' fine I ken ye'll keep tae it."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't say anything unkind to her," +she answered, and Murchison hugged himself on +a victory, for a promise was sacred to Charling. +He did not notice the child's voice as she gave it.</p> + +<p>When the tears were quite dried he gave her +a white geranium to plant in her own garden, +and went back to his work.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>Charling took the geranium with pretty thanks +and kisses, but she felt it a burden, none the less. +For her mind was quite made up. When she +had promised never to say anything unkind to +her "father's new lady," she meant to keep the +promise—by never speaking to her or seeing her +at all. She meant to run away. How could she +bear to be "kept under" by this strange lady, +who would come and sit in her own mother's +place, and wear her own mother's clothes, and no +doubt presently burn her own mother's picture, +and make Charling wash the dishes and sweep +the kitchen like poor dear Cinderella in the +story? True, Cinderella's misfortunes ended in +marriage with a prince, but then Charling did not +want to be married, and she had but little faith +in princes, and, besides, she had no fairy godmother. +Her godmother was dead, her own, own +mother was dead, and only father was left; and +now he had done this thing, and he would not +want his Charling any more.</p> + +<p>So Charling went indoors and washed her +face and hands and smoothed her hair, which +never would be smoothed, put a few treasures +in her pocket—all her money, some coloured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +chalks, a stone with crystal inside that showed +where it was broken, and went quietly out at +the lodge gate, carrying the white geranium in +her arms, because when you are running away +you cannot possibly leave behind you the last +gift of somebody who loves you. But the geranium +in its pot was very heavy—and it seemed +to get heavier and heavier as she walked along +the dry, dusty road, so that presently Charling +turned through the swing gate into the field-way, +for the sake of the shadow of the hedge; +and the field-way led past the church, and when +she reached the low, mossy wall of the churchyard, +she set the pot on it and rested. Then she +said—</p> + +<p>"I think I will leave it with mother to take +care of." So she took the pot in her hands +again and carried it to her mother's grave. Of +course, they had told Charling that her mother +was an angel now and was not in the churchyard +at all, but in heaven; only heaven was a +very long way off, and Charling preferred to +think that mother was only asleep under the +green counterpane with the daisies on it. There +had been a green coverlet to the bed in mother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +room, only it had white lilac on it, and not +daisies. So Charling set down the pot, and she +knelt down beside it, and wrote on it with a +piece of blue chalk from her pocket: "<i>From +Charling to mother to take care of.</i>" Then she +cried a little bit more, because she was so sorry +for herself; and then she smelt the thyme and +wondered why the bees liked it better than +white geraniums; and then she felt that she +was very like a little girl in a book, and so she +forgot to cry, and told herself that she was the +third sister going out to seek her fortune.</p> + +<p>After that it was easy to go on, especially +when she had put the crystal stone, which hung +heavy and bumpy in the pocket, beside the geranium +pot. Then she kissed the tombstone where +it said, "Helen, beloved wife of——" and went +away among the green graves in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Mother had died when she was only five, so +that she could not remember her very well; but +all these three years she had loved and thought +of a kind, beautiful Something that was never +tired and never cross, and always ready to kiss +and love and forgive little girls, however naughty +they were, and she called this something "mother"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +in her heart, and it was for this something that +she left her kisses on the gravestone. And the +gravestone was warm to her lips as she kissed it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was on a wide, furze-covered down, across +which a white road wound like a twisted ribbon, +that Charling's courage began to fail her. The +white road looked so very long; there were no +houses anywhere, and no trees, only far away +across the down she saw the round tops of some +big elms. "They look like cabbages," she said +to herself.</p> + +<p>She had walked quite a long way, and she +was very tired. Her dinner of sweets and stale +cakes from the greeny-glass bottles in the window +of a village shop had not been so nice as +she expected; the woman at the shop had been +cross because Charling had no pennies, only the +five-shilling piece father had given her when he +went away, and the woman had no change. And +she had scolded so that Charling had grown +frightened and had run away, leaving the big, +round piece of silver on the dirty little counter. +This was about the time when she was missed at +home, and the servants began to search for her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +running to and fro like ants whose nest is turned +up by the spade.</p> + +<p>A big furze bush cast a ragged square yard +of alluring shade on the common. Charling +flung herself down on the turf in the shadow. +"I wonder what they are doing at home?" she +said to herself after a while. "I don't suppose +they've even missed me. They think of nothing +but making the place all flowery for <i>her</i> to see. +Nobody wants me—"</p> + +<p>At home they were dragging the ornamental +water in the park; old Murchison directing the +operation with tears running slow and unregarded +down his face.</p> + +<p>Charling lay and looked at the white road. +Somebody must go along it presently. Roads +were made for people to go along. Then when +any people came by she would speak to them, +and they would help her and tell her what to +do. "I wonder what a girl ought to do when +she runs away from home?" said Charling to +herself. "Boys go to sea, of course; but I don't +suppose a pirate would care about engaging a +cabin-girl—" She fell a-musing, however, on +the probable woes of possible cabin-girls, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +their chances of becoming admirals, as cabin-boys +always did in the stories; and so deep +were her musings that she positively jumped +when a boy, passing along the road, began suddenly +to whistle. It was the air of a comic +song, in a minor key, and its inflections were +those of a funeral march. It went to Charling's +heart. Now she knew, as she had never known +before, how lonely and miserable she was.</p> + +<p>She scrambled to her feet and called out, "Hi! +you boy!"</p> + +<p>The boy also jumped. But he stopped and +said, "Well?" though in a tone that promised +little.</p> + +<p>"Come here," said Charling. "At least, of +course, I mean come, if you please."</p> + +<p>The boy shrugged his shoulders and came +towards her.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said again, very grumpily, Charling +thought; so she said, "Don't be cross. I +wish you'd talk to me a little, if you are not too +busy. If you please, I mean, of course."</p> + +<p>She said it with her best company manner, +and the boy laughed, not unkindly, but still in +a grudging way. Then he threw himself down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +on the turf and began pulling bits of it up by +the roots. "Go ahead!" said he.</p> + +<p>But Charling could not go ahead. She looked +at his handsome, sulky face, his knitted brow, +twisted into fretful lines, and the cloud behind +his blue eyes frightened her.</p> + +<p>"Oh! go away!" she said. "I don't want +you! Go away; you're very unkind!"</p> + +<p>The boy seemed to shake himself awake at +the sight of the tears that rushed to follow her +words.</p> + +<p>"I say, don't-you-know, I say;" but Charling +had flung herself face down on the turf and took +no notice.</p> + +<p>"I say, look here," he said; "I am not unkind, +really. I was in an awful wax about something +else, and I didn't understand. Oh! drop it. I +say, look here, what's the matter? I'm not such +a bad sort, really. Come, kiddie, what's the +row?"</p> + +<p>He dragged himself on knees and elbows to +her side and began to pat her on the back, with +some energy: "There, there," he said; "don't +cry, there's a dear. Here, I've got a handkerchief, +as it happens," for Charling was feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +blindly and vainly among the coloured chalks. +He thrust the dingy handkerchief into her hands, +and she dried her eyes, still sobbing.</p> + +<p>"That's the style," said he. "Look here, we're +like people in a book. Two travellers in misfortune +meet upon a wild moor and exchange +narratives. Come, tell me what's up?"</p> + +<p>"You tell first," said Charling, rubbing her +eyes very hard; "but swear eternal friendship +before you begin, then we can't tell each other's +secrets to the enemy."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with a nascent approval. +She understood how to play, then, this forlorn +child in the torn white frock.</p> + +<p>He took her hand and said solemnly—</p> + +<p>"I swear."</p> + +<p>"Your name," she interrupted. "I, N or M, +swear, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. Well, I, Harry Basingstoke, swear +to you—"</p> + +<p>"Charling," she interpolated; "the other +names don't matter. I've got six of them."</p> + +<p>"That we will support—no, maintain—eternal +friendship."</p> + +<p>"And I, Charling, swear the same to you, +Harry."