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diff --git a/40483-8.txt b/40483-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9d165da..0000000 --- a/40483-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18666 +0,0 @@ - THESE TWAIN - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: These Twain -Author: Arnold Bennett -Release Date: August 11, 2012 [EBook #40483] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THESE TWAIN *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - THESE TWAIN - - - BY - - ARNOLD BENNETT - - AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES' TALE," "THE OLD ADAM," - "CLAYHANGER," "HILDA LESSWAYS," ETC. - - - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - Copyright, 1915, - BY ARNOLD BENNETT - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BOOK I - - THE WOMAN IN THE HOUSE - -CHAPTER - - I. THE HOUSE - II. HILDA ON THE STAIRS - III. ATTACK AND REPULSE - IV. THE WORD - V. TERTIUS INGPEN - VI. HUSBAND AND WIFE - VII. THE TRUCE - VIII. THE FAMILY AT HOME - IX. THE WEEK-END - X. THE ORGREAVE CALAMITY - - - BOOK II - - THE PAST - - XI. LITHOGRAPHY - XII. DARTMOOR - XIII. THE DEPARTURE - XIV. TAVY MANSION - XV. THE PRISON - XVI. THE GHOST - - - BOOK III - - EQUILIBRIUM - - XVII. GEORGE'S EYES - XVIII. AUNTIE HAMPS SENTENCED - XIX. DEATH AND BURIAL - XX. THE DISCOVERY - - - - - BOOK I - - THE WOMAN IN THE HOUSE - - - - THESE TWAIN - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE HOUSE - - - I - - -In the year 1892 Bleakridge, residential suburb of Bursley, was still -most plainly divided into old and new,--that is to say, into the dull -red or dull yellow with stone facings, and the bright red with terra -cotta gimcrackery. Like incompatible liquids congealed in a pot, the -two components had run into each other and mingled, but never mixed. - -Paramount among the old was the house of the Member of Parliament, near -the top of the important mound that separates Hanbridge from Bursley. -The aged and widowed Member used the house little, but he kept it up, -and sometimes came into it with an unexpectedness that extremely -flattered the suburb. Thus you might be reading in the morning paper -that the Member had given a lunch in London on the previous day to -Cabinet Ministers and ladies as splendid as the Countess of Chell, -and--glancing out of the window--you might see the Member himself -walking down Trafalgar Road, sad, fragile, sedately alert, with his -hands behind him, or waving a gracious hand to an acquaintance. -Whereupon you would announce, not apathetically: "Member's gone down to -MacIlvaine's!" (MacIlvaine's being the works in which the Member had an -interest) and there would perhaps be a rush to the window. Those were -the last great days of Bleakridge. - -After the Member's house ranked such historic residences as those of -Osmond Orgreave, the architect, (which had the largest, greenest garden -and the best smoke-defying trees in Bleakridge), and Fearns, the -Hanbridge lawyer; together with Manor "Cottage" (so-called, though a -spacious house), where lived the mechanical genius who had -revolutionised the pottery industry and strangely enough made a fortune -thereby, and the dark abode of the High Church parson. - -Next in importance came the three terraces,--Manor Terrace, Abbey -Terrace, and the Sneyd Terrace--each consisting of three or four houses, -and all on the west side of Trafalgar Road, with long back-gardens and a -distant prospect of Hillport therefrom over the Manor fields. The -Terraces, considered as architecture, were unbeautiful, old-fashioned, -inconvenient,--perhaps paltry, as may be judged from the fact that rents -ran as low as £25 a year; but they had been wondrous in their day, the -pride of builders and owners and the marvel of a barbaric populace. -They too had histories, which many people knew. Age had softened them -and sanctioned their dignity. A gate might creak, but the harsh curves -of its ironwork had been mollified by time. Moreover the property was -always maintained in excellent repair by its landlords, and residents -cared passionately for the appearance of the windows and the -front-steps. The plenary respectability of the residents could not be -impugned. They were as good as the best. For address, they would not -give the number of the house in Trafalgar Road, but the name of its -Terrace. Just as much as the occupiers of detached houses, they had -sorted themselves out from the horde. Conservative or Liberal, they -were anti-democratic, ever murmuring to themselves as they descended the -front-steps in the morning and mounted them in the evening: "Most folks -are nobodies, but I am somebody." And this was true. - -The still smaller old houses in between the Terraces, and even the old -cottages in the side streets (which all ran to the east) had a similar -distinction of caste, aloofness, and tradition. The least of them was -scornful of the crowd, and deeply conscious of itself as a separate -individuality. When the tenant-owner of a cottage in Manor Street added -a bay-window to his front-room the event seemed enormous in Manor -Street, and affected even Trafalgar Road, as a notorious clean-shaven -figure in the streets may disconcert a whole quarter by growing a beard. -The congeries of cottage yards between Manor Street and Higginbotham -Street, as visible from certain high back-bedrooms in Trafalgar Road,--a -crowded higgledy-piggledy of plum-coloured walls and chimneys, -blue-brick pavements, and slate roofs--well illustrated the grand -Victorian epoch of the Building Society, when eighteenpence was added -weekly to eighteenpence, and land haggled over by the foot, and every -brick counted, in the grim, long effort to break away from the mass. - -The traditionalism of Bleakridge protected even Roman Catholicism in -that district of Nonconformity, where there were at least three -Methodist chapels to every church and where the adjective "popish" was -commonly used in preference to "papal." The little "Catholic Chapel" -and the priest's house with its cross-keys at the top of the mound were -as respected as any other buildings, because Roman Catholicism had -always been endemic there, since the age when the entire let belonged to -Cistercian monks in white robes. A feebly endemic Catholicism and a -complete exemption from tithes were all that remained of the Cistercian -occupation. The exemption was highly esteemed by the possessing class. - -Alderman Sutton, towards the end of the seventies, first pitted the new -against the old in Bleakridge. The lifelong secretary of a first-class -Building Society, he was responsible for a terrace of three commodious -modern residences exactly opposite the house of the Member. The Member -and Osmond Orgreave might modernise their antique houses as much as they -liked,--they could never match the modernity of the Alderman's Terrace, -to which, by the way, he declined to give a name. He was capable of -covering his drawing-room walls with papers at three-and-six a roll, and -yet he capriciously preferred numbers to a name! These houses cost -twelve hundred pounds each (a lot of money in the happy far-off days -when good bricks were only £1 a thousand, or a farthing apiece), and -imposed themselves at once upon the respect and admiration of -Bleakridge. A year or two later the Clayhanger house went up at the -corner of Trafalgar Road and Hulton Street, and easily outvied the -Sutton houses. Geographically at the centre of the residential suburb, -it represented the new movement in Bleakridge at its apogee, and indeed -was never beaten by later ambitious attempts. - -Such fine erections, though nearly every detail of them challenged -tradition, could not disturb Bleakridge's belief in the stability of -society. But simultaneously whole streets of cheap small houses (in -reality, pretentious cottages) rose round about. Hulton Street was all -new and cheap. Oak Street offered a row of pink cottages to Osmond -Orgreave's garden gates, and there were three other similar new streets -between Oak Street and the Catholic Chapel. Jerry-building was -practised in Trafalgar Road itself, on a large plot in full view of the -Catholic Chapel, where a speculative builder, too hurried to use a -measure, "stepped out" the foundations of fifteen cottages with his own -bandy legs, and when the corner of a freshly-constructed cottage fell -into the street remarked that accidents would happen and had the bricks -replaced. But not every cottage was jerry-built. Many, perhaps most, -were of fairly honest workmanship. All were modern, and relatively -spacious, and much superior in plan to the old. All had bay-windows. -And yet all their bay-windows together could not produce an effect equal -to one bay-window in ancient Manor Street, because they had omitted to -be individual. Not one showy dwelling was unlike another, nor desired -to be unlike another. - -The garish new streets were tenanted by magic. On Tuesday the -paperhangers might be whistling in those drawing-rooms (called parlours -in Manor Street),--on Wednesday bay-windows were curtained and chimneys -smoking. And just as the cottages lacked individuality, so the tenants -were nobodies. At any rate no traditional person in Bleakridge knew who -they were, nor where they came from, except that they came mysteriously -up out of the town. (Not that there had been any shocking increase in -the birthrate down there!) And no traditional person seemed to care. -The strange inroad and portent ought to have puzzled and possibly to -have intimidated traditional Bleakridge: but it did not. Bleakridge -merely observed that "a lot of building was going on," and left the -phenomenon at that. At first it was interested and flattered; then -somewhat resentful and regretful. And even Edwin Clayhanger, though he -counted himself among the enlightened and the truly democratic, felt -hurt when quite nice houses, copying some features of his own on a small -scale, and let to such people as insurance agents, began to fill up the -remaining empty spaces of Trafalgar Road. He could not help thinking -that the prestige of Bleakridge was being impaired. - - - - II - - -Edwin Clayhanger, though very young in marriage, considered that he was -getting on in years as a householder. His age was thirty-six. He had -been married only a few months, under peculiar circumstances which -rendered him self-conscious, and on an evening of August 1892, as he -stood in the hall of his house awaiting the commencement of a postponed -and unusual At Home, he felt absurdly nervous. But the nervousness was -not painful; because he himself could laugh at it. He might be timid, -he might be a little gawky, he might often have the curious sensation of -not being really adult but only a boy after all,--the great impressive -facts would always emerge that he was the respected head of a well-known -family, that he was successful, that he had both ideas and money, and -that his position as one of the two chief master-printers of the -district would not be challenged. He knew that he could afford to be -nervous. And further, since he was house-proud, he had merely to glance -round his house in order to be reassured and puffed up. - -Loitering near the foot of the stairs, discreetly stylish in an almost -new blue serge suit and a quite new black satin tie, with the light of -the gas on one side of his face, and the twilight through the glazed -front-door mitigating the shadow on the other, Edwin mused pleasingly -upon the whole organism of his home. Externally, the woodwork and -metalwork of the house had just been repainted, and the brickwork -pointed. He took pleasure in the thought of the long even lines of -fresh mortar, and of the new sage-tinted spoutings and pipings, every -foot of which he knew by heart and where every tube began and where it -ended and what its purpose was. The nice fitting of a perpendicular -spout into a horizontal one, and the curve of the joint from the eave to -the wall of the house, and the elaborate staples that firmly held the -spout to the wall, and the final curve of the spout that brought its -orifice accurately over a spotless grid in the ground,--the perfection -of all these ridiculous details, each beneath the notice of a truly -celestial mind, would put the householder Edwin into a sort of -contemplative ecstasy. Perhaps he was comical. But such inner -experiences were part of his great interest in life, part of his large -general passion. - -Within the hall he regarded with equal interest and pride the -photogravure of Bellini's "Agony in the Garden," from the National -Gallery, and the radiator which he had just had installed. The radiator -was only a half-measure, but it was his precious toy, his pet lamb, his -mistress; and the theory of it was that by warming the hall and the well -of the staircase it softly influenced the whole house and abolished -draughts. He had exaggerated the chilliness of the late August night so -that he might put the radiator into action. About the small furnace in -the cellar that heated it he was both crotchetty and extravagant. The -costly efficiency of the radiator somewhat atoned in his mind for the -imperfections of the hot water apparatus, depending on the kitchen -boiler. Even in 1892 this middle-class pioneer and sensualist was -dreaming of an ideal house in which inexhaustible water was always -positively steaming, so that if a succession of persons should -capriciously desire hot baths in the cold middle of the night, their -collective fancy might be satisfied. - -Bellini's picture was the symbol of an artistic revolution in Edwin. He -had read somewhere that it was "perhaps the greatest picture in the -world." A critic's exhortation to "observe the loving realistic passion -shown in the foreshortening of the figure of the sleeping apostle" had -remained in his mind; and, thrilled, he would point out this feature of -the picture alike to the comprehending and the uncomprehending. The -hanging-up of the Bellini, in its strange frame of stained unpolished -oak, had been an epochal event, closing one era and inaugurating -another. And yet, before the event, he had not even noticed the picture -on a visit to the National Gallery! A hint, a phrase murmured in the -right tone in a periodical, a glimpse of an illustration,--and the -mighty magic seed was sown. In a few months all Victorian phenomena had -been put upon their trial, and most of them condemned. And condemned -without even the forms of justice! Half a word (in the right tone) -might ruin any of them. Thus was Sir Frederick Leighton, P.R.A., -himself overthrown. One day his "Bath of Psyche" reigned in Edwin's -bedroom, and the next it had gone, and none knew why. But certain aged -Victorians, such as Edwin's Auntie Hamps, took the disappearance of the -licentious engraving as a sign that the beloved queer Edwin was at last -coming to his senses--as, of course, they knew he ultimately would. He -did not and could not explain. More and more he was growing to look -upon his house as an island, cut off by a difference of manners from the -varnished barbarism of multitudinous new cottages, and by an immensely -more profound difference of thought from both the cottages and the -larger houses. It seemed astounding to Edwin that modes of thought so -violently separative as his and theirs could exist so close together and -under such appearances of similarity. Not even all the younger members -of the Orgreave family, who counted as his nearest friends, were -esteemed by Edwin to be meet for his complete candour. - -The unique island was scarcely a dozen years old, but historical -occurrences had aged it for Edwin. He had opened the doors of all three -reception-rooms, partly to extend the benign sway of the radiator, and -partly so that he might judge the total effect of the illuminated -chambers and improve that effect if possible. And each room bore the -mysterious imprints of past emotion. - -In the drawing-room, with its new orange-coloured gas-globes that gilded -everything beneath them, Edwin's father used to sit on Sunday evenings, -alone. And one Sunday evening, when Edwin, entering, had first mentioned -to his father a woman's name, his father had most terribly humiliated -him. But now it seemed as if some other youth, and not Edwin, had been -humiliated, so completely was the wound healed.... And he could -remember leaning in the doorway of the drawing-room one Sunday morning, -and his sister Clara was seated at the piano, and his sister Maggie, -nursing a baby of Clara's, by her side, and they were singing Balfe's -duet "Excelsior," and his father stood behind them, crying, crying -steadily, until at length the bitter old man lost control of himself and -sobbed aloud under the emotional stress of the women's voices, and Clara -cheerfully upbraided him for foolishness; and Edwin had walked suddenly -away. This memory was somehow far more poignant than the memory of his -humiliation.... And in the drawing-room