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why do they call you Charling?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! because my name's Charlotte, and +mother used to sing a song about Charlie being +her darling, and I was her darling, only I couldn't +speak properly then; and I got it mixed up into +Charling, father says. But let's go on. Tell +me your sad history, poor fellow-wanderer."</p> + +<p>"My father was a king," said Harry gravely; +but Charling turned such sad eyes on him that +he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me the real true truth?" she +said. "I will you."</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, "the real true truth is, Charling, +I've run away from home, and I'm going to +sea."</p> + +<p>Charling clapped her hands. "Oh! so have +I! So am I! Let me come with you. Would +they take a cabin-girl on the ship where you're +going to, do you think? And why did you run +away? Did they beat you and starve you at +home? Or have you a cruel stepmother, or stepfather, +or something?"</p> + +<p>"No," said he grimly; "I haven't any step-relations, +and I'm jolly well not going to have +any, either. I ran away because I didn't choose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +to have a strange chap set over me, and that's +all I am going to tell you. But about you? +How far have you come to-day?"</p> + +<p>"About ninety miles, I should think," said +Charling; "at least, my legs feel exactly like +that."</p> + +<p>"And what made you do such a silly thing?" +he said, smiling at her, and she thought his blue +eyes looked quite different now, so that she did not +mind his calling her silly. "You know, it's no +good girls running away; they always get caught, +and then they put them into convents or something."</p> + +<p>She slipped her hand confidingly under his +arm, and put her head against the sleeve of his +Norfolk jacket.</p> + +<p>"Not girls with eternal friends, they don't," +she said. "You'll take care of me now? You +won't let them catch me?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me why you did it, then."</p> + +<p>Charling told him at some length.</p> + +<p>"And father never told me a word about it," +she ended; "and I wasn't going to stay to be +made to wash the dishes and things, like Cinderella. +I wouldn't stand that, not if I had to run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +away every day for a year. Besides, nobody +wants me; nobody will miss me."</p> + +<p>This was about the time when they found the +white geranium in the churchyard, and began to +send grooms about the country on horses. And +Murchison was striding about the lanes gnawing +his grizzled beard and calling on his God to take +him, too, if harm had come to the child.</p> + +<p>"But perhaps the stepmother would be nice," +the boy said.</p> + +<p>"Not she. Stepmothers never are. I know +just what she'll be like—a horrid old hag with +red hair and a hump!"</p> + +<p>"Then you've not seen her?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You might have waited till you had."</p> + +<p>"It would have been too late then," said Charling +tragically.</p> + +<p>"But your father wouldn't have let you be +treated unkindly, silly."</p> + +<p>"Fathers generally die when the stepmother +comes; or else they can't help themselves. You +know that as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"I suppose your father is a good sort?"</p> + +<p>"He's the best man there is," said Charling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +indignantly, "and the kindest and bravest, and +cleverest and amusingest, and he can sit any +horse like wax; and he can fence with real +swords, and sing all the songs in all the world. +There!"</p> + +<p>Harry was silent, racking his brain for arguments.</p> + +<p>"Look here, kiddie," he said slowly, "if your +father's such a good sort, he'd have more sense +than to choose a stepmother who wasn't nice. +He's a much finer chap than the fathers in fairy +tales. You never read of <i>them</i> being able to do +all the things your father can do."</p> + +<p>"No," said Charling, "that's true."</p> + +<p>"He's sure to have chosen someone quite jolly, +really," Harry went on, more confidently.</p> + +<p>Charling looked up suddenly. "Who was it +chose the chap that you weren't going to stand +having set over you?" she said.</p> + +<p>The boy bit his lip.</p> + +<p>"I swore eternal friendship, so I can never tell +your secrets, you know," said Charling softly, +"and <i>I've</i> told <i>you</i> every single thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's my sister, then," said he abruptly, +"and she's married a chap I've never seen—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +I'm to go and live with them, if you please; and +she told me once she was never going to marry, +and it was always going to be just us two; and +now she's found this fellow she knew when she +was a little girl, and he was a boy—as it might +be us, you know—and she's forgotten all about +what she said, and married him. And I wasn't +even asked to the beastly wedding because they +wanted to be married quietly; and they came +home from their hateful honeymoon this evening, +and the holidays begin to-day, and I was to go +to this new chap's house to spend them. And I +only got her letter this morning, and I just took +my journey money and ran away. My boxes +were sent on straight from school, though—so +I've got no clothes but these. I'm just going to +look at the place where she's to live, and then +I'm off to sea."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't she tell you before?"</p> + +<p>"She says she meant it to be a pleasant surprise, +because we've been rather hard up since +my father died, and this chap's got horses and +everything, and she says he's going to adopt me. +As if I wanted to be adopted by any old stuck-up +money-grubber!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you haven't seen him," said Charling +gently. "If <i>I'm</i> silly, <i>you</i> are too, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>She hid her face on her sleeve to avoid seeing +the effect of this daring shot. Only silence +answered her.</p> + +<p>Presently Harry said—</p> + +<p>"Now, kiddie, let me take you home, will +you? Give the stepmother a fair show, anyhow."</p> + +<p>Charling reflected. She was very tired. She +stroked Harry's hand absently, and after a while +said—</p> + +<p>"I will if you will."</p> + +<p>"Will what?"</p> + +<p>"Go back and give your chap a fair show."</p> + +<p>And now the boy reflected.</p> + +<p>"Done," he said suddenly. "After all, what's +sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. +Come on."</p> + +<p>He stood up and held out his hand. This +was about the time when the cook packed her +box and went off, leaving it to be sent after her. +Public opinion in the servants' hall was too +strong to be longer faced.</p> + +<p>The shadows of the trees lay black and level<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +across the pastures when the two children +reached the lodge gates. A floral arch was +above the gate, and wreaths of flowers and flags +made the avenue gay. Charling had grown very +tired, and Harry had carried her on his back for +the last mile or two—resting often, because +Charling was a strong, healthy child, and, as he +phrased it, "no slouch of a weight."</p> + +<p>Now they paused at the gate of the lodge.</p> + +<p>"This is my house," said Charling. "They've +put all these things up for <i>her</i>, I suppose. If +you'll write down your address I'll give you +mine, and we can write and tell each other +what <i>they</i> are like afterwards. I've got a bit +of chalk somewhere."</p> + +<p>She fumbled in the dusty confusion of her +little pocket while Harry found the envelope of +his sister's letter and tore it in two. Then, one +on each side of the lodge gate-post, the children +wrote, slowly and carefully, for some moments. +Presently they exchanged papers, and each read +the words written by the other. Then suddenly +both turned very red.</p> + +<p>"But this is <i>my</i> address," said she. "The +Grange, Falconbridge."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's where my sister's gone to live, anyhow," +said he.</p> + +<p>"Then—then—"</p> + +<p>Conviction forced itself first on the boy.</p> + +<p>"What a duffer I've been! It's <i>him</i> she's +married."</p> + +<p>"Your sister?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Are you <i>sure</i> your father's a good +sort?"</p> + +<p>"How dare you ask!" said Charling. "It's +your sister I want to know about."</p> + +<p>"She's the dearest old darling!" he cried. +"Oh! kiddie, come along; run for all you're +worth, and perhaps we can get in the back way, +and get tidied up before they come, and they +need never know."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand; Charling caught at it, +and together they raced up the avenue. But +getting in the back way was impossible, for +Murchison met them full on the terrace, and +Charling ran straight into his arms. There +should have been scolding and punishment, no +doubt, but Charling found none.</p> + +<p>And, now, who so sleek and demure as the +runaways, he in Eton jacket and she in spotless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +white muslin, when the carriage drew up in +front of the hall, amid the cheers of the tenants +and the bowing of the orderly, marshalled +servants?</p> + +<p>And then a lady, pretty as a princess in a fairy +tale, with eyes as blue as Harry's, was hugging +him and Charling both at once; while a man, +whom Harry at once owned to <i>be</i> a man, stood +looking at the group with grave, kind eyes.</p> + +<p>"We'll never, never tell," whispered the boy. +The servants had been sworn to secrecy by +Murchison.