too he had finally betrothed -himself to Hilda. That by comparison was only yesterday; yet it was -historical and distant. He was wearing his dressing-gown, being -convalescent from influenza; he could distinctly recall the feel of his -dressing-gown; and Hilda came in--over her face was a veil.... - -The dining-room, whose large glistening table was now covered with the -most varied and modern "refreshments" for the At Home, had witnessed no -event specially dramatic, but it had witnessed hundreds of monotonous -tragic meals at which the progress of his father's mental malady and the -approach of his death could be measured by the old man's increasing -disability to distinguish between his knife and his fork; it had seen -Darius Clayhanger fed like a baby. And it had never been the same -dining-room since. Edwin might transform it, re-paper it, re-furnish -it,--the mysterious imprint remained.... - -And then there was the little "breakfast-room," inserted into the plan -of the house between the hall and the kitchen. Nothing had happened -there, because the life of the household had never adjusted itself to -the new, borrowed convention of the "breakfast-room." Nothing? But the -most sensational thing had happened there! When with an exquisite -passing timidity she took possession of Edwin's house as his wife, Hilda -had had a sudden gust of audacity in the breakfast-room. A mature woman -(with a boy aged ten to prove it), she had effervesced into the naïve -gestures of a young girl who has inherited a boudoir. "This shall be my -very own room, and I shall arrange it just how I like, without asking -you about _anything_. And it will be my very own." She had not offered -an idea; she had announced a decision. Edwin had had other notions for -the room, but he perceived that he must bury them in eternal silence, -and yield eagerly to this caprice. Thus to acquiesce had given him deep -and strange joy. He was startled, perhaps, to discover that he had -brought into his house--not a woman, but a tripartite creature--woman, -child, and sibyl. Neither Maggie nor Clara, nor Janet Orgreave, nor -even Hilda before she became his wife, had ever aroused in him the least -suspicion that a woman might be a tripartite creature. He was married, -certainly--nobody could be more legally and respectably married than was -he--but the mere marriage seemed naught in comparison with the enormous -fact that he had got this unexampled creature in his house and was -living with her, she at his mercy, and he at hers. Enchanting escapade! -Solemn doom! ... By the way, she had yet done nothing with the -breakfast-room. Yes, she had stolen a "cabinet" gold frame from the -shop, and put his photograph into it, and stuck his picture on the -mantelpiece; but that was all. She would not permit him to worry her -about her secret designs for the breakfast-room. The breakfast-room was -her affair. Indeed the whole house was her affair. It was no longer -his house, in which he could issue orders without considering another -individuality--orders that would infallibly be executed, either -cheerfully or glumly, by the plump spinster, Maggie. He had to mind his -p's and q's; he had to be wary, everywhere. The creature did not simply -live in the house; she pervaded it. As soon as he opened the front-door -he felt her. - - - - III - - -She was now upstairs in their joint bedroom, dressing for the At Home. -All day he had feared she might be late, and as he looked at the -hall-clock he saw that the risk was getting acute. - -Before the domestic rearrangements preceding the marriage had been fully -discussed, he had assumed, and Maggie and Clara had assumed, and Auntie -Hamps had absolutely assumed, that the husband and wife would occupy the -long empty bedroom of old Darius, because it was two-foot-six broader -than Edwin's, and because it was the "principal" bedroom. But Hilda had -said No to him privately. Whereupon, being himself almost morbidly -unsentimental, he had judiciously hinted that to object to a room -because an old man had died in it under distressing circumstances was to -be morbidly sentimental and unworthy of her. Whereupon she had -mysteriously smiled, and called him sweet bad names, and kissed him, and -hung on his neck. _She_ sentimental! Could not the great stupid see -without being told that what influenced her was not an aversion for his -father's bedroom, but a predilection for Edwin's. She desired that they -should inhabit his room. She wanted to sleep in his room; and to wake -up in it, and to feel that she was immersing herself in his past.... -(Ah! The exciting flattery, like an aphrodisiac!) And she would not -allow him to uproot the fixed bookcases on either side of the hearth. -She said that for her they were part of the room itself. Useless to -argue that they occupied space required for extra furniture! She would -manage! She did manage. He found that the acme of convenience for a -husband had not been achieved, but convenience was naught in the rapture -of the escapade. He had "needed shaking up," as they say down there, -and he was shaken up. - -Nevertheless, though undoubtedly shaken up, he had the male wit to -perceive that the bedroom episode had been a peculiar triumph for -himself. Her attitude in it, imperious superficially, was in truth an -impassioned and outright surrender to him. And further, she had at once -become a frankly admiring partisan of his theory of bedrooms. The need -for a comfortable solitude earlier in life had led Edwin to make his -bedroom habitable by means of a gas-stove, an easy chair, and minor -amenities. When teased by hardy compatriots about his sybaritism Edwin -was apt sometimes to flush and be "nettled," and he would make offensive -un-English comments upon the average bedroom of the average English -household, which was so barbaric that during eight months of the year -you could not maintain your temperature in it unless you were either in -bed or running about the room, and that even in Summer you could not sit -down therein at ease because there was nothing easy to sit on, nor a -table to sit at nor even a book to read. He would caustically ask to be -informed why the supposedly practical and comfort-loving English were -content with an Alpine hut for a bedroom. And in this way he would go -on. He was rather pleased with the phrase "Alpine hut." One day he had -overheard Hilda replying to an acquaintance upstairs: "People may say -what they like, but Edwin and I don't care to sleep in an Alpine hut." -She had caught it! She was his disciple in that matter! And how she -had appreciated his easy-chair! As for calm deliberation in dressing -and undressing, she could astonishingly and even disconcertingly surpass -him in the quality. But it is to be noted that she would not permit her -son to have a gas-stove in his bedroom. Nor would she let him occupy -the disdained principal bedroom, her argument being that that room was -too large for a little boy. Maggie Clayhanger's old bedroom was given -to George, and the principal bedroom remained empty. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - HILDA ON THE STAIRS - - - I - - -Ada descended the stairs, young, slim, very neat. Ada was one of Hilda's -two new servants. Before taking charge of the house Hilda had ordained -the operation called "a clean sweep," and Edwin had approved. The elder -of Maggie's two servants had been a good one, but Hilda had shown no -interest in the catalogue of her excellences. She wanted fresh -servants. Maggie, like Edwin, approved, but only as a general principle. -In the particular case she had hinted that her prospective sister-in-law -was perhaps unwise to let slip a tested servant. Hilda wanted not -merely fresh servants, but young servants agreeable to behold. "I will -not have a lot of middle-aged scowling women about my house," Hilda had -said. Maggie was reserved, but her glance was meant to remind Hilda -that in those end-of-the-century days mistresses had to be content with -what they could get. Young and comely servants were all very well--if -you could drop on them, but supposing you couldn't? The fact was that -Maggie could not understand Hilda's insistence on youth and comeliness -in a servant, and she foresaw trouble for Hilda. Hilda, however, -obtained her desire. She was outspoken with her servants. If Edwin -after his manner implied that she was dangerously ignoring the -touchiness of the modern servant, she would say indifferently: "It's -always open to them to go if they don't like it." They did not go. It -is notorious that foolhardy mistresses are often very lucky. - -As soon as Ada caught sight of her master in the hall she became -self-conscious; all the joints of her body seemed to be hung on very -resilient springs, and,--reddening slightly,--she lowered her gaze and -looked at her tripping toes. Edwin seldom spoke to her more than once a -day, and not always that. He had one day visited the large attic into -which, with her colleague, she disappeared late at night and from which -she emerged early in the morning, and he had seen two small tin trunks -and some clothes behind the door, and an alarm-clock and a portrait of a -fireman on the mantelpiece. (The fireman, he seemed to recollect, was -her brother.) But she was a stranger in his house, and he had no -sustained curiosity about her. The days were gone when he used to be -the intimate of servants--of Mrs. Nixon, for example, sole prop of the -Clayhanger family for many years, and an entirely human being to Edwin. -Mrs. Nixon had never been either young, slim, or neat. She was dead. -The last servant whom he could be said to have known was a pert niece of -Mrs. Nixon's--now somebody's prolific wife and much changed. And he was -now somebody's husband, and bearded, and perhaps occasionally pompous, -and much changed in other ways. So that enigmatic Adas bridled at sight -of him and became intensely aware of themselves. Still, this Ada in her -smartness was a pretty sight for his eyes as like an aspen she trembled -down the stairs, though the coarseness of her big red hands, and the -vulgarity of her accent were a surprising contrast to her waist and her -fine carriage. - -He knew she had been hooking her mistress's dress, and that therefore -the hooking must be finished. He liked to think of Hilda being attired -thus in the bedroom by a natty deferential wench. The process gave to -Hilda a luxurious, even an oriental quality, which charmed him. He -liked the suddenly impressive tone in which the haughty Hilda would say -to Ada, "Your master," as if mentioning a sultan. He was more and more -anxious lest Hilda should be late, and he wanted to ask Ada: "Is Mrs. -Clayhanger coming down?" - -But he discreetly forbore. He might have run up to the bedroom and -burst in on the toilette--Hilda would have welcomed him. But he -preferred to remain with his anxiety where he was, and meditate upon -Hilda bedecking herself up there in the bedroom--to please him; to -please not the guests, but him. - -Ada disappeared down the narrow passage leading to the kitchen, and a -moment later he heard a crude giggle, almost a scream, and some echo of -the rough tones in which the servants spoke to each other when they were -alone in the kitchen. There were in fact two Adas; one was as timid as -a fawn with a voice like a delicate invalid's; the other a loud-mouthed -hoity-toity girl such as rushed out of potbanks in flannel apron at one -o'clock. The Clayhanger servants were satisfactory, more than -satisfactory, the subject of favourable comment for their neatness among -the mistresses of other servants. He liked them to be about; their -presence and their official demeanour flattered him; they perfected the -complex superiority of his house,--that island. But when he overheard -them alone together, or when he set himself to imagine what their soul's -life was, he was more than ever amazed at the unnoticed profound -differences between modes of thought that in apparently the most natural -manner could exist so close together without producing a cataclysm. -Auntie Hamps's theory was that they were all--he, she, the -servants--equal in the sight of God! - - - - II - - -Hilda's son, George Edwin, sidled surprisingly into the hall. He was -wearing a sailor suit, very new, and he had probably been invisible -somewhere against the blue curtains of the drawing-room window--an -example of nature's protective mimicry. George was rather small for his -ten years. Dark, like his mother, he had her eyes and her thick -eyebrows that almost met in the middle, and her pale skin. As for his -mind, he seemed to be sometimes alarmingly precocious and sometimes a -case of arrested development. In this and many other respects he -greatly resembled other boys. The son of a bigamist can have no name, -unless it be his mother's maiden name, but George knew nothing of that. -He had borne his father's name, and when at the exciting and puzzling -period of his mother's marriage he had learnt that his surname would in -future be Clayhanger he had a little resented the affront to his egoism. -Edwin's explanation, however, that the change was for the convenience of -people in general had caused him to shrug his shoulders in concession -and to murmur casually: "Oh, well then--!" He seemed to be assenting -with loftiness: "If it's any particular use to the whole world, I don't -really mind." - -"I say, uncle," he began. - -Edwin had chosen this form of address. "Stepfather" was preposterous, -and "father" somehow offended him; so he constituted himself an uncle. - -"Hello, kid!" said he. "Can you find room to keep anything else in your -pockets besides your hands?" - -George snatched his hands out of his pockets. Then he smiled -confidently up. These two were friends. Edwin was as proud as the boy -of the friendship, and perhaps more flattered. At first he had not -cared for George, being repelled by George's loud, positive tones, his -brusque and often violent gestures, and his intense absorption in -himself. But gradually he had been won by the boy's boyishness, his -smile, his little, soft body, his unspoken invocations, his resentment -of injustice (except when strict justice appeared to clash with his own -interests), his absolute impotence against adult decrees, his touching -fatalism, his recondite personal distinction that flashed and was gone, -and his occasional cleverness and wit. He admitted that George charmed -him. But he well knew that he also charmed George. He had a way of -treating George as an equal that few children (save possibly Clara's) -could have resisted. True, he would quiz the child, but he did not -forbid the child to quiz. The mother was profoundly relieved and -rejoiced by this friendship. She luxuriated in it. Edwin might well -have been inimical to the child; he might through the child have shown a -jealousy of the child's father. But, somewhat to the astonishment of -even Edwin himself, he never saw the father in the child, nor thought of -the father, nor resented the parenthood that was not his. For him the -child was an individual. And in spite of his stern determination not to -fall into the delusions of conceited parents, he could not help thinking -that George was a remarkable child. - -"Have you seen my horse?" asked George. - -"Have I seen your horse? ... Oh! ... I've seen that you've left it lying -about on the hall-table." - -"I put it there so that you'd see it," George persuasively excused -himself for the untidiness. - -"Well, let's inspect it," Edwin forgave him, and picked up from the -table a piece of cartridge-paper on which was a drawing of a great -cart-horse with shaggy feet. It was a vivacious sketch. - -"You're improving," said Edwin, judicially, but in fact much impressed. -Surely few boys of ten could draw as well as that! The design was -strangely more mature than certain quite infantile watercolours that -Edwin had seen scarcely a year earlier. - -"It's rather good, isn't it?" George suggested, lifting up his head so -that he could just see over the edge of the paper which Edwin held at -the level of his watch-chain. - -"I've met worse. Where did you see this particular animal?" - -"I saw him down near the Brewery this morning. But when I'm doing a -horse, I see him on the paper before I begin to draw, and I just draw -round him." - -Edwin thought: - -"This kid is no ordinary kid." - -He said: - -"Well, we'll pin it up here. We'll have a Royal Academy and hear what -the public has to say." He took a pin from under his waistcoat. - -"That's not level," said George. - -And when Edwin had readjusted the pin, George persisted boldly: - -"That's not level either." - -"It's as level as it's going to be. I expect you've been drawing horses -instead of practising your piano." - -He looked down at the mysterious little boy, who lived always so much -nearer to the earth's surface than himself. - -George nodded simply, and then scratched his head. - -"I suppose if I don't practise while I'm young