</p> + +<p>Charling whispered back, "Never as long as +we live."</p> + +<p>But long before bedtime came each of the +runaways felt that concealment was foolish in +the face of the new circumstances, and with +some embarrassment, a tear or two, and a little +gentle laughter, the tale was told.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry! how could you?" said the stepmother, +and went quietly out by the long window +with her arm round her brother's shoulders.</p> + +<p>Charling was left alone with her father.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me, father?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I had, childie; but I thought—you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +see—I was going away—I didn't want to +leave you alone for a fortnight to think all sorts +of nonsense. And I thought my little girl could +trust me." Charling hid her face in her hands. +"Well! it's all right now! don't cry, my girlie." +He drew her close to him.</p> + +<p>"And you'll love Harry very much?"</p> + +<p>"I will. He brought you back."</p> + +<p>"And I'll love <i>her</i> very much. So that's all +settled," said Charling cheerfully. Then her +face fell again. "But, father, don't you love +mother any more? Cook said you didn't."</p> + +<p>He sighed and was silent. At last he said, +"You are too little to understand, sweetheart. +I have loved the lady who came home to-day all +my life long, and I shall love your mother as +long as I live."</p> + +<p>"Cook said it was like being unkind to mother. +Does mother mind about it, really?"</p> + +<p>He muttered something inaudible—to the +cook's address.</p> + +<p>"I don't think they either of them mind, my +darling Charling," he said. "You cannot understand +it, but I think they both understand."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>WITH AN E</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>SHE had been thinking of him all day—of +the incredible insignificance of the point on +which they had quarrelled; the babyish folly of +the quarrel itself, the silly pride that had made +the quarrel strong till the very memory of it was +as a bar of steel to keep them apart. Three +years ago, and so much had happened since then. +Three years! and not a day of them all had +passed without some thought of him; sometimes +a happy, quiet remembrance transfigured +by a wise forgetfulness; sometimes a sudden +recollection, sharp as a knife. But not on many +days had she allowed the quiet remembrance to +give place to the knife-thrust, and then kept the +knife in the wound, turning it round with a scientific +curiosity, which, while it ran an undercurrent +of breathless pleasure beneath the pain, +yet did not lessen this—intensified it, rather. +To-day she had thought of him thus through the +long hours on deck, when the boat sped on even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +keel across the blue and gold of the Channel, in +the dusty train from Ostend—even in the little +open carriage that carried her and her severely +moderate luggage from the station at Bruges to +the Hôtel du Panier d'Or. She had thought of +him so much that it was no surprise to her to see +him there, drinking coffee at one of the little +tables which the hotel throws out like tentacles +into the Grande Place.</div> + +<p>There he sat, in a grey flannel suit. His back +was towards her, but she would have known the +set of his shoulders anywhere, and the turn of +his head. He was talking to someone—a lady, +handsome, but older than he—oh! evidently +much older.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth made the transit from carriage to +hotel door in one swift, quiet movement. He did +not see her, but the lady facing him put up a tortoiseshell-handled +<i>lorgnon</i> and gazed through it +and through narrowed eyelids at the new comer.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth reappeared no more that evening. +It was the waiter who came out to dismiss the +carriage and superintend the bringing in of the +luggage. Elizabeth, stumbling in a maze of forgotten +French, was met at the stair-foot by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +smiling welcome, and realised in a spasm of +grateful surprise that she need not have brought +her dictionary. The hostess of the "Panier +d'Or," like everyone else in Belgium, spoke English, +and an English far better than Elizabeth's +French had been.</p> + +<p>She secured a tiny bedroom, and a sitting +room that looked out over the Place, so that +whenever he drank coffee she might, with luck, +hope to see the back of his dear head.</p> + +<p>"Idiot!" said Elizabeth, catching this little +thought wandering in her mind, and with that +she slapped the little thought and put it away in +disgrace. But when she woke in the night, it +woke, too, and cried a little.</p> + +<p>That night it seemed to her that she would +have all her meals served in the little sitting-room, +and never go downstairs at all, lest she +should meet him. But in the morning she perceived +that one does not save up one's money for +a year in order to have a Continental holiday, +and sweeten all one's High-school teaching with +one thought of that holiday, in order to spend +its precious hours between four walls, just because—well, +for any reason whatsoever.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> + +<p>So she went down to take her coffee and rolls +humbly, publicly, like other people.</p> + +<p>The dining-room was dishevelled, discomposed; +chairs piled on tables and brooms all about. It +was in the hotel <i>café</i>, where the marble-topped +little tables were, that Mademoiselle would be +served. Here was a marble-topped counter, too, +where later in the day <i>apéritifs</i> and <i>petits verres</i> +would be handed. On this, open for the police +to read, lay the list of those who had spent the +night at the "Panier d'Or."</p> + +<p>The room was empty. Elizabeth caught up +the list. Yes, his name was there, at the very +top of the column—Edward Brown, and below +it "<i>Mrs. Brown</i>—"</p> + +<p>Elizabeth dropped the paper as though it had +bitten her, and, turning sharply, came face to +face with that very Edward Brown. He raised +his hat gravely, and a shiver of absolute sickness +passed over her, for his glance at her in passing +was the glance of a stranger. It was not possible.... +Yet it was true. He had forgotten her. +In three little years! They had been long enough +years to her, but now she called them little. In +three little years he had forgotten her very face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>Elizabeth, chin in air, marched down the room +and took possession of the little table where her +coffee waited her.</p> + +<p>She began to eat. It was not till the sixth +mouthful that her face flushed suddenly to so +deep a crimson that she dared not raise her eyes +to see how many of the folk now breaking their +rolls in her company had had eyes for her face. +As a matter of fact, only one observed the sudden +colour, and he admired and rejoiced, for he had +seen such a colour in that face before.</p> + +<p>"She is angry—good!" said he, and poured +out more coffee with a steady hand.</p> + +<p>The thought that flooded Elizabeth's face and +neck and ears with damask was one quite inconsistent +with the calm eating of bread-and-butter. +She laid down her knife and walked out, chin in +air to the last. Alone in her sitting-room she +buried her face in a hard cushion and went as +near to swearing as a very nice girl may.</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! oh!—oh! <i>bother!</i> Why did I go +down? I ought to have fled to the uttermost +parts of the earth: or even to Ghent. Of course. +Oh, what a fool I am! It's because he's married +that he won't speak to me. You fool! you fool!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +you fool! Yes, of course, you knew he was +married; only you thought you'd like the silly +satisfaction of hearing his voice speak to you, and +yours speaking to him. But—oh! fool! fool! +fool!"</p> + +<p>Elizabeth put on the thickest veil she had, and +the largest hat, and went blindly out. She +walked very fast, never giving a glance to the +step-and-stair gables of the old houses, the dominant +strength of the belfry, the curious, un-English +groups in the streets. Presently she came +to a bridge—a canal—overhanging houses—balconies—a +glimpse like the pictures of Venice. +She leaned her elbows on the parapet and presently +became aware of the prospect.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> pretty," she said grudgingly, and at the +same moment turned away, for in a flower-hung +balcony across the water she saw <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>"This is too absurd," she said. "I must get +out of the place—at least, for the day. I'll go +to Ghent."</p> + +<p>He had seen her, and a thrill of something very +like gratified vanity straightened his shoulders. +When a girl has jilted you, it is comforting to +find that even after three years she has not forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +you enough to be indifferent, no matter how +you may have consoled yourself in the interval.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth walked fast, but she did not get to +the railway station, because she took the wrong +turning several times. She passed through street +after strange street, and came out on a wide +quay; another canal; across it showed old, +gabled, red-roofed houses. She walked on and +came presently to a bridge, and another quay, +and a little puffing, snorting steamboat.</p> + +<p>She hurriedly collected a few scattered items +of her school vocabulary—</p> + +<p>"<i>Est-ce que—est-ce que—ce bateau ŕ vapeur va—va</i>—anywhere?"