I shall regret it in -after life, shan't I?" - -"Who told you that?" - -"It's what Auntie Hamps said to me, I think... I say, uncle." - -"What's up?" - -"Is Mr. John coming to-night?" - -"I suppose so. Why?" - -"Oh, nothing.... I say, uncle." - -"That's twice you've said it." - -The boy smiled. - -"You know that piece in the Bible about if two of you shall agree on -earth--?" - -"What of it?" Edwin asked rather curtly, anticipating difficulties. - -"I don't think two _boys_ would be enough, would they? Two grown-ups -might. But I'm not so sure about two boys. You see in the very next -verse it says two _or three_, gathered together." - -"Three might be more effective. It's always as well to be on the safe -side." - -"Could you pray for anything? A penknife, for instance?" - -"Why not?" - -"But could you?" George was a little impatient. - -"Better ask your mother," said Edwin, who was becoming self-conscious -under the strain. - -George exploded coarsely: - -"Poh! It's no good asking mother." - -Said Edwin: - -"The great thing in these affairs is to know what you want, and to -_want_ it. Concentrate as hard as you can, a long time in advance. No -use half wanting!" - -"Well, there's one thing that's poz [positive]. I couldn't begin to -concentrate to-night." - -"Why not?" - -"Who could?" George protested. "We're all so nervous to-night, aren't -we, with this At Home business. And I know I never could concentrate in -my best clothes." - -For Edwin the boy with his shocking candour had suddenly precipitated -out of the atmosphere, as it were, the collective nervousness of the -household, made it into a phenomenon visible, tangible, oppressive. And -the household was no longer a collection of units, but an entity. A -bell rang faintly in the kitchen, and the sound abraded his nerves. The -first guests were on the threshold, and Hilda was late. He looked at -the clock. Yes, she was late. The hour named in the invitations was -already past. All day he had feared lest she should be late, and she -was late. He looked at the glass of the front-door; but night had come, -and it was opaque. Ada tripped into view and ran upstairs. - -"Don't you hear the front-door?" he stopped her flight. - -"It was missis's bell, sir." - -"Ah!" Respite! - -Ada disappeared. - -Then another ring! And no parlour-maid to answer the bell! Naturally! -Naturally Hilda, forgetting something at the last moment, had taken the -parlour-maid away precisely when the girl was needed! Oh! He had -foreseen it! He could hear shuffling outside and could even distinguish -forms through the glass--many forms. All the people converging from -various streets upon the waiting nervousness of the household seemed to -have arrived at once. - -George moved impulsively towards the front-door. - -"Where are you going?" Edwin asked roughly. "Come here. It's not your -place to open the door. Come with me in the drawing-room." - -It was no affair of Edwin's, thought Edwin crossly and uncompromisingly, -if guests were kept waiting at the front-door. It was Hilda's affair; -she was the mistress of the house, and the blame was hers. - -At high speed Ada swept with streamers down the stairs, like a squirrel -down the branch of a tree. And then came Hilda. - - - - III - - -She stood at the turn of the stairs, waiting while the front-door was -opened. He and George could see her over and through the banisters. -And at sight of her triumphant and happy air, all Edwin's annoyance -melted. He did not desire that it should melt, but it melted. She was -late. He could not rely on her not to be late. In summoning the -parlourmaid to her bedroom when the parlourmaid ought to have been on -duty downstairs she had acted indefensibly and without thought. No -harm, as it happened, was done. Sheer chance often thus saved her, but -logically her double fault was not thereby mitigated. He felt that if -he forgave her, if he dismissed the charge and wiped the slate, he was -being false to the great male principles of logic and justice. The -godlike judge in him resented the miscarriage of justice. Nevertheless -justice miscarried. And the weak husband said like a woman: "What does -it matter?" Such was her shameful power over him, of which the -unscrupulous creature was quite aware. - -As he looked at her he asked himself: "Is she magnificent? Or is she -just ordinary and am I deluded? Does she seem her age? Is she a mature -woman getting past the prime, or has she miraculously kept herself a -young girl for me?" - -In years she was thirty-five. She had large bones, and her robust body, -neither plump nor slim, showed the firm, assured carriage of its age. -It said: "I have stood before the world, and I cannot be intimidated." -Still, marriage had rejuvenated her. She was marvellously young at -times, and experience would drop from her and leave the girl that he had -first known and kissed ten years earlier; but a less harsh, less -uncompromising girl. At their first acquaintance she had repelled him -with her truculent seriousness. Nowadays she would laugh for no -apparent reason, and even pirouette. Her complexion was good; he could -nearly persuade himself that that olive skin had not suffered in a -decade of distress and disasters. - -Previous to her marriage she had shown little interest in dress. But -now she would spasmodically worry about her clothes, and she would make -Edwin worry. He had to decide, though he had no qualifications as an -arbiter. She would scowl at a dressmaker as if to say: "For God's sake -do realise that upon you is laid the sacred responsibility of helping me -to please my husband!" To-night she was wearing a striped blue dress, -imperceptibly décolletée, with the leg-of-mutton sleeves of the period. -The colours, two shades of blue, did not suit her. But she imagined -that they suited her, and so did he; and the frock was elaborate, was -the result of terrific labour and produced a rich effect, meet for a -hostess of position. - -The mere fact that this woman with no talent for coquetry should after -years of narrow insufficiency scowl at dressmakers and pout at senseless -refractory silks in the yearning for elegance was utterly delicious to -Edwin. Her presence there on the landing of the stairs was in the -nature of a miracle. He had wanted her, and he had got her. In the end -he had got her, and nothing had been able to stop him--not even the -obstacle of her tragic adventure with a rascal and a bigamist. The -strong magic of his passion had forced destiny to render her up to him -mysteriously intact, after all. The impossible had occurred, and -society had accepted it, beaten. There she was, dramatically, with her -thick eyebrows, and the fine wide nostrils and the delicate lobe of the -ear, and that mouth that would startlingly fasten on him and kiss the -life out of him. - -"There is dear Hilda!" said someone at the door amid the arriving group. - -None but Auntie Hamps would have said 'dear' Hilda. Maggie, Clara, and -even Janet Orgreave never used sentimental adjectives on occasions of -ceremony. - -And in her clear, precise, dominating voice Hilda with gay ease greeted -the company from above: - -"Good evening, all!" - -"What the deuce was I so upset about just now?" thought Edwin, in -sudden, instinctive, exulting felicity: "Everything is absolutely all -right." - - - - - CHAPTER III - - ATTACK AND REPULSE - - - I - - -The entering guests were Edwin's younger sister Clara with her husband -Albert Benbow, his elder sister Maggie, Auntie Hamps, and Mr. Peartree. -They had arrived together, and rather unfashionably soon after the hour -named in the invitation, because the Benbows had called at Auntie -Hamps's on the way up, and the Benbows were always early, both in -arriving and in departing, "on account of the children." They called -themselves "early birds." Whenever they were out of the nest in the -evening they called themselves early birds. They used the comparison -hundreds, thousands, of times, and never tired of it; indeed each time -they were convinced that they had invented it freshly for the occasion. - -Said Auntie Hamps, magnificent in jetty black, handsome, and above all -imposing: - -"I knew you would be delighted to meet Mr. Peartree again, Edwin. He is -staying the night at my house--I can be so much more hospitable now -Maggie is with me--and I insisted he should come up with us. But it -needed no insisting." - -The old erect lady looked from Mr. Peartree with pride towards her -nephew. - -Mr. Peartree was a medium-sized man of fifty, with greying sandy hair. -Twenty years before, he had been second minister in the Bursley Circuit -of the Wesleyan Methodist Connexion. He was now Superintendent Minister -in a Cheshire circuit. The unchangeable canons of Wesleyanism permit -its ministers to marry, and celibacy is even discouraged, for the reason -that wives and daughters are expected to toil in the cause, and their -labour costs the circuit not a halfpenny. But the canons forbid -ministers to take root and found a home. Eleven times in thirty years -Mr. Peartree had been forced to migrate to a strange circuit and to -adapt his much-travelled furniture and family to a house which he had -not chosen, and which his wife generally did not like. During part of -the period he had secretly resented the autocracy of Superintendent -Ministers, and during the remainder he had learnt that Superintendent -Ministers are not absolute autocrats. - -He was neither overworked nor underpaid. He belonged to the small -tradesman class, and, keeping a shop in St. Luke's Square, he might well -have worked harder for less money than he now earned. His vocation, -however, in addition to its desolating nomadic quality, had other grave -drawbacks. It gave him contact with a vast number of human beings, but -the abnormal proportion among them of visionaries, bigots, hypocrites, -and petty office-seekers falsified his general estimate of humanity. -Again, the canons rigorously forbade him to think freely for himself on -the subjects which in theory most interested him; with the result that -he had remained extremely ignorant through the very fear of knowledge, -that he was a warm enemy of freedom, and that he habitually carried -intellectual dishonesty to the verge of cynicism. Thirdly, he was -obliged always to be diplomatic (except of course with his family), and -nature had not meant him for the diplomatic career. He was so sick of -being all things to all men that he even dreamed diplomatic dreams as a -galley-slave will dream of the oar; and so little gifted for the rôle -that he wore insignificant tight turned-down collars, never having -perceived the immense moral advantage conferred on the diplomatist by a -high, loose, wide-rolling collar. Also he was sick of captivity, and -this in no wise lessened his objection to freedom. He had lost all -youthful enthusiasm, and was in fact equally bored with earth and with -heaven. - -Nevertheless, he had authority and security. He was accustomed to the -public gaze and to the forms of deference. He knew that he was as -secure as a judge,--and far more secure than a cabinet-minister. -Nothing but the inconceivable collapse of a powerful and wealthy sect -could affect his position or his livelihood to the very end of life. -Hence, beneath his weariness and his professional attitudinarianism -there was a hint of the devil-may-care that had its piquancy. He could -foresee with indifference even the distant but approaching day when he -would have to rise in the pulpit and assert that the literal inspiration -of the Scriptures was not and never had been an essential article of -Wesleyan faith. - -Edwin blenched at the apparition of Mr. Peartree. That even Auntie Hamps -should dare uninvited to bring a Wesleyan Minister to the party was -startling; but that the minister should be Mr. Peartree staggered him. -For twenty years and more Edwin had secretly, and sometimes in public, -borne a tremendous grudge against Mr. Peartree. He had execrated, -anathematised, and utterly excommunicated Mr. Peartree, and had extended -the fearful curse to his family, all his ancestors, and all his -descendants. When Mr. Peartree was young and fervent in the service of -heaven he had had the monstrous idea of instituting a Saturday Afternoon -Bible Class for schoolboys. Abetted by parents weak-minded and cruel, -he had caught and horribly tortured some score of miserable victims, of -whom Edwin was one. The bitter memory of those weekly half-holidays -thieved from him and made desolate by a sanctimonious crank had never -softened, nor had Edwin ever forgiven Mr. Peartree. - -It was at the sessions of the Bible Class that Edwin, while silently -perfecting himself in the art of profanity and blasphemy, had in secret -fury envenomed his instinctive mild objection to the dogma, the ritual, -and the spirit of conventional Christianity, especially as exemplified -in Wesleyan Methodism. He had left Mr. Peartree's Bible Class a -convinced anti-religionist, a hater and despiser of all that the -Wesleyan Chapel and Mr. Peartree stood for. He deliberately was not -impartial, and he took a horrid pleasure in being unfair. He knew well -that Methodism had produced many fine characters, and played a part in -the moral development of the race; but he would not listen to his own -knowledge. Nothing could extenuate, for him, the noxiousness of -Methodism. On the other hand he was full of glee if he could add -anything to the indictment against it and Christianity. Huxley's -controversial victories over Gladstone were then occurring in the -monthly press, and he acclaimed them with enormous gusto. When he first -read that the Virgin Birth was a feature of sundry creeds more ancient -than Christianity, his private satisfaction was intense and lasted -acutely for days. When he heard that Methodism had difficulty in -maintaining its supply of adequately equipped ministers, he rejoiced -with virulence. His hostility was the more significant in that it was -concealed--embedded like a foreign substance in the rather suave -gentleness of his nature. At intervals--increasingly frequent, it is -true--he would carry it into the chapel itself; for through mingled -cowardice and sharp prudence, he had not formally left the Connexion. -To compensate himself for such bowings-down he would now and then -assert, judicially to a reliable male friend, or with ferocious contempt -to a scandalised defenceless sister, that, despite all parsons, religion -was not a necessity of the human soul, and that he personally had never -felt the need of it and never would. In which assertion he was -profoundly sincere. - -And yet throughout he had always thought of himself as a rebel against -authority; and--such is the mysterious intimidating prestige of the -past--he was outwardly an apologetic rebel. Neither his intellectual -pride nor his cold sustained resentment, nor his axiomatic conviction of -the crude and total falseness of Christian theology, nor all three -together, had ever sufficed to rid him of the self-excusing air. When -Auntie Hamps spoke with careful reverence of "the Super" (short for -"superintendent minister"), the word had never in thirty years quite -failed to inspire in him some of the awe with which he had heard it as -an infant. Just as a policeman was not an employee but a _policeman_, -so a minister was not a person of the trading-class who happened to have -been through a certain educational establishment, subscribed to certain -beliefs, submitted to certain ceremonies and adopted a certain -costume,--but a _minister_, a being inexplicably endowed with -authority,--in fact a sort of arch-policeman. And thus, while detesting -and despising him, Edwin had never thought of Abel Peartree as merely a -man. - -Now, in the gas-lit bustle of the hall, after an interval of about -twenty years, he beheld again his enemy, his bugbear, his loathed -oppressor, the living symbol of all that his soul condemned. - -Said Mrs. Hamps: - -"I reminded Mr. Peartree that you used to attend his Bible-class, Edwin. -Do you remember? I hope you do." - -"Oh, yes!" said Edwin, with a slight nervous laugh, blushing. His eye -caught Clara's, but there was no sign whatever of the old malicious grin -on her maternal face. Nor did Maggie's show a tremor. And, of course, -the majestic duplicity of Auntie Hamps did not quiver under the strain. -So that the Rev. Mr. Peartree, protesting honestly that he should have -recognised his old pupil Mr. Clayhanger anywhere, never suspected the -terrific drama of the moment. - -And the next moment there was no drama.... Teacher and pupil shook -hands. The recognition was mutual. To Edwin, Mr. Peartree, save for -the greying of his hair, had not changed. His voice, his form, his -gestures, were absolutely the same. Only, instead of being Mr. -Peartree, he was a man like another man--a commonplace, hard-featured, -weary man; a spare little man, with a greenish-black coat and -bluish-white low collar; a perfunctory, listless man with an unpleasant -voice; a man with the social code of the Benbows and Auntie Hamps; a man -the lines of whose face disclosed a narrow and self-satisfied ignorance; -a man whose destiny had forbidden him ever to be natural; the usual -snobbish man, who had heard of the importance and the success and the -wealth of Edwin Clayhanger and who kowtowed thereto and was naïvely -impressed thereby, and proud that Edwin Clayhanger had once been his -pupil; and withal an average decent fellow. - -Edwin rather liked the casual look in Mr. Peartree's eyes that said: "My -being here is part of my job. I'm indifferent. I do what I have to do, -and I really don't care. I have paid tens of thousands of calls and I -shall pay tens of thousands more. If I am bored I am paid to be bored, -and I repeat I really don't care." This was the human side of Mr. -Peartree showing itself. It endeared him to Edwin. - -"Not a bad sort of cuss, after all!" thought Edwin. - -All the carefully tended rage and animosity of twenty years evaporated -out of his heart and was gone. He did not forgive Mr. Peartree, because -there was no Mr. Peartree--there was only this man. And there was no -Wesleyan chapel either, but only an ugly forlorn three-quarters-empty -building at the top of Duck Bank. And Edwin was no longer an apologetic -rebel, nor even any kind of a rebel. It occurred to nobody, not even to -the mighty Edwin, that in those few seconds the history of dogmatic -religion had passed definitely out of one stage into another. - -Abel Peartree nonchalantly, and with a practised aplomb which was not -disturbed even by the vision of George's heroic stallion, said the -proper things to Edwin and Hilda; and it became known, somehow, that the -parson was re-visiting Bursley in order to deliver his well-known -lecture entitled "The Mantle and Mission of Elijah,"--the sole lecture -of his repertoire, but it had served to raise him ever so slightly out -of the ruck of 'Supers.' Hilda patronised him. Against the rich -background of her home, she assumed the pose of the grand lady. Abel -Peartree seemed to like the pose, and grew momentarily vivacious in -knightly response. "And why not?" said Edwin to himself, justifying his -wife after being a little critical of her curtness. - -Then, when the conversation fell, Auntie Hamps discreetly suggested that -she and the girls should "go upstairs." The negligent Hilda had -inexcusably forgotten in her nervous excitement that on these occasions -arriving ladies should be at once escorted to the specially-titivated -best bedroom, there to lay their things on the best counterpane. She -perhaps ought to have atoned for her negligence by herself leading -Auntie Hamps to the bedroom. But instead she deputed Ada. "And why -not?" said Edwin to himself again. As the ladies mounted Mr. Peartree -laughed genuinely at one of Albert Benbow's characteristic pleasantries, -which always engloomed Edwin. "Kindred spirits, those two!" thought the -superior sardonic Edwin, and privately raised his eyebrows to his wife, -who answered the signal. - - - - II - - -Somewhat later, various other guests having come and distributed -themselves over the reception-rooms, the chandeliers glinted down their -rays upon light summer frocks and some jewellery and coats of black and -dark grey and blue; and the best counterpanes in the best bedroom were -completely hidden by mantles and cloaks, and the hatstand in the hall -heavily clustered with hats and caps. The reception was in being, and -the interior full of animation. Edwin, watchful and hospitably anxious, -wandered out of the drawing-room into the hall. The door of the -breakfast-room was ajar, and he could hear Clara's voice behind it. He -knew that the Benbows and Maggie and Auntie Hamps were all in the -breakfast-room, and he blamed chiefly Clara for this provincial -clannishness, which was so characteristic of her. Surely Auntie Hamps -at any rate ought to have realised that the duty of members of the -family was to spread themselves among the other guests! - -He listened. - -"No," Clara was saying, "we don't know what's happened to him since he -came out of prison. He got two years." She was speaking in what Edwin -called her 'scandal' tones, low, clipped, intimate, eager, blissful. - -And then Albert Benbow's voice: - -"He's had the good sense not to bother us." - -Edwin, while resenting the conversation, and the Benbows' use of "we" -and "us" in a matter which did not concern them, was grimly comforted by -the thought of their ignorance of a detail which would have interested -them passionately. None but Hilda and himself knew that the bigamist -was at that moment in prison again for another and a later offence. -Everything had been told but that. - -"Of course," said Clara, "they needn't have said anything about the -bigamy at all, and nobody outside the family need have known that poor -Hilda was not just an ordinary widow. But we all thought--" - -"I don't know so much about that, Clary," Albert Benbow interrupted his -wife; "you mustn't forget his real wife came to Turnhill to make -enquiries. That started a hare." - -"Well, you know what I mean," said Clara vaguely. - -Mr. Peartree's voice came in: - -"But surely the case was in the papers?" - -"I expect it was in the Sussex papers," Albert replied. "You see, they -went through the ceremony of marriage at Lewes. But it never got into -the local rag, because he got married in his real name--Cannon wasn't -his real name; and he'd no address in the Five Towns, then. He was just -a boarding-house keeper at Brighton. It was a miracle it didn't get -into the _Signal_, if you ask me; but it didn't. I happen to know"--his -voice grew important--"that the _Signal_ people have an arrangement with -the Press Association for a full report of all matrimonial cases that -'ud be likely to interest the district. However, the Press Association -weren't quite on the spot that time. And it's not surprising they -weren't, either." - -Clara resumed: - -"No. It never came out. Still, as I say, we all thought it best not to -conceal anything. Albert strongly advised Edwin not to attempt any such -thing." ("What awful rot!" thought Edwin.) "So we just mentioned it -quietly like to a few friends. After all, poor Hilda was perfectly -innocent. Of course she felt her position keenly when she came to live -here after the wedding." ("Did she indeed!" thought Edwin.) "Edwin -would have the wedding in London. We did so feel for her." ("Did you -indeed!" thought Edwin.) "She wouldn't have an At Home. I knew it was -a mistake not to. We all knew. But no, _she would not_. Folks began to -talk. They thought it strange she didn't have an At Home like other -folks. Many young married women have two At Homes nowadays. So in the -end she was persuaded. She fixed it for August because she thought so -many people would be away at the seaside. But they aren't--at least not -so many as you'd think. Albert says it's owing to the General Election -upset. And she wouldn't have it in the afternoon like other folks. -Mrs. Edwin isn't like other folks, and you can't alter her." - -"What's the matter with the evening for an At Home, anyhow?" asked -Benbow the breezy and consciously broad-minded. - -"Oh, of course, _I_ quite agree. I like it. But folks are so funny." - -After a momentary pause, Mr. Peartree said uncertainly: - -"And there's a little boy?" - -Said Clara: - -"Yes, the one you've seen." - -Said Auntie Hamps: - -"Poor little thing! I do feel so sorry for him--when he grows up--" - -"You needn't, Auntie," said Maggie curtly, expressing her attitude to -George in that mild curtness. - -"Of course," said Clara quickly. "We never let it make any difference. -In fact our Bert and he are rather friends, aren't they, Albert?" - -At this moment George himself opened the door of the dining-room, -letting out a faint buzz of talk and clink of vessels. His mouth was -not empty. - -Precipitately Edwin plunged into the breakfast-room. - -"Hello! You people!" he murmured. "Well, Mr. Peartree." - -There they were--all of them, including the parson--grouped together, -lusciously bathing in the fluid of scandal. - -Clara turned, and without the least constraint said sweetly: - -"Oh, Edwin! There you are! I was just telling Mr. Peartree about you -and Hilda, you know. We thought it would be better." - -"You see," said Auntie Hamps impressively, "Mr. Peartree will be about -the town to-morrow, and a word from him--" - -Mr. Peartree tried unsuccessfully to look as if he was nobody in -particular. - -"That's all right," said Edwin. "Perhaps the door might as well be -shut." He thought, as many a man has thought: "My relations take the -cake!" - -Clara occupied the only easy chair in the room. Mrs. Hamps and the -parson were seated. Maggie stood. Albert Benbow, ever uxorious, was -perched sideways on the arm of his wife's chair. Clara, centre of the -conclave and of all conclaves in which she took part, was the mother of -five children,--and nearing thirty-five years of age. Maternity had -ruined her once slim figure, but neither she nor Albert seemed to mind -that,--they seemed rather to be proud of her unshapeliness. Her face was -unspoiled. She was pretty and had a marvellously fair complexion. In -her face Edwin could still always plainly see the pert, charming, -malicious girl of fourteen who loathed Auntie Hamps and was rude to her -behind her back. But Clara and Auntie Hamps were fast friends nowadays. -Clara's brood had united them. They thought alike on all topics. Clara -had accepted Auntie Hamps's code practically entire; but on the other -hand she had dominated Auntie Hamps. The respect which Auntie Hamps -showed for Clara and for Edwin, and in a slightly less degree for -Maggie, was a strange phenomenon in the old age of that grandiose and -vivacious pillar of Wesleyanism and the conventions. - -Edwin did not like Clara; he objected to her domesticity, her -motherliness, her luxuriant fruitfulness, the intonations of her voice, -her intense self-satisfaction and her remarkable duplicity; and perhaps -more than anything to her smug provinciality. He did not positively -dislike his brother-in-law, but he objected to him for his uxoriousness, -his cheerful assurance of Clara's perfection, his contented and -conceited ignorance of all intellectual matters, his incorrigible -vulgarity of a small manufacturer who displays everywhere the stigmata -of petty commerce, and his ingenuous love of office. As for Maggie, the -plump spinster of forty, Edwin respected her when he thought of her, but -reproached her for social gawkiness and taciturnity. As for Auntie -Hamps, he could not respect, but he was forced to admire, her gorgeous -and sustained hypocrisy, in which no flaw had ever been found, and which -victimised even herself; he was always invigorated by her ageless energy -and the sight of her handsome, erect, valiant figure. - -Edwin's absence had stopped the natural free course of conversation. -But there were at least three people in the room whom nothing could -abash: Mrs. Hamps, Clara, and Mr. Peartree. - -Mr. Peartree, sitting up with his hands on his baggy knees, said: - -"Everything seems to have turned out very well in the end, Mr. -Clayhanger--very well, indeed." His features showed less of the tedium -of life. - -"Eh, yes! Eh, yes!" breathed Auntie Hamps in ecstasy. - -Edwin, diffident and ill-pleased, was about to suggest that the family -might advantageously separate, when George came after him into the room. - -"Oh!" cried George. - -"Well, little jockey!" Clara began instantly to him with an exaggerated -sweetness that Edwin thought must nauseate the child, "would you like -Bert to come up and play with you one of these afternoons?" - -George stared at her, and slowly flushed. - -"Yes," said George. "Only--" - -"Only what?" - -"Supposing I was doing something else when he came?" - -Without waiting for possible developments George turned to leave the -room again. - -"You're a caution, you are!" said Albert Benbow; and to the adults: -"Hates to be disturbed, I suppose." - -"That's it," said Edwin responsively, as brother-in-law to -brother-in-law. But he felt that he, with a few months' experience of -another's child, appreciated the exquisite strange sensibility of -children infinitely better than Albert were he fifty times a father. - -"What is a caution, Uncle Albert?" asked George, peeping back from the -door. - -Auntie Hamps good-humouredly warned the child of the danger of being -impertinent to his elders: - -"George! George!" - -"A caution is a caution to snakes," said Albert. "Shoo!" Making a noise -like a rocket, he feinted to pursue the boy with violence. - -Mr. Peartree laughed rather loudly, and rather like a human being, at -the word "snakes." Albert Benbow's flashes of humour, indeed, seemed to -surprise him, if only for an instant, out of his attitudinarianism. - -Clara smiled, flattered by the power of her husband to reveal the -humanity of the parson. - -"Albert's so good with children," she said. "He always knows -exactly..." She stopped, leaving what he knew exactly to the listeners' -imagination. - -Uncle Albert and George could be heard scuffling in the hall. - -Auntie Hamps rose with a gentle sigh, saying: - -"I suppose we ought to join the others." - -Her social sense, which was pretty well developed, had at last -prevailed. - -The sisters Maggie and Clara, one in light and the other in dark green, -walked out of the room. Maggie's face had already stiffened into mute -constraint, and Clara's into self-importance, at the prospect of meeting -the general company. - - - - III - - -Auntie Hamps held back, and Edwin at once perceived from the -conspiratorial glance in her splendid eyes that in suggesting a move she -had intended to deceive her fellow-conspirator in life, Clara. But -Auntie Hamps could not live without chicane. And she was happiest when -she had superimposed chicane upon chicane in complex folds. - -She put a ringed hand softly but arrestingly upon Edwin's arm, and -pushed the door to. Alone with her and the parson, Edwin felt himself -to be at bay, and he drew back before an unknown menace. - -"Edwin, dear," said she, "Mr. Peartree has something to suggest to you. -I was going to say 'a favour to ask,' but I won't put it like that. I'm -sure my nephew will look upon it as a privilege. You know how much Mr. -Peartree has at heart the District Additional Chapels Fund--" - -Edwin did not know how much; but he had heard of the Macclesfield -District Additional Chapels Fund, Bursley being one of the circuits in -the Macclesfield District. Wesleyanism finding itself confronted with -lessening congregations and with a shortage of ministers, the -Macclesfield District had determined to prove that Wesleyanism was -nevertheless spiritually vigorous by the odd method of building more -chapels. Mr. Peartree, inventor of Saturday afternoon Bible-Classes for -schoolboys, was one of the originators of the bricky scheme, and in fact -his lecture upon the "Mantle and Mission of Elijah" was to be in aid of -it. The next instant Mr. Peartree had invited Edwin to act as District -Treasurer of the Fund, the previous treasurer having died. - -More chicane! The parson's visit, then, was not a mere friendly call, -inspired by the moment. It was part of a scheme. It had been planned -against him. Did they (he seemed to be asking himself) think him so -ingenuous, so simple, as not to see through their dodge? If not, then -why the preliminary pretences? He did not really ask himself these -questions, for the reason that he knew the answers to them. When a -piece of chicane had succeeded Auntie Hamps forgot it, and expected -others to forget it,--or at any rate she dared, by her magnificent -front, anybody on earth to remind her of it. She was quite indifferent -whether Edwin saw through her dodge or not. - -"You're so good at business," said she. - -Ah! She would insist on the business side of the matter, affecting to -ignore the immense moral significance which would be attached to Edwin's -acceptance of the office! Were he to yield, the triumph for Methodism -would ring through the town. He read all her thoughts. Nothing could -break down her magnificent front. She had cornered him by a device; she -had him at bay; and she counted on his weak good-nature, on his -easy-going cowardice, for a victory. - -Mr. Peartree talked. Mr. Peartree expressed his certitude that Edwin -was "with them at heart," and his absolute reliance upon Edwin's sense -of the responsibilities of a man in his, Edwin's, position. Auntie -Hamps recalled with fervour Edwin's early activities in Methodism--the -Young Men's Debating Society, for example, which met at six o'clock on -frosty winter mornings for the proving of the faith by dialectics. - -And Edwin faltered in his speech. - -"You ought to get Albert," he feebly suggested. - -"Oh, no!" said Auntie. "Albert is grand in his own line. But for this, -_we want a man like you_." - -It was a master-stroke. Edwin