</p> + +<p>A voluble assurance that it went at twelve-thirty +did not content her. She gathered her +forces again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oui; mais oů est-ce qu'il va aller—?</i>"</p> + +<p>The answer sounded something like "Sloosh," +and the speaker pointed vaguely up the green +canal.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth went on board. This was as good +as Ghent. Better. There was an element of +adventure about it. "Sloosh" might be anywhere; +one might not reach it for days. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +the boat had not the air of one used to long +cruises; and Elizabeth felt safe in playing with +the idea of an expedition into darkest Holland.</p> + +<p>And now by chance, or because her movements +interested him as much as his presence +repelled her, this same Edward Brown also came +on board, and, concealed by the deep daydream +into which she had fallen, passed her unseen.</p> + +<p>When she shook the last drops of the daydream +from her, she found herself confronting +the boat's only other passenger—himself.</p> + +<p>She looked at him full and straight in the +eyes, and with the look her embarrassment left +her and laid hold on him.</p> + +<p>He remembered her last words to him—</p> + +<p>"If ever we meet again, we meet as strangers." +Well, he had kept to the very letter of that +bidding, and she had been angry. He had +been very glad to see that she was angry. But +now, face to face for an hour and a half—for +he knew the distance to Sluys well enough—could +he keep silence still and yet avoid being +ridiculous? He did not intend to be ridiculous; +yet even this might have happened. But Elizabeth +saved him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>She raised her chin and spoke in chill, distant +courtesy.</p> + +<p>"I think you must be English, because I +saw you at the 'Panier d'Or'; everyone's +English there. I can't make these people understand +anything. Perhaps you could be so +kind as to tell me how long the boat takes to +get to wherever it does get to?"</p> + +<p>It was a longer speech than she would have +made had he been the stranger as whom she +proposed to treat him, but it was necessary to +let him understand at the outset what was +the part she intended to play.</p> + +<p>He did understand, and assumed his rôle +instantly.</p> + +<p>"Something under two hours, I think," he +said politely, still holding in his hand the hat +he had removed on the instant of her breaking +silence. "How cool and pleasant the air +is after the town!" The boat was moving +now quickly between grassy banks topped by +rows of ash trees. The landscape on each side +spread away like a map intersected with +avenues of tall, lean, wind-bent trees, that +seemed to move as the boat moved.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good!" said she to herself; "he means to +talk. We shan't sit staring at each other for +two hours like stuck pigs. And he really doesn't +know me? Or is it the wife? Oh! I wish I'd +never come to this horrible country!" Aloud +she said, "Yes, and how pretty the trees and +fields are—"</p> + +<p>"So—so nice and green, aren't they?" said he.</p> + +<p>And she said, "Yes."</p> + +<p>Each inwardly smiled. In the old days each +had been so eager for the other's good opinion, +so afraid of seeming commonplace, that their +conversations had been all fine work, and their +very love-letters too clever by half. Now they +did not belong to each other any more, and he +said the trees were green, and she said "Yes."</p> + +<p>"There seem to be a great many people in +Bruges," said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, in eager assent. "Quite a +large number."</p> + +<p>"There is a great deal to be seen in these old +towns. So quaint, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>She remembered his once condemning in a +friend the use of that word. Now he echoed it.</p> + +<p>"So very quaint," said he. "And the dogs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +drawing carts! Just like the pictures, aren't +they?"</p> + +<p>"You can get pictures of them on the illustrated +post-cards. So nice to send to one's relations +at home."</p> + +<p>She was getting angry with him. He played +the game too well.</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes," he answered, "the dear people like +these little tokens, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"He's getting exactly like a curate," she +thought, and a doubt assailed her. Perhaps he +was not playing the game at all. Perhaps in +these three years he had really grown stupid.</p> + +<p>"How different it all is from England, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite!" said he.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever been in Holland?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, once."</p> + +<p>"What was it like?" she asked.</p> + +<p>That was a form of question they had agreed +to hate—once, long ago.</p> + +<p>"Oh, extremely pleasant," he said warmly. +"We met some most agreeable people at some +of the hotels. Quite the best sort of people, you +know."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<p>Another phrase once banned by both.</p> + +<p>The sun sparkled on the moving duckweed of +the canal. The sky was blue overhead. Here +and there a red-roofed farm showed among the +green pastures. Ahead the avenues tapered +away into distance, and met at the vanishing +point. Elizabeth smiled for sheer pleasure at +the sight of two little blue-smocked children +solemnly staring at the boat as it passed. Then +she glanced at him with an irritated frown. It +was his turn to smile.</p> + +<p>"You called the tune, my lady," he said to +himself, "and it is you shall change it, not I."</p> + +<p>"Foreign countries are very like England, are +they not?" he said. "The same kind of trees, +you know, and the same kind of cows, and—and +everything. Even the canals are very like +ours."</p> + +<p>"The canal system," said Elizabeth instructively, +"is the finest in the world."</p> + +<p>"<i>Adieu, Canal, canard, canaille</i>," he quoted. +They had always barred quotations in the old +days.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand Latin," said she. Then +their eyes met, and he got up abruptly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +walked to the end of the boat and back. When +he sat down again, he sat beside her.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go on?" he said quietly. "I think +it is your turn to choose a subject—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! have you read <i>Alice in Wonderland?</i>" +she said, with simple eagerness. "Such a pretty +book, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. She was obstinate; +all women were. Men were not. He +would be magnanimous. He would not compel +her to change the tune. He had given her one +chance; and if she wouldn't—well, it was not +possible to keep up this sort of conversation till +they got to Sluys. He would—</p> + +<p>But again she saved him.</p> + +<p>"I won't play any more," she said. "It's not +fair. Because you may think me a fool. But I +happen to know that you are Mr. Brown, who +writes the clever novels. You were pointed out +to me at the hotel; and—oh! do tell me if you +always talk like this to strangers?"</p> + +<p>"Only to English ladies on canal boats," said +he, smiling. "You see, one never knows. They +might wish one to talk like that. We both did +it very prettily. Of course, more know Tom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +Fool than Tom Fool knows, but I think I may +congratulate you on your first attempt at the +English-abroad conversation."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, really," she said, "you did it +so well that if I hadn't known who you were, I +should have thought it was the real you. The +felicitations are not all mine. But won't you +tell me about Holland? That bit of yours +about the hotel acquaintances was very brutal. +I've heard heaps of people say that very thing. +You just caught the tone. But Holland—"</p> + +<p>"Well, this is Holland," said he; "but I saw +more of it than this, and I'll tell you anything +you like if you won't expect me to talk clever, +and turn the phrase. That's a lost art, and I +won't humiliate myself in trying to recover it. +To begin with, Holland is flat."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a geography book," Elizabeth +laughed light-heartedly.</p> + +<p>"The coinage is—"</p> + +<p>"No, but seriously."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said he, and the talk lasted till +the little steamer bumped and grated against the +quay-side at Sluys.</p> + +<p>When they had landed the two stood for a +moment on the grass-grown quay in silence.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, good afternoon," said Elizabeth suddenly. +"Thank you so much for telling me +all about Holland." And with that she turned +and walked away along the narrow street between +the trim little houses that look so like a +child's toy village tumbled out of a white wood +box. Mr. Edward Brown was left, planted there.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said he, and spent the afternoon +wandering about near the landing-stage, and wondering +what would be the next move in this game +of hers. It was a childish game, this playing at +strangers, yet he owned that it had a charm.</p> + +<p>He ate currant bread and drank coffee at a +little inn by the quay, sitting at the table by +the door and watching the boats. Two o'clock +came and went. Four o'clock came, half-past +four, and with that went the last return +steamer for Bruges. Still Mr. Edward Brown +sat still and smoked. Five minutes later +Elizabeth's blue cotton dress gleamed in the +sunlight at the street corner.