had the illusion of trembling, and yet he -knew that he did not tremble, even inwardly. He seemed to see the -forces of evolution and the forces of reaction ranged against each other -in a supreme crisis. He seemed to see the alternative of two futures -for himself--and in one he would be a humiliated and bored slave, and in -the other a fine, reckless ensign of freedom. He seemed to be doubtful -of his own courage. But at the bottom of his soul he was not doubtful. -He remembered all the frightful and degrading ennui which when he was -young he had suffered as a martyr to Wesleyanism and dogma, all the -sinister deceptions which he had had to practise and which had been -practised upon him. He remembered his almost life-long intense hatred -of Mr. Peartree. And he might have clenched his hands bitterly and said -with homicidal animosity: "_Now_ I will pay you out! And I will tell -you the truth! And I will wither you up and incinerate you, and be -revenged for everything in one single sentence!" But he felt no -bitterness, and his animosity was dead. At the bottom of his soul there -was nothing but a bland indifference that did not even scorn. - -"No," he said quietly. "I shan't be your treasurer. You must ask -somebody else." - -A vast satisfaction filled him. The refusal was so easy, the opposing -forces so negligible. - -Auntie Hamps and Mr. Peartree knew nothing of the peculiar phenomena -induced in Edwin's mind by the first sight of the legendary Abel -Peartree after twenty years. But Auntie Hamps, though puzzled for an -explanation, comprehended that she was decisively beaten. The blow was -hard. Nevertheless she did not wince. The superb pretence must be kept -up, and she kept it up. She smiled and, tossing her curls, checked -Edwin with cheerful, indomitable rapidity. - -"Now, now! Don't decide at once. Think it over very carefully, and we -shall ask you again. Mr. Peartree will write to you. I feel sure..." - -Appearances were preserved. - -The colloquy was interrupted by Hilda, who came in excited, gay, with -sparkling eyes, humming an air. She had protested vehemently against an -At Home. She had said again and again that the idea of an At Home was -abhorrent to her, and that she hated all such wholesale formal -hospitalities and could not bear "people." And yet now she was -enchanted with her situation as hostess--delighted with herself and her -rich dress, almost ecstatically aware of her own attractiveness and -domination. The sight of her gave pleasure and communicated zest. -Mature, she was yet only beginning life. And as she glanced with secret -condescension at the listless Mr. Peartree she seemed to say: "What is -all this talk of heaven and hell? I am in love with life and the -senses, and everything is lawful to me, and I am above you." And even -Auntie Hamps, though one of the most self-sufficient creatures that ever -lived, envied in her glorious decay the young maturity of sensuous -Hilda. - -"Well," said Hilda. "What's going on _here_? They're all gone mad about -missing words in the drawing-room." - -She smiled splendidly at Edwin, whose pride in her thrilled him. Her -superiority to other women was patent. She made other women seem -negative. In fact, she was a tingling woman before she was anything -else--that was it! He compared her with Clara, who was now nothing but -a mother, and to Maggie, who had never been anything at all. - -Mr. Peartree made the mistake of telling her the subject of the -conversation. She did not wait to hear what Edwin's answer had been. - -She said curtly, and with finality: - -"Oh, no! I won't have it." - -Edwin did not quite like this. The matter concerned him alone, and he -was an absolutely free agent. She ought to have phrased her objection -differently. For example, she might have said: "I hope he has refused." - -Still, his annoyance was infinitesimal. - -"The poor boy works quite hard enough as it is," she added, with -delicious caressing intonation of the first words. - -He liked that. But she was confusing the issue. She always would -confuse the issue. It was not because the office would involve extra -work for him that he had declined the invitation, as she well knew. - -Of course Auntie Hamps said in a flash: - -"If it means overwork for him I shouldn't dream--" She was putting the -safety of appearances beyond doubt. - -"By the way, Auntie," Hilda continued. "What's the trouble about the -pew down at chapel? Both Clara and Maggie have mentioned it." - -"Trouble, my dear?" exclaimed Auntie Hamps, justifiably shocked that -Hilda should employ such a word in the presence of Mr. Peartree. But -Hilda was apt to be headlong. - -To the pew originally taken by Edwin's father, and since his death -standing in Edwin's name, Clara had brought her husband; and although it -was a long pew, the fruits of the marriage had gradually filled it, so -that if Edwin chanced to go to chapel there was not too much room for -him in the pew, which presented the appearance of a second-class railway -carriage crowded with season-ticket holders. Albert Benbow had -suggested that Edwin should yield up the pew to the Benbows, and take a -smaller pew for himself and Hilda and George. But the women had -expressed fear lest Edwin "might not like" this break in a historic -tradition, and Albert Benbow had been forbidden to put forward the -suggestion until the diplomatic sex had examined the ground. - -"We shall be only too pleased for Albert to take over the pew," said -Hilda. - -"But have you chosen another pew?" Mrs. Hamps looked at Edwin. - -"Oh, no!" said Hilda lightly. - -"But--" - -"Now, Auntie," the tingling woman warned Auntie Hamps as one powerful -individuality may warn another, "don't worry about us. You know we're -not great chapel-goers." - -She spoke the astounding words gaily, but firmly. She could be firm, and -even harsh, in her triumphant happiness. Edwin knew that she detested -Auntie Hamps. Auntie Hamps no doubt also knew it. In their mutual -smilings, so affable, so hearty, so appreciative, apparently so -impulsive, the hostility between them gleamed mysteriously like -lightning in sunlight. - -"Mrs. Edwin's family were Church of England," said Auntie Hamps, in the -direction of Mr. Peartree. - -"Nor great church-goers, either," Hilda finished cheerfully. - -No woman had ever made such outrageous remarks in the Five Towns before. -A quarter of a century ago a man might have said as much, without -suffering in esteem--might indeed have earned a certain intellectual -prestige by the declaration; but it was otherwise with a woman. Both -Mrs. Hamps and the minister thought that Hilda was not going the right -way to live down her dubious past. Even Edwin in his pride was -flurried. Great matters, however, had been accomplished. Not only had -the attack of Auntie Hamps and Mr. Peartree been defeated, but the -defence had become an onslaught. Not only was he not the treasurer of -the District Additional Chapels Fund, but he had practically ceased to -be a member of the congregation. He was free with a freedom which he -had never had the audacity to hope for. It was incredible! Yet there -it was! A word said, bravely, in a particular tone,--and a new epoch -was begun. The pity was that he had not done it all himself. Hilda's -courage had surpassed his own. Women were astounding. They were -disconcerting too. His manly independence was ever so little wounded by -Hilda's boldness in initiative on their joint behalf. - -"Do come and take something, Auntie," said Hilda, with the most winning, -the most loving inflection. - -Auntie Hamps passed out. - -Hilda turned back into the room: "Do go with Auntie, Mr. Peartree. I -must just--" She affected to search for something on the mantelpiece. - -Mr. Peartree passed out. He was unmoved. He did not care in his heart. -And as Edwin caught his indifferent eye, with that "it's-all-one-to-me" -glint in it, his soul warmed again slightly to Mr. Peartree. And -further, Mr. Peartree's aloof unworldliness, his personal practical -unconcern with money, feasting, ambition, and all the grosser forms of -self-satisfaction, made Edwin feel somewhat a sensual average man and -accordingly humiliated him. - -As soon as, almost before, Mr. Peartree was beyond the door, Hilda -leaped at Edwin, and kissed him violently. The door was not closed. He -could hear the varied hum of the party. - -"I had to kiss you while it's all going on," she whispered. Ardent -vitality shimmered in her eyes. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE WORD - - - I - - -Ada was just crossing the hall to the drawing-room, a telegram on a -salver in her red hand. - -"Here you are, Ada," said Edwin, stopping her, with a gesture towards -the telegram. - -"It's for Mr. Tom Swetnam, sir." - -Edwin and Hilda followed the starched and fussy girl into the -drawing-room, in which were about a dozen people, including Fearns, the -lawyer, and his wife, the recently married Stephen and Vera Cheswardine, -several Swetnams, and Janet Orgreave, who sat at the closed piano, -smiling vaguely. - -Tom Swetnam, standing up, took the telegram. - -"I never knew they delivered telegrams at this time o' night," said -Fearns sharply, looking at his watch. He was wont to keep a careful eye -on the organisation of railways, ships, posts, and other contrivances -for the shifting of matter from one spot to another. An exacting critic -of detail, he was proud of them in the mass, and called them -civilisation. - -"They don't," said Tom Swetnam naughtily, glad to plague a man older -than himself, and the father of a family. Tom was a mere son, but he -had travelled, and was, indeed, just returned from an excursion through -Scandinavia. "Observe there's no deception. The envelope's been opened. -Moreover, it's addressed to Ben Clewlow, not to me. Ben's sent it up. -I asked him to. Now, we'll see." - -Having displayed the envelope like a conjurer, he drew forth the -telegram, and prepared to read it aloud. One half of the company was -puzzled; the other half showed an instructed excitement. Tom read the -message: - -"'Twenty-seven pounds ten nine. Philosophers tell us that there is -nothing new under the sun. Nevertheless it may well be doubted whether -the discovery of gold at Barmouth, together with two earthquake shocks -following each other in quick succession in the same district, does not -constitute, in the history of the gallant little Principality, a double -event of unique--'" He stopped. - -Vera Cheswardine, pretty, fluffy, elegant, cried out with all the -impulsiveness of her nature: - -"Novelty!" - -"Whatever is it all about?" mildly asked Mrs. Fearns, a quiet and -dignified, youngish woman whom motherhood had made somewhat -absent-minded when she was away from her children. - -"Missing-word competition," Fearns explained to her with curt, genial -superiority. He laughed outright. "You do go it, some of you chaps," -he said. "Why, that telegram cost over a couple of bob, I bet!" - -"Well, you see," said Tom Swetnam, "three of us share it. We get it -thirty-six hours before the paper's out--fellow in London--and there's -so much more time to read the dictionary. No use half doing a thing! -Twenty-seven pounds odd! Not a bad share this week, eh?" - -"Won anything?" - -"Rather. We had the wire about the winning word this morning. We'd -sent it in four times. That makes about £110, doesn't it? Between -three of us. We sent in nearly two hundred postal orders. Which leaves -£100 clear. Thirty-three quid apiece, net." - -He tried to speak calmly and nonchalantly, but his excitement was -extreme. The two younger Swetnams regarded him with awe. Everybody was -deeply impressed by the prodigious figures, and in many hearts envy, -covetousness, and the wild desire for a large, free life of luxury were -aroused. - -"Seems to me you've reduced this game to a science," said Edwin. - -"Well, we have," Tom Swetnam admitted. "We send in every possible -word." - -"It's a mere thousand per cent profit per week," murmured Fearns. "At -the rate of fifty thousand per cent per annum." - -Albert Benbow, entering, caught the last phrase, which very properly -whetted his curiosity as a man of business. Clara followed him closely. -On nearly all ceremonial occasions these two had an instinctive need of -each other's presence and support; and if Albert did not run after -Clara, Clara ran after Albert. - - - - II - - -Then came the proof of the genius, the cynicism and the insight of the -leviathan newspaper-proprietor who had invented the dodge of inviting -his readers to risk a shilling and also to buy a coupon for the -privilege of supplying a missing word, upon the understanding that the -shillings of those who supplied the wrong word should be taken for ever -away from them and given to those who supplied the right word. The -entire company in the Clayhanger drawing-room was absorbed in the -tremendous missing-word topic, and listened to Swetnam as to a new -prophet bearing the secret of eternal felicity. The rumour of Swetnam's -triumph drew people out of the delectable dining-room to listen to his -remarks; and among these was Auntie Hamps. So it was in a thousand, in -ten thousand, in hundreds of thousands of homes of all kinds throughout -the kingdom. The leviathan journalist's readers (though as a rule they -read nothing in his paper save the truncated paragraph and the rules of -the competition) had grown to be equivalent to the whole British public. -And he not only held them but he had overshadowed all other interests in -their minds. Upon honeymoons people thought of the missing-word amid -caresses, and it is a fact that people had died with the missing word on -their lips. Sane adults of both sexes read the dictionary through from -end to end every week with an astounding conscientiousness. The -leviathan newspaper-proprietor could not buy enough paper, nor hire -sufficient presses, to meet the national demands. And no wonder, seeing -that any small news-agent in a side street was liable at any moment to -receive an order from an impassioned student of periodical literature -for more copies of one issue of the journal than the whole town had been -used to buy before the marvellous invention of the missing-word. The -post office was incommoded; even the Postmaster General was incommoded, -and only by heroical efforts and miraculous feats of resourcefulness did -he save himself from the ignominy of running out of shilling postal -orders. Post office girls sold shilling postal orders with a sarcastic -smile, with acerbity, with reluctance,--it was naught to them that the -revenue was benefited and the pressure on taxpayers eased. Employers -throughout the islands suffered vast losses owing to the fact that for -months their offices and factories were inhabited not by clerks and -other employees, but by wage-paid monomaniacs who did naught but read -dictionaries and cut out and fill up coupons. And over all the land -there hung the dark incredible menace of an unjust prosecution under the -Gambling Laws, urged by interfering busybodies who would not let a -nation alone. - -"And how much did you make last week, Mr. Swetnam?" judicially asked -Albert Benbow, who was rather pleased and flattered, as an active -Wesleyan, to rub shoulders with frank men of the world like Tom. As an -active Wesleyan he had hitherto utterly refused to listen to the -missing-word; but now it seemed to be acquiring respectability enough -for his ears. - -Swetnam replied with a casual air: - -"We didn't make much last week. We won something, of course. We win -every week; that's a mathematical certainty--but sometimes the expenses -mount up a bit higher than the receipts. It depends on the word. If -it's an ordinary word that everybody chooses, naturally the share is a -small one because there are so many winners." He gave no more exact -details. - -Clara breathed a disillusioned "Oh!" implying that she had known there -must be some flaw in the scheme--and her husband had at once put his -finger on it. - -But her husband, with incipient enthusiasm for the word, said: "Well, it -stands to reason they must take one week with another, and average it -out." - -"Now, Albert! Now, Albert!" Edwin warned him. "No gambling." - -Albert replied with some warmth: "I don't see that there's any gambling -in it. Appears to me that it's chiefly skill and thoroughness that does -the trick." - -"Gambling!" murmured Tom Swetnam shortly. "Of course it's not -gambling." - -"No!" - -"Well," said Vera Cheswardine, "I say 'novelty.' 