</p> + +<p>He rose and walked towards her.</p> + +<p>"I hope you have enjoyed yourself in Holland," +he said.</p> + +<p>"I lost my way," said she. He saw that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +was very tired, even before he heard it in her +voice. "When is the next boat?"</p> + +<p>"There are no more boats to-day. The last +left about ten minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"You might have told me," she said resentfully.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said he. "You bade +me good-bye with an abruptness and a decision +which forbade me to tell you anything."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," she said humbly. "Can +I get back by train?"</p> + +<p>"There are no trains."</p> + +<p>"A carriage?"</p> + +<p>"There are none. I have inquired."</p> + +<p>"But you," she asked suddenly, "how did +you miss the boat? How are you going to get +back?"</p> + +<p>"I shall walk," said he, ignoring the first +question. "It's only eleven miles. But for you, +of course, that's impossible. You might stay +the night here. The woman at this inn seems +a decent old person."</p> + +<p>"I can't. There's a girl coming to join me. +She's in the sixth at the High School where I +teach. I've promised to chaperon and instruct<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +her. I must meet her at the station at ten. +She's been ten years at the school. I don't +believe she knows a word of French. Oh! I +must go. She doesn't know the name of my +hotel, or anything. I must go. I must walk."</p> + +<p>"Have you had any food?"</p> + +<p>"No; I never thought about it."</p> + +<p>She did not realise that she was explaining to +him that she had been walking to get away +from him and from her own thoughts, and that +food had not been among these.</p> + +<p>"Then you will dine now; and, if you will +allow me, we will walk back together."</p> + +<p>Elizabeth submitted. It was pleasant to be +taken care of. And to be "ordered about," that +was pleasant, too. Curiously enough, that very +thing had been a factor in the old quarrel. At +nineteen one is so independent.</p> + +<p>She was fed on omelettes and strange, pale +steak, and Mr. Brown insisted on beer. The +place boasted no wine cellar.</p> + +<p>Then the walk began. For the first mile or +two it was pleasant. Then Elizabeth's shoes +began to hurt her. They were smart brown +shoes, with deceitful wooden heels. In her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +wanderings over the cobblestones of Sluys +streets one heel had cracked itself. Now it +split altogether. She began to limp.</p> + +<p>"Won't you take my arm?" said he.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I don't really need it. I'll +rest a minute, though, if I may." She sat down, +leaning against a tree, and looked out at the +darting swallows, dimpling here and there the +still green water. The level sunlight struck +straight across the pastures, turning them to +gold. The long shadows of the trees fell across +the canal and lay black on the reeds at the +other side. The hour was full of an ample +dignity of peace.</p> + +<p>They walked another mile. Elizabeth could +not conceal her growing lameness.</p> + +<p>"Something is wrong with your foot," said he. +"Have you hurt it?"</p> + +<p>"It's these silly shoes; the heel's broken."</p> + +<p>"Take them off and let me see."</p> + +<p>She submitted without a protest, sat down, +took off the shoes, and gave them to him. He +looked at them kindly, contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Silly little things!" he said, and she, instead +of resenting the impertinence, smiled.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then he tore off the heels and dug out the remaining +bristle of nails with his pocket-knife.</p> + +<p>"That'll be better," said he cheerfully. Elizabeth +put on the damp shoes. The evening dew +lay heavy on the towing-path, and she hardly +demurred at all to his fastening the laces. She +was very tired.</p> + +<p>Again he offered his arm; again she refused it.</p> + +<p>Then, "Elizabeth, take my arm at once!" he +said sharply.</p> + +<p>She took it, and they had kept step for some +fifty paces before she said—</p> + +<p>"Then you knew all the time?"</p> + +<p>"Am I blind or in my dotage? But you forbade +me to meet you except as a stranger. I +have an obedient nature."</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence. He held her hand +against his side strongly, but, as it seemed, without +sentiment. He was merely helping a tired +woman-stranger on a long road. But the road +seemed easier to Elizabeth because her hand +lay so close to him; she almost forgot how tired +she was, and lost herself in dreams, and awoke, +and taught herself to dream again, and wondered +why everything should seem so different just because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +one's hand lay on the sleeve of a grey +flannel jacket.</p> + +<p>"Why should I be so abominably happy?" +she asked herself, and then lapsed again into +the dreams that were able to wipe away three +years, as a kind hand might wipe three little +tear-drops from a child's slate, scrawled over +with sums done wrong.</p> + +<p>When she remembered that he was married, +she salved her conscience innocently. "After +all," she said, "it can't be wrong if it doesn't +make <i>him</i> happy; and, of course, he doesn't +care, and I shall never see him again after to-night."</p> + +<p>So on they went, the deepening dusk turned +to night, and in Elizabeth's dreams it seemed +that her hand was held more closely; but unless +one moved it ever so little one could not be +sure; and she would not move it ever so little.</p> + +<p>The damp towing-path ended in a road cobblestoned, +the masts of ships, pointed roofs, twinkling +lights. The eleven miles were nearly over.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth's hand moved a little, involuntarily, +on his arm. To cover the movement she spoke +instantly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am leaving Bruges to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"No; your sixth-form girl will be too tired, +and besides—"</p> + +<p>"Besides?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a thousand things! Don't leave Bruges +yet; it's so 'quaint,' you know; and—and I +want to introduce you to—"</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Elizabeth almost violently.</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"No; I don't want to know your wife."</p> + +<p>He stopped short in the street—not one of +the "quaint" streets, but a deserted street of tall, +square-shuttered, stern, dark mansions, wherein +a gas-lamp or two flickered timidly.</p> + +<p>"My <i>wife?</i>" he said; "it's my <i>aunt</i>."</p> + +<p>"It said 'Mrs. Brown' in the visitors' list," +faltered Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>"Brown's such an uncommon name," he said; +"my aunt spells hers with an E."</p> + +<p>"Oh! with an E? Yes, of course. I spell +my name with an E too, only it's at the wrong +end."</p> + +<p>Elizabeth began to laugh, and the next moment +to cry helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Elizabeth! and you looked in the visitors'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +list and—" He caught her in his arms +there in the street. "No; you can't get away. +I'm wiser than I was three years ago. I shall +never let you go any more, my dear."</p> + +<p>The girl from the sixth looked quite resentfully +at the two faces that met her at the station. +It seemed hardly natural or correct for +a classical mistress to look so happy.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth's lover schemed for and got a goodnight +word with her at the top of the stairs, +by the table where the beautiful brass candlesticks +lay waiting in shining rows.</p> + +<p>"Sleep well, you poor, tired little person," +he said, as he lighted the candle; "such little +feet, such wicked little shoes, such a long, long, +long walk."</p> + +<p>"You must be tired, too," she said.</p> + +<p>"Tired? with eleven miles, and your hand +against my heart for eight of them? I shall +remember that walk when we're two happy old +people nodding across our own hearthrug at +each other."</p> + +<p>So he had felt it too; and if he had been +married, how wicked it would have been! But +he was not married—yet.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am not very, very tired, really," she said. +"You see, it <i>was</i> my hand against—I mean +your arm was a great help—"</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> your hand," he said. "Oh, you +darling!"</p> + +<p>It was her hand, too, that was kissed there, +beside the candlesticks, under the very eyes of +the chambermaid and two acid English tourists.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>UNDER THE NEW MOON</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE white crescent of the little new moon +blinked at us through the yew boughs. As +you walk up the churchyard you see thirteen +yews on each side of you, and yet, if you count +them up, they make twenty-seven, and it has +been pointed out to me that neither numerical +fact can be without occult significance. The +jugglery in numbers is done by the seventh yew +on the left, which hides a shrinking sister in the +amplitude of its shadow.</div> + +<p>The midsummer day was dying in a golden +haze. Amid the gathering shadows of the +churchyard her gown gleamed white, ghostlike.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's the new moon," she said. "I +am so glad. Take your hat off to her and turn +the money in your pocket, and you will get +whatever you wish for, and be rich as well."</p> + +<p>I obeyed with a smile, half of whose meaning +she answered.