'A double event of -unique novelty.' That's it." - -"I shouldn't go nap on 'novelty,' if I were you," said Tom Swetnam, the -expert. - -Tom read the thing again. - -"Novelty," Vera repeated. "I know it's novelty. I'm always right, -aren't I, Stephen?" She looked round. "Ask Stephen." - -"You were right last week but one, my child," said Stephen. - -"And did you make anything?" Clara demanded eagerly. - -"Only fifteen shillings," said Vera discontentedly. "But if Stephen had -listened to me we should have made lots." - -Albert Benbow's interest in the word was strengthened. - -Fearns, leaning carefully back in his chair, asked with fine -indifference: "By the way, what is this week's word, Tom? I haven't -your secret sources of information. I have to wait for the paper." - -"'Unaccountably,'" said Tom. "Had you anything on it?" - -"No," Fearns admitted. "I've caught a cold this week, it seems." - -Albert Benbow stared at him. Here was another competitor--and as acute -a man of business as you would find in the Five Towns! - -"Me, too!" said Edwin, smiling like a culprit. - -Hilda sprang up gleefully, and pointed at him a finger of delicious -censure. - -"Oh! You wicked sinner! You never told me you'd gone in! You -deceitful old thing!" - -"Well, it was a man at the shop who would have me try," Edwin boyishly -excused himself. - - - - III - - -Hilda's vivacity enchanted Edwin. The charm of her reproof was simply -exquisite in its good-nature and in the elegance of its gesture. The -lingering taste of the feverish kiss she had given him a few minutes -earlier bemused him and he flushed. To conceal his inconvenient -happiness in the thought of his wife he turned to open the new enlarged -window that gave on the garden. (He had done away with the old -garden-entrance of the house, and thrown the side corridor into the -drawing-room.) Then he moved towards Janet Orgreave, who was still -seated at the closed piano. - -"Your father isn't coming, I suppose?" he asked her. - -The angelic spinster, stylishly dressed in white, and wearing as usual -her kind heart on her sleeve, smiled with soft benignity, and shook her -head. - -"He told me to tell you he was too old. He is, you know." - -"And how's your mother?" - -"Oh, pretty well, considering.... I really ought not to leave them." - -"Oh, yes!" Edwin protested. The momentary vision of Mr. and Mrs. -Orgreave in the large house close by, now practically deserted by all -their children except Janet, saddened him. - -Then a loud voice dominated the general conversation behind him: - -"I say, this is a bit stiff. I did think I should be free of it here. -But no! Same old missing-word everywhere! What is it this week, -Swetnam?" - -It was Johnnie Orgreave, appreciably younger than his sister, but a -full-grown man of the world, and somewhat dandiacal. After shaking -hands with Hilda he came straight to Edwin. - -"Awfully sorry I'm so late, old chap. How do, Jan?" - -"Of course you are," Edwin quizzed him like an uncle. - -"Where's Ingpen?" - -"Not come." - -"Not come! He said he should be here at eight. Just like him!" said -Johnnie. "I expect he's had a puncture." - -"I've been looking out for him every minute," Edwin muttered. - -In the middle of the room Albert Benbow, stocky and vulgar, but feeling -himself more and more a man of the world among men and women of the -world, was proclaiming, not without excitement: - -"Well, I agree with Mrs. Cheswardine. 'Novelty' 's much more likely -than 'interest.' 'Interest' 's the wrong kind of word altogether. It -doesn't agree with the beginning of the paragraph." - -"That's right, Mr. Benbow," Vera encouraged him with flirtatious -dimples. "You put your money on me, even if my own husband won't." -Albert as a dowdy dissenter was quite out of her expensive sphere, but -to Vera any man was a man. - -"Now, Albert," Clara warned him, "if you win anything, you must give it -to me for the new perambulator." - -("Dash that girl's infernal domesticity!" thought Edwin savagely.) - -"Who says I'm going in for it, missis?" Albert challenged. - -"I only say _if_ you do, dear," Clara said smoothly. - -"Then I _will_!" Albert announced the great decision. "Just for the fun -of the thing, I will. Thank ye, Mrs. Cheswardine." - -He glanced at Mrs. Cheswardine as a knight at his unattainable mistress. -Indeed the decision had in it something of the chivalrous; the attention -of slim provocative Vera, costliest and most fashionably dressed woman -in Bursley, had stirred his fancy to wander far beyond its usual limits. - -"Albert! Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamps. - -"You don't mind, do you Auntie?" said Albert jovially, standing over -her. - -"Not if it's not gambling," said Mrs. Hamps stoutly. "And I hope it -isn't. And it would be very nice for Clara, I'm sure, if you won." - -"Hurrah for Mrs. Hamps!" Johnnie Orgreave almost yelled. - -At the same moment, Janet Orgreave, swinging round on the music-stool, -lifted the lid of the piano, and, still with her soft, angelic smile, -played loudly and dashingly the barbaric, Bacchic, orgiastic melody -which had just recently inflamed England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and -the Five Towns--the air which was unlike anything ever heard before by -British ears, and which meant nothing whatever that could be avowed, the -air which heralded social revolutions and inaugurated a new epoch. And -as the ringed fingers of the quiet, fading spinster struck out the -shocking melody, Vera Cheswardine and one or two others who had been to -London and there seen the great legendary figure, Lottie Collins, hummed -more or less brazenly the syllables heavy with mysterious significance: - - "_Tarara-boom-deay!_ - _Tarara-boom-deay!_ - _Tarara-boom-deay!_ - _Tarara-boom-deay!_" - - -Upon this entered Mr. Peartree, like a figure of retribution, and -silence fell. - -"I'm afraid..." he began. "Mr. Benbow." - -They spoke together. - -A scared servant-girl had come up from the Benbow home with the -affrighting news that Bert Benbow, who had gone to bed with the other -children as usual, was not in his bed and could not be discovered in the -house. Mr. Peartree, being in the hall, had chosen himself to bear the -grievous tidings to the drawing-room. In an instant Albert and Clara -were parents again. Both had an idea that the unprecedented, -incomprehensible calamity was a heavenly dispensation to punish them for -having trifled with the missing-word. Their sudden seriousness was -terrific. They departed immediately, without ceremony of any sort. -Mrs. Hamps said that she really ought to go too, and Maggie said that as -Auntie Hamps was going she also would go. The parson said that he had -already stayed longer than he ought, in view of another engagement, and -he followed. Edwin and Hilda dutifully saw them off and were as serious -as the circumstances demanded. But those who remained in the -drawing-room sniggered, and when Hilda rejoined them she laughed. The -house felt lighter. Edwin, remaining longest at the door, saw a -bicyclist on one of the still quaint pneumatic-tyred "safety" bicycles, -coming along behind a "King of the Road" lamp. The rider dismounted at -the corner. - -"That you, Mr. Ingpen?" - -Said a blithe voice: - -"How d'ye do, host? When you've known me a bit longer you'll learn that -I always manage to arrive just when other people are leaving." - - - - - CHAPTER V - - TERTIUS INGPEN - - - I - - -Tertius Ingpen was the new District Factory Inspector, a man of about -thirty-five, neither fair nor dark, neither tall nor short. He was a -native of the district, having been born somewhere in the aristocratic -regions between Knype and the lordly village of Sneyd, but what first -struck the local observer in him was that his speech had none of the -local accent. In the pursuit of his vocation he had lived in other -places than the Five Towns. For example, in London, where he had become -acquainted with Edwin's friend, Charlie Orgreave, the doctor. When -Ingpen received a goodish appointment amid the industrial horrors of his -birth, Charlie Orgreave recommended him to Edwin, and Edwin and Ingpen -had met once, under arrangement made by Johnnie Orgreave. It was -Johnnie who had impulsively suggested in Ingpen's presence that Ingpen -should be invited to the At Home. Edwin, rather intimidated by Ingpen's -other-worldliness, had said: "You'll run up against a mixed lot." But -Ingpen, though sternly critical of local phenomena, seemed to be ready -to meet social adventures in a broad and even eager spirit of curiosity -concerning mankind. He was not uncomely, and he possessed a short silky -beard of which secretly he was not less proud than of his striking name. -He wore a neat blue suit, with the trousers fastened tightly round the -ankles for bicycle-riding, and thick kid gloves. He took off one glove -to shake hands, and then, having leisurely removed the other, and -talking all the time, he bent down with care and loosed his trousers and -shook them into shape. - -"Now what about this jigger?" he asked, while still bending. "I don't -care to leave it anywhere. It's a good jigger." - -As it leaned on one pedal against the kerb of Hulton Street, the -strange-looking jigger appeared to be at any rate a very dirty jigger. -Fastened under the saddle were a roll of paper and a mackintosh. - -"There are one or two ordinaries knocking about the place," said Edwin, -"but we haven't got a proper bicycle-house. I'll find a place for it -somewhere in the garden." He lifted the front wheel. - -"Don't trouble, please. I'll take it," said Ingpen, and before picking -up the machine blew out the lamp, whose extinction left a great darkness -down the slope of Hulton Street. - -"You've got a very nice place here. Too central for me, of course!" -Ingpen began, after they had insinuated the bicycle through narrow paths -to the back of the house. - -Edwin was leading him along the side of the lawn furthest away from -Trafalgar Road. Certainly the property had the air of being a very nice -place. The garden with its screen of high rustling trees seemed -spacious and mysterious in the gloom, and the lighted windows of the -house produced an effect of much richness--especially the half-open -window of the drawing-room. Fearns and Cheswardine were standing in -front of it chatting (doubtless of affairs) with that important adult -air which Edwin himself could never successfully imitate. Behind them -were bright women, and the brilliant chandelier. The piano faintly -sounded. Edwin was proud of his very nice place. "How strange!" he -thought. "This is all mine! These are my guests! And my wife is -mine!" - -"Well, you see," he answered Ingpen's criticism with false humility. -"I've no choice. I've got to be central." - -Ingpen answered pleasantly. - -"I take your word for it; but I don't see." - -The bicycle was carefully bestowed by its groping owner in a small -rustic arbour which, situated almost under the wall that divided the -Clayhanger property from the first cottage in Hulton Street, was hidden -from the house by a clump of bushes. - -In the dark privacy of this shelter Tertius Ingpen said in a reflective -tone: - -"I understand that you haven't been married long, and that this is a -sort of function to inform the world officially that you're no longer -what you were?" - -"It's something like that?" Edwin admitted with a laugh. - -He liked the quiet intimacy of Ingpen's voice, whose delicate -inflections indicated highly cultivated sensibilities. And he thought: -"I believe I shall be friends with this chap." And was glad, and faith -in Ingpen was planted in his heart. - -"Well," Ingpen continued, "I wish you happiness. It may seem a strange -thing to say to a man in your position, but my opinion is that the -proper place for women is--behind the veil. Only my personal opinion, -of course! But I'm entitled to hold it, and therefore to express it." -Whatever his matter, his manner was faultless. - -"Yes?" Edwin murmured awkwardly. What on earth did Ingpen expect by way -of reply to such a proposition? Surely Ingpen should have known that he -was putting his host in a disagreeable difficulty. His new-born faith -in Ingpen felt the harsh wind of experience and shivered. Nevertheless, -there was a part of Edwin that responded to Ingpen's attitude. "Behind -the veil." Yes, something could be said for the proposition. - -They left the arbour in silence. They had not gone more than a few -steps when a boy's shrill voice made itself heard over the wall of the -cottage yard. - -"Oh Lord, thou 'ast said 'If two on ye sh'll agray on earth as touching -onything that they sh'll ask it sh'll be done for them of my Father -which is in 'eaven. For where two or three are gathered together i' my -name theer am I in th' midst of 'em. Oh Lord, George Edwin Clay'anger -wants a two-bladed penknife. We all three on us want ye to send George -Edwin Clay'anger a two-bladed penknife." - -The words fell with impressive effect on the men in the garden. - -"What the--" Edwin exclaimed. - -"Hsh!" Ingpen stopped him in an excited whisper. "Don't disturb them for -anything in the world!" - -Silence followed. - -Edwin crept away like a scout towards a swing which he had arranged for -his friend George before he became the husband of George's mother. He -climbed into it and over the wall could just see three boys' heads in -the yard illuminated by a lamp in the back-window of the cottage. -Tertius Ingpen joined him, but immediately climbed higher on to the -horizontal beam of the swing. - -"Who are they?" Ingpen asked, restraining his joy in the adventure. - -"The one on the right's my stepson. The other big one is my sister -Clara's child, Bert. I expect the little one's old Clowes', the -gravedigger's kid. They say he's a regular little parson--probably to -make up for his parents. I expect they're out somewhere having a -jollification." - -"Well," Ingpen breathed. "I wouldn't have missed this for a good deal." -He gave a deep, almost soundless giggle. - -Edwin was startled--as much as anything by the extraordinary -deceitfulness of George. Who could possibly have guessed from the boy's -demeanour when his Aunt Clara mentioned Bert to him, that he had made an -outrageous rendezvous with Bert that very night? Certainly he had -blushed, but then he often blushed. Of course, the Benbows would assert -that George had seduced the guileless Bert. Fancy them hunting the town -for Bert at that instant! As regards Peter Clowes, George, though not -positively forbidden to do so, had been warned against associating with -him--chiefly because of the bad influence which Peter's accent would -have on George's accent. His mother had said that she could not -understand how George could wish to be friendly with a rough little boy -like Peter. Edwin, however, inexperienced as he was, had already -comprehended that children, like Eastern women, have no natural class -bias; and he could not persuade himself to be the first to inculcate -into George ideas which could only be called snobbish. He was a -democrat. Nevertheless he did not like George to play with Peter Clowes. - -The small Peter, with uplifted face and clasped hands, repeated -urgently, passionately: - -"O God! We all three on us want ye to send George Edwin Clay'anger a -two-bladed penknife. Now lads, kneel, and all three on us together!" - -He stood between the taller and better-dressed boys unashamed, fervent, -a born religionist. He was not even praying for himself. He was -praying out of his profound impersonal interest in the efficacy of -prayer. - -The three boys, kneeling, and so disappearing from sight behind the -wall, repeated together: - -"O God! Please send George Edwin Clayhanger a two-bladed penknife." - -Then George and Bert stood up again, shuffling about. Peter Clowes did -not reappear. - -"I can't help it," whispered Ingpen in a strange, moved voice, "I've got -to be God. Here goes! And it's practically new, too!" - -Edwin in the darkness could see him feeling in his waistcoat pocket, and -then raise his arm, and, taking careful aim, throw in the direction of -the dimly lighted yard. - -"Oh!" came the cry of George, in sudden pain. - -The descending penknife had hit him in the face. - -There was a scramble on the pavement of the yard, and some muttered -talk. The group went to the back window where the lamp was and examined -the heavenly penknife. They were more frightened than delighted by the -miracle. The unseen watchers in the swing were also rather frightened, -as though they had interfered irremediably in a solemn and delicate -crisis beyond their competence. In a curious way they were ashamed. - -"Yes, and what about me?" said the voice of fat Bert Benbow, sulkily. -"This is all very well. But what about me? Ye tried without me and ye -couldn't do anything. Now I've come and ye've done it. What am I going -to get? Ye've got to give me something instead of a half-share in that -penknife, George." - -George said: - -"Let's pray for something for you now. What d'you want?" - -"I want a bicycle. Ye know what I want." - -"Oh, no, you don't, Bert Benbow!" said George. "You've got to want -something safer than a bike. Suppose it comes tumbling down like the -penknife did! We shall be dam well killed." - -Tertius Ingpen could not suppress a snorting giggle. - -"I want a bike," Bert insisted. "And I don't want nothin' else." - -The two bigger boys moved vaguely away from the window, and the little -religionist