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," she said, "I am not really superstitious; +I'm not at all sure that the money is any good, +or the hat, but of course everyone knows it's +unlucky to see it through glass."</p> + +<p>"Seen through glass," I began, "a hat presents +a gloss which on closer inspection—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, not a hat, the moon, of course. And +you might as well pretend that it's lucky to +upset the salt, or to kill a spider, especially on a +Tuesday, or on your hat."</p> + +<p>"Hats," I began again, "certainly seem to—"</p> + +<p>"It's not the hat," she answered, pulling up +the wild thyme and crushing it in her hands, +"you know very well it's the spider. Doesn't +that smell sweet?"</p> + +<p>She held out the double handful of crushed +sun-dried thyme, and as I bent my face over the +cup made by her two curved hands, I was constrained +to admit that the fragrance was +delicious.</p> + +<p>"Intoxicating even," I added.</p> + +<p>"Not that. White lilies intoxicate you, so +does mock-orange; and white may too, only it's +unlucky to bring it into the house."</p> + +<p>I smiled again.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should call it superstitious +to believe in facts," she said. "My +cousin's husband's sister brought some may into +her house last year, and her uncle died within +the month."</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"My husband's uncle's sister's niece<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Was saved from them by the police.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">She says so, so I know it's true—"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>I had got thus far in my quotation when she +interrupted me.</div> + +<p>"Oh, well, if you're going to sneer!" she +said, and added that it was getting late, and +that she must go home.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," I pleaded. "See how pretty +everything is. The sky all pink, and the red +sunset between the yews, and that good little +moon. And how black the shadows are under +the buttresses. Don't go home—already they +will have lighted the yellow shaded lamps in +your drawing-room. Your sister will be sitting +down to the piano. Your mother is trying to +match her silks. Your brother has got out the +chess board. Someone is drawing the curtains. +The day is over for them, but for us, here, there +is a little bit of it left."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were sitting on the lowest step of a high, +square tomb, moss-grown and lichen-covered. +The yellow lichens had almost effaced the long +list of the virtues of the man on whose breast +this stone had lain, as itself in round capitals +protested, since the year of grace 1703. The +sharp-leafed ivy grew thickly over one side of +it, and the long, uncut grass came up between +the cracks of its stone steps.</p> + +<p>"It's all very well," she said severely.</p> + +<p>"Don't be angry," I implored. "How can +you be angry when the bats are flying black +against the rose sky, when the owl is waking +up—his is a soft, fluffy awakening—and wondering +if it's breakfast time?"</p> + +<p>"I won't be angry," she said. "Besides the +owl, it's disrespectful to the dear, sleepy, dead +people to be angry in a churchyard. But if I +were really superstitious, you know, I should +be afraid to come here at night."</p> + +<p>"At the end of the day," I corrected. "It +is not night yet. Tell me before the night +comes all the wonderful things you believe. +Recite your <i>credo</i>."</p> + +<p>"Don't be flippant. I don't suppose I believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +more unlikely things than you do. You believe +in algebra and Euclid and log—what's-his-names. +Now I don't believe a word of all that."</p> + +<p>"We have it on the best authority that by +getting up early you can believe six impossible +things before breakfast."</p> + +<p>"But they're not impossible. Don't you see +that's just it? The things I like to believe are +the very things that <i>might</i> be true. And they're +relics of a prettier time than ours, a time when +people believed in ghosts and fairies and witches +and the devil—oh, yes! and in God and His +angels, too. Now the times are bound in yellow +brick, and we believe in nothing but ... Euclid +and—and company prospectuses and patent +medicines."</p> + +<p>When she is a little angry she is very charming, +but it was too dark for me to see her face.</p> + +<p>"Then," I asked, "it is merely the literary +sense that leads you to make the Holy Sign +when you find two knives crossed on your table, +or to knock under the table and cry 'Unberufen' +when you have provoked the Powers with +some kind word of the destiny they have sent +you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't," she said. "I don't talk foreign +languages."</p> + +<p>"You say, 'unbecalled for,' I know, but this +is mere subterfuge. Is it the literary sense that +leads you to treasure farthings, to refuse to give +pins, to object to a dinner party of thirteen, to +fear the plucking of the golden elder, to avoid +coming back to the house when once you've +started, even if you've forgotten your prayer-book +or your umbrella, to decline to pass under +a ladder—"</p> + +<p>"I always go under a ladder," she interrupted, +ignoring the other counts; "it only means you +won't be married for seven years."</p> + +<p>"I never go under ladders. Tell me, is it the +literary sense?"</p> + +<p>"Bother the literary sense," she said. "Bother" +is not a pretty word, but this did not strike me +till I came to write it down. "Look," she went +on, "at the faint primrose tint over the pine +trees and those last pink clouds high up in the sky."</p> + +<p>I could see the outline of her lifted chin and +her throat against the yew shadows, but I determined +to be wise. I looked at the pine trees +and said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I want you to instruct me. Why is it unlucky +to break a looking-glass? and what is the +counter-charm?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know"—there was some awe in +her voice—"I don't think there is any counter-charm. +If I broke a looking-glass I believe +I should have to give up believing in these +things altogether. It would make me too unhappy."</p> + +<p>I was discreet enough to pass by the admission.</p> + +<p>"And why is it unlucky to wear black at a +wedding? And if anyone did wear black at +your wedding, what would you do?"</p> + +<p>"You are very tiresome this evening," she +said. "Why don't you keep to the point? +Nobody was talking of weddings, and if you +must wander, why not stray in more amusing +paths? Why don't you talk of something +interesting? Why do you try to be disagreeable? +If you think I'm silly to believe all these nice +picturesque things, why don't you give me your +solid, dull, dry, scientific reasons for not believing +them?"</p> + +<p>"Your wish is my law," I responded with +alacrity. "Superstition, then, is the result of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +imperfect recognition in unscientific ages of the +relations of cause and effect. To persons unaccustomed +correctly to assign causes, one cause +is as likely as another to produce a given effect. +Hallucinations of the senses have also, doubtless—"</p> + +<p>"And now you're only dull," she said.</p> + +<p>The light had slowly faded while we spoke +till the churchyard was almost dark, the grass +was heavy with dew, and sadness had crept like +a shadow over the quiet world.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry. Everything I say is wrong +to-night. I was born under an unlucky star. +Forgive me."</p> + +<p>"It was I who was cross," she admitted at +once very cheerfully, but, indeed, not without +some truth. "But it doesn't do anyone any +harm to play at believing things; honestly, I'm +not sure whether I believe them or not, but +they have some colour about them in an age +grown grey in its hateful laboratories and workshops. +I do want to try to tell you if you +really want to know about it. I can't think +why, but if I meet a flock of sheep I know it +is lucky, and I'm cheered; and if a hare crosses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +the path I feel it is unlucky, and I'm sad; and +if I see the new moon through glass I'm positively +wretched. But all the same, I'm not +superstitious. I'm not afraid of ghosts or dead +people, or things like that"—I'm not sure that +she did not add, "So there!"</p> + +<p>"Would you dare to go to the church door +at twelve at night and knock three times?" I +asked, with some severity.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said stoutly, though I know she +quailed, "I would. Now you'll admit that I'm +not superstitious."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, and here I offer no excuse. +The devil entered into me, and though I see +now what a brute beast I was, I cannot be sorry. +"I own that you are not superstitious. How +dark it is growing. The ivy has broken the +stone away just behind your head: there is +quite a large hole in the side of the tomb. No, +don't move, there's nothing there. If you were +superstitious you might fancy, on a still, dark, +sweet evening like this, that the dead man might +wake and want to come up out of his coffin. +He might crouch under the stone, and then, +trying to come out, he might very slowly reach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +out his dead fingers and touch your neck. +Ah!"</p> + +<p>The awakened wind had moved an ivy spray +to the suggested touch. She sprang up with a +cry, and the next moment she was clinging +wildly to me, as I held her in my arms.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, my dear, oh, don't! Forgive me, +it was the ivy."</p> + +<p>She caught her breath.</p> + +<p>"How could you! how could you!"</p> + +<p>And still I held her fast, with—as she grew +calmer—a question in the clasp of my arms, +and, presently, on my lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, forgive me! And is it true—do +you?—do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—I don't know.... No, no, not +through my veil, it <i>is</i> so unlucky!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE LOVE OF ROMANCE</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>SHE opened the window, at which no light +shone. All the other windows were darkly +shuttered. The night was still: only a faint +breath moved among the restless aspen leaves. +The ivy round the window whispered hoarsely +as the casement, swung back too swiftly, rested +against it. She had a large linen sheet in her +hands. Without hurry and without delayings +she knotted one corner of it to the iron staple +of the window. She tied the knot firmly, and +further secured it with string. She let the +white bulk of the sheet fall between the ivy +and the night, then she climbed on to the window-ledge, +and crouched there on her knees. +There was a heart-sick pause before she grasped +the long twist of the sheet as it hung—let her +knees slip from the supporting stone and swung +suddenly, by her hands. Her elbows and wrists<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +were grazed against the rough edge of the window-ledge—the +sheet twisted at her weight, +and jarred her shoulder heavily against the +house wall. Her arms seemed to be tearing +themselves from their sockets. But she clenched +her teeth, felt with her feet for the twisted ivy +stems on the side of the house, found foothold, +and the moment of almost unbearable agony +was over. She went down, helped by feet and +hands, and by ivy and sheet, almost exactly as +she had planned to do. She had not known it +would hurt so much—that was all. Her feet +felt the soft mould of the border: a stout geranium +snapped under her tread. She crept round +the house, in the house's shadow—found the +gardener's ladder—and so on to the high brick +wall. From this she dropped, deftly enough, +into the suburban lane: dropped, too, into the +arms of a man who was waiting there. She +hid her face in his neck, trembling, and said, +"Oh, Harry—I wish I hadn't!" Then she +began to cry helplessly. The man, receiving her +embrace with what seemed in the circumstances +a singularly moderated enthusiasm, led her with +one arm still lightly about her shoulders down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +the lane: at the corner he stood still, and said +in a low voice—</div> + +<p>"Hush—stop crying at once! I've something +to say to you."</p> + +<p>She tore herself from his arm, and gasped.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>not</i> Harry," she said. "Oh, how dare +you!" She had been brave till she had dropped +into his arms. Then the need for bravery had +seemed over. Now her tears were dried swiftly +and suddenly by the blaze of anger and courage +in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't be unreasonable," he said, and even at +that moment of disappointment and rage his voice +pleased her. "I had to get you away somehow. +I couldn't risk an explanation right under your +aunt's windows. Harry's sprained his knee—cricket. +He couldn't come."</p> + +<p>A sharp resentment stirred in her against the +lover who could play cricket on the very day of +an elopement.</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> told you to come? Oh, how could he +betray me!"</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, what was he to do? He +couldn't leave you to wait out here alone—perhaps +for hours."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have waited long," she said +sharply; "you came to tell me: now you've +told me—you'd better go."</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said with gentle calm, "I do +wish you'd try not to be quite so silly. I'm +Harry's doctor—and a middle-aged man. Let +me help you. There must be some better way +out of your troubles than a midnight flight and +a despairingly defiant note on the pin-cushion."</p> + +<p>"I didn't," she said. "I put it on the mantelpiece. +Please go. I decline to discuss anything +with you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't!" he said; "I knew you must be +a very romantic person, or you wouldn't be here; +and I knew you must be rather sill—well, rather +young, or you wouldn't have fallen in love with +Harry. But I did not think, after the brave and +practical manner in which you kept your appointment, +I did <i>not</i> think that you'd try to behave +like the heroine of a family novelette. +Come, sit down on this heap of stones—there's +nobody about. There's a light in your house +now. You can't go back yet. Here, let me put +my Inverness round you. Keep it up round +your chin, and then if anyone sees you they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +won't know who you are. I can't leave you +alone here. You know what a lot of robberies +there have been in the neighbourhood lately; +there may be rough characters about. Come +now, let's think what's to be done. You know +you can't get back unless I help you."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to help me; and I won't +go back," she said.</p> + +<p>But she sat down and pulled the cloak up +round her face.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "as I understand the case—it's +this. You live rather a dull life with two +tyrannical aunts—and the passion for romance...."</p> + +<p>"They're not tyrannical—only one's always +ill and the other's always nursing her. She +makes her get up and read to her in the night. +That's her light you saw—"</p> + +<p>"Well, I pass the aunts. Anyhow, you met +Harry—somehow—"</p> + +<p>"It was at the Choral Society. And then +they stopped my going—because he walked +home with me one wet night."</p> + +<p>"And you have never seen each other since?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we have."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And communicated by some means more +romantic than the post?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't romantic. It was tennis-balls."</p> + +<p>"Tennis-balls?"</p> + +<p>"You cut a slit and squeeze it and put a note +in, and it shuts up and no one notices it. It +wasn't romantic at all. And I don't know why +I should tell you anything about it."</p> + +<p>"And then, I suppose, there were glances in +church, and stolen meetings in the passionate +hush of the rose-scented garden."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing in the garden but geraniums," +she said, "and we always talked over the wall—he +used to stand on their chicken house, and I +used to turn our dog kennel up on end and stand +on that. You have no right to know anything +about it, but it was not in the least romantic."</p> + +<p>"No—that sees itself! May I ask whether +it was you or he who proposed this elopement?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how <i>dare</i> you!" she said, jumping up; +"you have no right to insult me like this."</p> + +<p>He caught her wrist. "Sit down, you little +firebrand," he said. "I gather that he proposed +it. You, at any rate, consented, no doubt after +the regulation amount of proper scruples. It's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +all very charming and idyllic and—what are +you crying for? Your lost hopes of a happy life +with a boy you know nothing of, a boy you've +hardly seen, a boy you've never talked to about +anything but love's young dream?"</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>not</i> crying," she said passionately, turning +her streaming eyes on him, "you know I'm +not—or if I am, it's only with rage. You may +be a doctor—though I don't believe you are—but +you're not a gentleman. Not anything like +one!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," he said; "a gentleman would +not make conditions. I'm going to make one. +You can't go to Harry, because his Mother would +be seriously annoyed if you did; and so, believe +me, would he—though you don't think it. You +can get up and leave me, and go 'away into the +night,' like a heroine of fiction—but you can't +keep on going away into the night for ever and +ever. You must have food and clothes and lodging. +And the sun rises every day. You must +just quietly and dully go home again. And you +can't do it without me. And I'll help you if +you'll promise not to see Harry, or write to him +for a year."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He'll see me. He'll write to me," she said +with proud triumph.</p> + +<p>"I think not. I exacted the promise from +<i>him</i> as a condition of my coming to meet +you."</p> + +<p>"And he promised?"</p> + +<p>"Evidently."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. She broke it with +a voice of concentrated fury.</p> + +<p>"If he doesn't mind, <i>I</i> don't," she said. "I'll +promise. Now let me go back. I wish you +hadn't come—I wish I was dead."</p> + +<p>"Come," he said, "don't be so angry with me. +I've done what I could for you both."</p> + +<p>"On conditions!"</p> + +<p>"You must see that they are good, or you +wouldn't have accepted them so soon. I thought +it would have taken me at least an hour to get +you to consent. But no—ten minutes of earnest +reflection are enough to settle the luckless Harry's +little hash. You're quite right—he doesn't deserve +more! I am pleased with myself, I own. +I must have a very convincing manner."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried passionately, "I daresay you +think you've been very clever. But I wish you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +knew what I think of you. And I'd tell you for +twopence."