followed them in silence, ready to supplicate for whatever -they should decide. - -"All right," George agreed. "We'll pray for a bicycle. But we'd better -all stand as close as we can to the wall, under the spouting, in case." - -The ceremonial was recommenced. - -"No," Ingpen murmured. "I'm not being God this time. It won't run to -it." - -Footsteps were heard on the lawn behind the swing. Ingpen slid down and -Edwin jumped down. Johnnie Orgreave was approaching. - -"Hsh!" Ingpen warned him. - -"What are you chaps--" - -"Hsh!" Ingpen was more imperative. - -All three men walked away out of earshot of the yard, towards the window -of the drawing-room--Johnnie Orgreave mystified, the other two smiling -but with spirits disturbed. Johnnie heard the story in brief; it was -told to him in confidence, as Tertius Ingpen held firmly that -eavesdroppers, if they had any honour left, should at least hold their -tongues. - - - - II - - -When Tertius Ingpen was introduced to Hilda in the drawing-room, the -three men having entered by the French window, Edwin was startled and -relieved by the deportment of the orientalist who thought that the -proper place for women was behind the veil. In his simplicity he had -assumed that the orientalist would indicate his attitude by a dignified -reserve. Not at all! As soon as Ingpen reached Hilda's hospitable gaze -his whole bearing altered. He bowed, with a deferential bending that to -an untravelled native must have seemed exaggerated; his face was -transformed by a sweet smile; his voice became the voice of a courtier; -he shook hands with chivalrous solicitude for the fragile hand shaken. -Hilda was pleased by him, perceiving that this man was more experienced -in the world than any of the other worldly guests. She liked that. -Ingpen's new symptoms were modified after a few moments, but when he was -presented to Mrs. Fearns he reproduced them in their original intensity, -and again when he was introduced to Vera Cheswardine. - -"Been out without your cap?" Hilda questioned Edwin, lifting her -eyebrows. She said it in order to say something, for the entry of this -ceremonious personage, who held all the advantages of the native and of -the stranger, had a little overpowered the company. - -"Only just to see after Mr. Ingpen's machine. Give me your cap, Mr. -Ingpen. I'll hang it up." - -When he returned to the drawing-room from the hatstand Ingpen was -talking with Janet Orgreave, whom he already knew. - -"Have you seen George, Edwin?" Hilda called across the drawing-room. - -"Hasn't he gone to bed?" - -"That's what I want to know. I haven't seen him lately." - -Everyone, except Johnnie Orgreave and a Swetnam or so, was preoccupied -by the thought of children, by the thought of this incalculable and -disturbing race that with different standards and ideals lived so -mysteriously in and among their adult selves. Nothing was said about -the strange disappearance of Bert Benbow, but each woman had it in mind, -and coupled it with Hilda's sudden apprehension concerning George, and -imagined weird connections between the one and the other, and felt -forebodings about children nearer to her own heart. Children dominated -the assemblage and, made restless, the assemblage collectively felt that -the moment for separation approached. The At Home was practically over. - -Hilda rang the bell, and as she did so Johnnie Orgreave winked -dangerously at Edwin, who with sternness responded. He wondered why he -should thus deceive his wife, with whom he was so deliciously intimate. -He thought also that women were capricious in their anxieties, and yet -now and then their moods--once more by the favour of hazard--displayed a -marvellous appositeness. Hilda had no reason whatever for worrying more -about George on this night than on any other night. Nevertheless this -night happened to be the night on which anxiety would be justified. - -"Ada," said Hilda to the entering servant. "Have you seen Master -George?" - -"No'm," Ada replied, almost defiantly. - -"When did you see him last?" - -"I don't remember, m'm." - -"Is he in bed?" - -"I don't know, m'm." - -"Just go and see, will you?" - -"Yes'm." - -The company waited with gentle, concealed excitement for the returning -Ada, who announced: - -"His bedroom door's locked, m'm." - -"He will lock it sometimes, although I've positively forbidden him to. -But what are you to do?" said Hilda, smilingly to the other mothers. - -"Take the key away, obviously," Tertius Ingpen answered the question, -turning quickly and interrupting his chat with Janet Orgreave. - -"That ought not to be necessary," said Fearns, as an expert father. - -Ada departed, thankful to be finished with the ordeal of -cross-examination in a full drawing-room. - -"Don't you know anything about him?" Hilda addressed Johnnie Orgreave -suddenly. - -"Me? About your precious? No. Why should I know?" - -"Because you're getting such friends, you two." - -"Oh! Are we?" Johnnie said carelessly. Nevertheless he was flattered -by a certain nascent admiration on the part of George, which was then -beginning to be noticeable. - -A quarter of an hour later, when several guests had gone, Hilda murmured -to Edwin: - -"I'm not easy about that boy. I'll just run upstairs." - -"I shouldn't," said Edwin. - -But she did. And the distant sound of knocking, and "George, George," -could be heard even down in the hall. - -"I can't wake him," said Hilda, back in the drawing-room. - -"What do you want to wake him for, foolish girl?" Edwin demanded. - -She enjoyed being called "foolish girl," but she was not to be -tranquillised. - -"Do you think he is in bed?" she questioned, before the whole remaining -company, and the dread suspicion was out! - -After more journeys upstairs, and more bangings, and essays with keys, -and even attempts at lock-picking, Hilda announced that George's room -must be besieged from its window. A ladder was found, and interested -visitors went into the back-entry, by the kitchen, to see it reared and -hear the result. Edwin thought that the cook in the kitchen looked as -guilty as he himself felt, though she more than once asseverated her -belief that Master George was safely in bed. The ladder was too short. -Edwin mounted it, and tried to prise himself on to the window-sill, but -could not. - -"Here, let me try!" said Ingpen, joyous. - -Ingpen easily succeeded. He glanced through the open window into -George's bedroom, and then looked down at the upturned faces, and Ada's -apron, whitely visible in the gloom. - -"He's here all right." - -"Oh, good!" said Hilda. "Is he asleep?" - -"Yes." - -"He deserves to be wakened," she laughed. - -"You see what a foolish girl you've been," said Edwin affectionately. - -"Never mind!" she retorted. "_You_ couldn't get on the window. And you -were just as upset as anybody. Do you think I don't know? Thank you, -Mr. Ingpen." - -"Is he really there?" Edwin whispered to Ingpen as soon as he could. - -"Yes. And asleep, too!" - -"I wonder how the deuce he slipped in. I'll bet anything those servants -have been telling a lot of lies for him. He pulls their hair down and -simply does what he likes with them." - -Edwin was now greatly reassured, but he could not quite recover from the -glimpse he had had of George's capacity for leading a double life. -Sardonically he speculated whether the heavenly penknife would be -brought to his notice by its owner, and if so by what ingenious method. - - - - III - - -The final sensation was caused by the arrival, in a nearly empty -drawing-room, of plump Maggie, nervous, constrained, and somewhat -breathless. - -"Bert has turned up," she said. "Clara thought I'd better come along -and tell you. She felt sure you'd like to know." - -"Well, that's all right then," Hilda replied perfunctorily, indicating -that Clara's conceited assumption of a universal interest in her dull -children was ridiculous. - -Edwin asked: - -"Did the kid say where he'd been?" - -"Been running about the streets. They don't know what's come over -him--because, you see, he'd actually gone to bed once. Albert is quite -puzzled; but he says he'll have it out of him before he's done." - -"When he does get it out of him," thought Edwin again, "there will be a -family row and George will be indicted as the corrupter of innocence." - -Maggie would not stay a single moment. Hilda attentively accompanied -her to the hall. The former and the present mistress of the house -kissed with the conventional signs of affection. But the fact that one -had succeeded the other seemed to divide them. Hilda was always lying -in wait for criticism from Maggie, ready to resent it; Maggie divined -this and said never a word. The silence piqued Hilda as much as -outspoken criticism would have annoyed her. She could not bear it. - -"How do you like my new stair-carpet?" she demanded defiantly. - -"Very nice! Very nice, I'm sure!" Maggie replied without conviction. -And added, just as she stepped outside the front-door, "You've made a -lot of changes." This was the mild, good-natured girl's sole thrust, -and it was as effective as she could have wished. - -Everybody had gone except the two Orgreaves and Tertius Ingpen. - -"I don't know about you, Johnnie, but I must go," said Janet Orgreave -when Hilda came back. - -"Hold on, Jan!" Johnnie protested. "You're forgetting those duets you -are to try with Ingpen." - -"Really?" - -"Duets!" cried Hilda, instantly uplifted and enthusiastic. "Oh, do -let's have some music!" - -Ingpen by arrangement with the Orgreaves had brought some pianoforte -duets. They were tied to his bicycle. He was known as an amateur of -music. Edwin, bidding Ingpen not to move, ran out into the garden to get -the music from the bicycle. Johnnie ran after him through the French -window. - -"I say!" Johnnie called in a low voice. - -"What's up?" Edwin stopped for him. - -"I've a piece of news for you. About that land you've set your heart -on, down at Shawport! ... It can be bought cheap--at least the old man -says it's cheap--whatever his opinion may be worth. I was telling him -about your scheme for having a new printing works altogether. -Astonishing how keen he is! If I'd had a plan of the land, I believe -he'd have sat down and made sketches at once." - -Johnnie (with his brother Jimmie) was in partnership with old Orgreave -as an architect. - -"'Set my heart on?'" Edwin mumbled, intimidated as usual by a nearer -view of an enterprise which he had himself conceived and which had -enchanted him from afar. "'Set my heart on?'" - -"Well, had you, or hadn't you?" - -"I suppose I had," Edwin admitted. "Look here, I'll drop in and see you -to-morrow morning." - -"Right!" - -Together they detached the music from the bicycle, and, as Edwin -unrolled it and rolled it the other side out to flatten it, they -returned silently through the dark wind-stirred garden into the -drawing-room. - -There were now the two Orgreaves, Tertius Ingpen, and Hilda and Edwin in -the drawing-room. - -"We will now begin the evening," said Ingpen, as he glanced at the -music. - -All five were conscious of the pleasant feeling of freedom, intimacy, -and mutual comprehension which animates a small company that by -self-selection has survived out of a larger one. The lateness of the -hour aided their zest. Even the more staid among them perceived as by a -revelation that it did not in fact matter, once in a way, if they were -tired and inefficient on the morrow, and that too much regularity of -habit was bad for the soul. Edwin had brought in a tray from the -dining-room, and rearranged the chairs according to Hilda's caprice, and -was providing cushions to raise the bodies of the duet-players to the -proper height. Janet began to excuse herself, asserting that if there -was one member of her family who could not play duets, she was that -member, that she had never seen this Dvorak music before, and that if -they had got her brother Tom, or her elder sister Marion, or even -Alicia,--etc., etc. - -"We are quite accustomed to these formal preliminaries from -duet-players, Miss Orgreave," said Ingpen. "I never do them -myself,--not because I can play well, but because I am hardened. Now -shall we start? Will you take the treble or the bass?" - -Janet answered with eager modesty that she would take the bass. - -"It's all one to me," said Ingpen, putting on spectacles; "I play either -equally badly. You'll soon regret leaving the most important part to -me. However...! Clayhanger, will you turn over?" - -"Er--yes," said Edwin boldly. "But you'd better give me the tip." - -He knew a little about printed music, from his experiences as a boy when -his sisters used to sing two-part songs. That is to say, he had a vague -idea "where a player was" on a page. But the enterprise of turning over -Dvorak's "Legends" seemed to him critically adventurous. Dvorak was -nothing but a name to him; beyond the correct English method of -pronouncing that name, he had no knowledge whatever of the subject in -hand. - -Then the performance of the "Legends" began. Despite halts, hesitations, -occasional loud insistent chanting of the time, explanations between the -players, many wrong notes by Ingpen, and a few wrong notes by Janet, and -one or two enormous misapprehensions by Edwin, the performance was a -success, in that it put a spell on its public, and permitted the loose -and tender genius of Dvorak to dominate the room. - -"Play that again, will you?" said Hilda, in a low dramatic voice, at the -third "Legend." - -"We will," Ingpen answered. "And we'll play it better." - -Edwin had the exquisite sensation of partially comprehending music whose -total beauty was beyond the limitations of his power to enjoy--power, -nevertheless, which seemed to grow each moment. Passages entirely -intelligible and lovely would break at intervals through the veils of -general sound and ravish him. All his attention was intensely -concentrated on the page. He could hear Ingpen breathing hard. Out of -the corner of his eye he was aware of Johnnie Orgreave on the sofa -making signs to Hilda about drinks, and pouring out something for her, -and something for himself, without the faintest noise. And he was aware -of Ada coming to the open door and being waved away to bed by her -mistress. - -"Well," he said, when the last "Legend" was played. "That's a bit of the -right sort--no mistake." He was obliged to be banal and colloquial. - -Hilda said nothing at all. Johnnie, who had waited for the end in order -to strike a match, showed by two words that he was an expert listener to -duets. Tertius Ingpen was very excited and pleased. "More tricky than -difficult, isn't it--to read?" he said privately to his -fellow-performer, who concurred. Janet also was excited in her fashion. -But even amid the general excitement Ingpen had to be judicious. - -"Delightful stuff, of course," he said, pulling his beard. "But he's -not a great composer you know, all the same." - -"He'll do to be going on with," Johnnie murmured. - -"Oh, yes! Delightful! Delightful!" Ingpen repeated warmly, removing -his spectacles. "What a pity we can't have musical evenings regularly!" - -"But we can!" said Hilda positively. "Let's have them here. Every -week!" - -"A great scheme!" Edwin agreed with enthusiasm, admiring his wife's -initiative. He had been a little afraid that the episode of George had -upset her for the night, but he now saw that she had perfectly recovered -from it. - -"Oh!" Ingpen paused. "I doubt if I could come every week. I could come -once a fortnight." - -"Well, once a fortnight then!" said Hilda. - -"I suppose Sunday wouldn't suit you?" - -Edwin challenged him almost fiercely: - -"Why won't it suit us? It will suit us first-class." - -Ingpen merely said, with quiet delicacy: - -"So much the better.... We might go all through the Mozart fiddle -sonatas." - -"And who's your violinist?" asked Johnnie. - -"I am, if you don't mind." Ingpen smiled. "If your sister will take -the piano part." - -Hilda exclaimed admiringly: - -"Do you play the violin, too, Mr. Ingpen?" - -"I scrape it. Also the tenor. But my real instrument is the clarinet." -He laughed. "It seems odd," he went on with genuine scientific -unegotistic interest in himself. "But d'you know I thoroughly enjoy -playing the clarinet in a bad orchestra whenever I get the chance. When -I happen to have a free evening I often wish I could drop in at a -theatre and play rotten music in the band. It's better than nothing. -Some of us are born mad." - -"But Mr. Ingpen," said Janet Orgreave anxiously, after this speech had -been appreciated. "I have never played those Mozart sonatas." - -"I am glad to hear it," he replied with admirable tranquillity. -"Neither have I. I've often meant to. It'll be quite a sporting event. -But of course we can have a rehearsal if you like." - -The project of the musical evenings was discussed and discussed until -Janet, having vanished silently upstairs, reappeared with her hat and -cloak on. - -"I can go alone if you aren't ready, Johnnie," said