</p> + +<p>"I'm a poor man, gentle lady—won't you +tell me for love?" His voice was soft and +pleading beneath the laugh that stung her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I <i>will</i> tell you—for nothing," she cried. +"You're a brute, and a hateful, interfering, disagreeable, +impertinent old thing, and I only hope +you'll have someone be as horrid to you as +you've been to me, that's all!"</p> + +<p>"I think I've had that already—quite as +horrid," he said grimly. "This is not the moment +for compliments—but you have great +powers. You are brave, and I never met anyone +who could be more 'horrid,' as you call it, +in smaller compass, all with one little tiny +adjective. My felicitations. You <i>are</i> clever. +Come—don't be angry any more—I had to +do it—you'll understand some day."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't like it yourself," she said, +softening to something in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have liked it at your age," he +said; "sixteen—fifteen—what is it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm nineteen next birthday," she said with +dignity.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And the date?"</p> + +<p>"The fifteenth of June—I don't know what +you mean by asking me."</p> + +<p>"And to-day's the first of July," he said, and +sighed. "Well, well!—if your Highness will +allow me, I'll go and see whether your aunt's +light is out, and if it is, we'll attempt the re-entrance."</p> + +<p>He went. She shivered, waiting for what felt +like hours. And the resentment against her aunts +grew faint in the light of her resentment against +her lover's messenger, and this, in its turn, was +outshone by her anger against her lover. He +had played cricket. He had risked his life—on +the very day whose evening should have +crowned that life by giving her to his arms. +She set her teeth. Then she yawned and +shivered again. It was an English July, and +very cold. And the slow minutes crept past. +What a fool she had been! Why had she not +made a fight for her liberty—for her right to +see Harry if she chose to see him? The aunts +would never have stood up against a well-planned, +determined, disagreeable resistance. In +the light of this doctor's talk the whole thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +did seem cowardly, romantic, and, worst of all, +insufferably young. Well—to-morrow everything +should change; she would fight for her +Love, not merely run away to him. But the +promise? Well, Harry was Harry, and a promise +was only a promise!</p> + +<p>There were footsteps in the lane. The man +was coming back to her. She rose.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," he said. "Come."</p> + +<p>In silence they walked down the lane. Suddenly +he stopped.</p> + +<p>"You'll thank me some day," he said. "Why +should you throw yourself away on Harry? +You're worth fifty of him. And I only wish I +had time to explain this to you thoroughly, but +I haven't!"</p> + +<p>She, too, had stopped. Now she stamped her +foot.</p> + +<p>"Look here," she said, "I'm not going to +promise anything at all. You needn't help me +if you don't want to—but I take back that +promise. Go!—do what you like! I mean +to stick to Harry—and I'll write and tell him +so to-night. So there!"</p> + +<p>He clapped his hands very softly. "Bravo!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +he said; "that's the right spirit. Plucky child! +Any other girl would have broken the promise +without a word to me. Harry's luckier even +than I thought. I'll help you, little champion! +Come on."</p> + +<p>He helped her over the wall; carried the +ladder to her window, and steadied it while +she mounted it. When she had climbed over the +window-ledge she turned and leaned out of the +window, to see him slowly mounting the ladder. +He threw his head back with a quick gesture +that meant "I have something more to say—lean +out!"</p> + +<p>She leaned out. His face was on a level +with hers.</p> + +<p>"You've slept soundly all night—don't forget +that—it's important," he whispered, "and—you +needn't tell Harry—one-sided things are so +trivial, but I can't help it. <i>I</i> have the passion +for romance too!"</p> + +<p>With that he caught her neck in the curve of +his arm, and kissed her lightly but fervently.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" he said; "thank you so much +for a very pleasant evening!" He dropped +from the ladder and was gone. She drew her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +curtain with angry suddenness. Then she lighted +candles and looked at herself in the looking-glass. +She thought she had never looked so +pretty. And she was right. Then she went to +bed, and slept like a tired baby.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Next morning the suburb was electrified by +the discovery, made by the nursing aunt, that +all the silver and jewels and valuables from the +safe at the top of the stairs had vanished.</p> + +<p>"The villains must have come through your +room, child," she said to Harry's sweetheart; +"the ladder proves that. Slept sound all night, +did you? Well, that was a mercy! They +might have murdered you in your bed if you'd +happened to be awake. You ought to be +humbly thankful when you think of what might +have happened."</p> + +<p>The girl did not think very much of what +might have happened. What <i>had</i> happened +gave her quite food enough for reflection. +Especially when to her side of the night's adventures +was added the tale of Harry's.</p> + +<p>He had not played cricket, he had not hurt +his knee, he had merely confided in his father's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +valet, and had given that unprincipled villain +a five-pound note to be at the Cross Roads—in +the orthodox style—with a cab for the flight, +a post-chaise being, alas! out of date. Instead +of doing this, the valet, with a confederate, had +gagged and bound young Harry, and set him in +a convenient corner against the local waterworks +to await events.</p> + +<p>"I never would have believed it of him," +added Harry, in an agitated india-rubber-ball +note, "he always seemed such a superior person, +you'd have thought he was a gentleman if you'd +met him in any other position."</p> + +<p>"I should. I did," she said to herself. "And, +oh, how frightfully clever! And the way he +talked! And all the time he was only keeping +me out of the way while they stole the silver +and things. I wish he hadn't taken the ruby +necklace: it does suit me so. And what nerve! +He actually talked about the robberies in the +neighbourhood. He must have done them all. +Oh, what a pity! But he was a dear. And +how awfully wicked he was, too—but I'll never +tell Harry!"</p> + +<p>She never has.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> + +<p>Curiously enough, her Burglar Valet Hero was +not caught, though the police most intelligently +traced his career, from his being sent down from +Oxford to his last best burglary.</p> + +<p>She was married to Harry, with the complete +consent of everyone concerned, for Harry had +money, and so had she, and there had never been +the slightest need for an elopement, save in +youth's perennial passion for romance. It was +on her birthday that she received a registered +postal packet. It had a good many queer postmarks +on it, and the stamps were those of a +South American republic. It was addressed to +her by her new name, which was as good as +new still. It came at breakfast-time, and it +contained the ruby necklace, several gold rings, +and a diamond brooch. All were the property +of her late aunts. Also there was an india-rubber +ball, and in it a letter.</p> + +<p>"Here is a birthday present for you," it said. +"Try to forgive me. Some temptations are +absolutely irresistible. That one was. And it +was worth it. It rounded off the whole thing +so perfectly. That last indiscretion of mine +nearly ruined everything. There was a policeman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +in the lane. I only escaped by the merest +fluke. But even then it would have been worth +it. At least, I should like you to believe that I +think so."</p> + +<p>"His last indiscretion," said Harry, who saw +the note but not the india-rubber ball, "that +means stealing your aunts' things, of course, +unless it was dumping me down by the waterworks, +but, of course, that wasn't the last one. +But worth it? Why, he'd have had seven years +if they'd caught him—worth it? He <i>must</i> have +a passion for burglary."</p> + +<p>She did not explain to Harry, because he +would never have understood. But the burglar +would have found it quite easy to understand +that or anything. She was so shocked to find +herself thinking this that she went over to Harry +and kissed him with more affection even than +usual.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," he said, "I don't wonder you're +pleased to get something back out of all those +things. I quite understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," said she. "I know. You always +do!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> +<div class='tnote'> +<div class='center'><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b></div> + +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_219">Page 219</a>, repeated word "for" deleted from text. Original read: (it will for for me)</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Literary Sense, by E. Nesbit + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITERARY SENSE *** + +***** This file should be named 39324-h.htm or 39324-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/3/2/39324/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> |