she. - -Johnnie yawned. - -"No. I'm coming." - -"I also must go--I suppose," said Ingpen. - -They all went into the hall. Through the open door of the dining-room, -where one gas-jet burned, could be seen the rich remains of what had -been "light refreshments" in the most generous interpretation of the -term. - -Ingpen stopped to regard the spectacle, fingering his beard. - -"I was just wondering," he remarked, with that strange eternal curiosity -about himself, "whether I'd had enough to eat. I've got to ride home." - -"Well, what have you had?" Johnnie quizzed him. - -"I haven't had anything," said Ingpen, "except drink." - -Hilda cried. - -"Oh! You poor sufferer! I am ashamed!" And led him familiarly to the -table. - - - - IV - - -Edwin was kept at the front-door some time by Johnnie Orgreave, who -resumed as he was departing the subject of the proposed new works, and -maintained it at such length that Janet, tired of waiting on the -pavement, said that she would walk on. When he returned to the -dining-room, Ingpen and Hilda were sitting side by side at the littered -table, and the first words that Edwin heard were from Ingpen: - -"It cost me a penknife. But it was dirt cheap at the price. You can't -expect to be the Almighty for much less than a penknife." Seeing Edwin, -he added with a nonchalant smile: "I've told Mrs. Clayhanger all about -the answer to prayer. I thought she ought to know." - -Edwin laughed awkwardly, saying to himself: - -"Ingpen, my boy, you ought to have thought of my position first. You've -been putting your finger into a rather delicate piece of mechanism. -Supposing she cuts up rough with me afterwards for hiding it from her -all this time! ... I'm living with her. You aren't." - -"Of course," Ingpen added. "I've sworn the lady to secrecy." - -Hilda said: - -"I knew all the time there was something wrong." - -And Edwin thought: - -"No, you didn't. And if he hadn't happened to tell you about the thing, -you'd have been convinced that you'd been alarming yourself for -nothing." - -But he only said, not certain of Hilda's humour, and anxious to placate -her: - -"There's no doubt George ought to be punished." - -"Nothing of the kind! Nothing of the kind!" Ingpen vivaciously -protested. "Why, bless my soul! The kids were engaged in a religious -work. They were busy with someone far more important than any parents." -And after a pause, reflectively: "Curious thing, the mentality of a -child! I doubt if we understand anything about it." - -Hilda smiled, but said naught. - -"May I enquire what there is in that bottle?" Ingpen asked. - -"Benedictine." - -"Have some, Mr. Ingpen." - -"I will if you will, Mrs. Clayhanger." - -Edwin raised his eyebrows at his wife. - -"You needn't look at me!" said Hilda. "I'm going to have some." - -Ingpen smacked his lips over the liqueur. - -"It's a very bad thing late at night, of course. But I believe in -giving your stomach something to think about. I never allow my -digestive apparatus to boss me." - -"Quite right, Mr. Ingpen." - -They touched glasses, without a word, almost instinctively. - -"Well," thought Edwin, "for a chap who thinks women ought to be behind -the veil...!" - -"Be a man, Clayhanger, and have some." - -Edwin shook his head. - -With a scarcely perceptible movement of her glass, Hilda greeted her -husband, peeping out at him as it were for a fraction of a second in a -glint of affection. He was quite happy. They were all seated close -together, Edwin opposite the other two at the large table. The single -gas-jet, by the very inadequacy with which it lighted the scene of -disorder, produced an effect of informal homeliness and fellowship that -warmed the heart. Each of the three realised with pleasure that a new -and promising friendship was in the making. They talked at length about -the Musical Evenings, and Edwin said that he should buy some music, and -Hilda asked him to obtain a history of music that Ingpen described with -some enthusiasm, and the date of the first evening was settled,--Sunday -week. And after uncounted minutes Ingpen remarked that he presumed he -had better go. - -"I have to cycle home," he announced once more. - -"To-night?" Hilda exclaimed. - -"No. This morning." - -"All the way to Axe?" - -"Oh, no! I'm three miles this side of Axe. It's only six and a half -miles." - -"But all those hills!" - -"Pooh! Excellent for the muscles of the calf." - -"Do you live alone, Mr. Ingpen?" - -"I have a sort of housekeeper." - -"In a cottage?" - -"In a cottage." - -"But what do you _do_--all alone?" - -"I cultivate myself." - -And Hilda, in a changed tone, said: - -"How wise you are!" - -"Rather inconvenient, being out there, isn't it?" Edwin suggested. - -"It may be inconvenient sometimes for my job. But I can't help that. I -give the State what I consider fair value for the money it pays me, and -not a grain more. I've got myself to think about. There are some things -I won't do, and one of them is to live all the time in a vile hole like -the Five Towns. I won't do it. I'd sooner be a blooming peasant on the -land." - -As he was a native he had the right to criticise the district without -protest from other natives. - -"You're quite right as to the vile hole," said Hilda with conviction. - -"I don't know----" Edwin muttered. "I think old Bosley isn't so bad." - -"Yes. But you're an old stick-in-the-mud, dearest," said Hilda. "Mr. -Ingpen has lived away from the district, and so have I. You haven't. -You're no judge. We know, don't we, Mr. Ingpen?" - -When, Ingpen having at last accumulated sufficient resolution to move -and get his cap, they went through the drawing-room to the garden, they -found that rain was falling. - -"Never mind!" said Ingpen, lifting his head sardonically in a mute -indictment of the heavens. "I have my mack." - -Edwin searched out the bicycle and brought it to the window, and Hilda -stuck a hat on his head. Leisurely Ingpen clipped his trousers at the -ankle, and unstrapped a mackintosh cape from the machine, and folded the -strap. Leisurely he put on the cape, and gazed at the impenetrable -heavens again. - -"I can make you up a bed, Mr. Ingpen." - -"No, thanks. Oh, no, thanks! The fact is, I rather like rain." - -Leisurely he took a box of fusees from his pocket, and lighted his lamp, -examining it as though it contained some hidden and perilous defect. -Then he pressed the tyres. - -"The back tyre'll do with a little more air," he said thoughtfully. "I -don't know if my pump will work." - -It did work, but slowly. After which, gloves had to be assumed. - -"I suppose I can get out this way. Oh! My music! Never mind, I'll -leave it." - -Then with a sudden access of ceremoniousness he bade adieu to Hilda; no -detail of punctilio was omitted from the formality. - -"Good-bye. Many thanks." - -"Good-bye. Thank _you_!" - -Edwin preceded the bicyclist and the bicycle round the side of the house -to the front-gate at the corner of Hulton Street and Trafalgar Road. - -In the solemn and chill nocturnal solitude of rain-swept Hulton Street, -Ingpen straddled the bicycle, with his left foot on one raised pedal and -the other on the pavement; and then held out a gloved hand to Edwin. - -"Good-bye, old chap. See you soon." - -Much good-will and appreciation and hope was implicit in that rather -casual handshake. - -He sheered off strongly down the dark slope of Hulton Street in the -rain, using his ankles with skill in the pedal-stroke. The man's calves -seemed to be enormously developed. The cape ballooned out behind his -swiftness, and in a moment he had swerved round the flickering mournful -gas-lamp at the bottom of the mean new street and was gone. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - HUSBAND AND WIFE - - - I - - -"I'm upstairs," Hilda called in a powerful whisper from the head of the -stairs as soon as Edwin had closed and bolted the front-door. - -He responded humorously. He felt very happy, lusty, and wideawake. The -evening had had its contretemps, its varying curve of success, but as a -whole it was a triumph. And, above all, it was over,--a thing that had -had to be accomplished and that had been accomplished, with dignity and -effectiveness. He walked in ease from room to lighted empty room, and -the splendid waste of gas pleased him, arousing something royal that is -at the bottom of generous natures. In the breakfast-room especially the -gas had been flaring to no purpose for hours. "_Her_ room, her very own -room!" He wondered indulgently when, if ever, she would really make it -her own room by impressing her individuality upon it. He knew she was -always meaning to do something drastic to the room, but so far she had -got no further than his portrait. Child! Infant! Wayward girl! ... -Still the fact of the portrait on the mantelpiece touched him. - -He dwelt tenderly on the invisible image of the woman upstairs. It was -marvellous how she was not the Hilda he had married. The new Hilda had -so overlaid and hidden the old, that he had positively to make an effort -to recall what the old one was, with her sternness and her anxious air -of responsibility. But at the same time she was the old Hilda too. He -desired to be splendidly generous, to environ her with all luxuries, to -lift her clear above other women; he desired the means to be senselessly -extravagant for her. To clasp on her arm a bracelet whose cost would -keep a workingman's family for three years would have delighted him. -And though he was interested in social schemes, and had a social -conscience, he would sooner have bought that bracelet, and so purchased -the momentary thrill of putting it on her capricious arm, than have -helped to ameliorate the lot of thousands of victimised human beings. -He had Hilda in his bones and he knew it, and he knew that it was a -grand and a painful thing. - -Nevertheless he was not without a considerable self-satisfaction, for he -had done very well by Hilda. He had found her at the mercy of the -world, and now she was safe and sheltered and beloved, and made mistress -of a house and home that would stand comparison with most houses and -homes. He was proud of his house; he always watched over it; he was -always improving it; and he would improve it more and more; and it -should never be quite finished. - -The disorder in it, now, irked him. He walked to and fro, and restored -every piece of furniture to its proper place, heaped the contents of the -ash-trays into one large ash-tray, covered some of the food, and locked -up the alcohol. He did this leisurely, while thinking of the woman -upstairs, and while eating two chocolates,--not more, because he had -notions about his stomach. Then he shut and bolted the drawing-room -window, and opened the door leading to the cellar steps and sniffed, so -as to be quite certain that the radiator furnace was not setting the -house on fire. And then he extinguished the lights, and the hall-light -last of all, and his sole illumination was the gas on the first-floor -landing inviting him upstairs. - -Standing on the dark stairs, on his way to bed, eager and yet reluctant -to mount, he realised the entity of the house. He thought of the -astounding and mysterious George, and of those uncomprehended beings, -Ada and the cook in their attic, sleeping by the side of the portrait of -a fireman in uniform. He felt sure that one or both of them had been -privy to George's unlawful adventures, and he heartily liked them for -shielding the boy. And he thought of his wife, moving about in the -bedroom upon which she _had_ impressed her individuality. He went -upstairs.... Yes, he should proceed with the enterprise of the new -works. He had the courage for it now. He was rich, according to -Bursley ideas,--he would be far richer.... He gave a faint laugh at the -memory of George's objection to Bert's choice of a bicycle as a gift -from heaven. - - - - II - - -Hilda was brushing her hair. The bedroom seemed to be full of her and -the disorder of her multitudinous things. Whenever he asked why a -particular item of her goods was in a particular spot--the spot -appearing to him to have been bizarrely chosen--she always proved to her -own satisfaction, by a quite improvised argument, that that particular -spot was the sole possible spot for that particular item. The bedroom -was no longer theirs--it was hers. He picnicked in it. He didn't mind. -In fact he rather liked the picnic. It pleased him to exercise his -talent for order and organisation, so as to maintain his own comfort in -the small spaces which she left to him. To-night the room was in a -divine confusion. He accepted it with pleasure. The beds had not been -turned down, because it was improper to turn them down when they were to -be used for the deposit of strangers' finery. On Edwin's bed now lay the -dress which Hilda had taken off. It was a most agreeable object on the -bed, and seemed even richer and more complex there than on Hilda. He -removed it carefully to a chair. An antique diaphanous shawl remained, -which was unfamiliar to him. - -"What's this shawl?" he asked. "I've never seen this shawl before. -What is it?" - -Hilda was busy, her bent head buried in hair. - -"Oh, Edwin, what an old fusser you are!" she mumbled. "What shawl?" - -He held it up. - -"Someone must have left it." - -He proceeded with the turning down of his bed. Then he sat on a chair -to regard Hilda. - -When she had done her hair she padded across the room and examined the -shawl. - -"What a precious thing!" she exclaimed. "It's Mrs. Fearns's. She must -have taken it off to put her jacket on, and then forgotten it. But I'd -no idea how good it was. It's genuine old. I wonder how it would suit -me?" - -She put it round her shoulders, and then stood smiling, posing, bold, -provocative, for his verdict. The whiteness of her deshabille showed -through the delicate pattern and tints of the shawl, with a strange -effect. For him she was more than a woman; she was the incarnation of a -sex. It was marvellous how all she did, all her ideas and her gestures, -were so intensely feminine, so sure to perturb or enchant him. -Nervously he began to wind his watch. He wanted to spring up and kiss -her because she was herself. But he could not. So he said: - -"Come here, chit. Let me look at that shawl." - -She obeyed. She knelt acquiescent. He put his watch back into his -pocket, and fingered the shawl. - -Then she said: - -"I suppose one'll be allowed to grumble at Georgie for locking his -bedroom door." And she said it with a touch of mockery in her clear, -precise voice, as though twitting him, and Ingpen too, about their -absurd theoretical sense of honour towards children. And there was a -touch of fine bitterness in her voice also,--a reminiscence of the old -Hilda. Incalculable creature! Who could have guessed that she would -make such a remark at such a moment? In his mind he dashed George to -pieces. But as a wise male he ignored all her implications and answered -casually, mildly, with an affirmative. - -She went on: - -"What were you talking such a long time to Johnnie Orgreave about?" - -"Talking a long time to Johnnie Orgreave? Oh! D'you mean at the -front-door? Why, it wasn't half a minute! He happened to mention a -piece of land down at Shawport that I had a sort of a notion of buying." - -"Buying? What for?" Her tone hardened. - -"Well, supposing I had to build a new works?" - -"You never told me anything about it." - -"I've only just begun to think of it myself. You see, if I'm to go in -for lithography as it ought to be gone in for, I can't possibly stay at -the shop. I must have more room, and a lot more. And it would be -cheaper to build than to rent." - -She stood up. - -"Why go in more for lithography?" - -"You can't stand still in business. Must either go forward or go back." - -"It seems to me it's very risky. I wondered what you were hiding from -me." - -"My dear girl, I was not hiding anything from you," he protested. - -"Whose land is it?" - -"It belongs to Tobias Hall's estate." - -"Yes, and I've no doubt the Halls would be very glad to get rid of it. -Who told you about it?" - -"Johnnie." - -"Of course it would be a fine thing for him too." - -"But I'd asked him if he knew of any land going cheap." - -She shrugged her shoulders, and shrugged away the disinterestedness of -all Orgreaves. - -"Anyone could get the better of you," she said. - -He resented this estimate of himself as a good-natured simpleton. He -assuredly did not want to quarrel, but he was obliged to say: - -"Oh! Could they?" - -An acerbity scarcely intentional somehow entered into his tone. As soon -as he heard it he recognised the tone as the forerunner of altercations. - -"Of course!" she insisted, superiorly, and then went on: "We're all -right as we are. We spend too much money, but I daresay we're all -right. If you go in for a lot of new things you may lose all we've got, -and then where shall we be?" - -In his heart he said to her: - -"What's it got to do with you? You manage your home, and I'll manage my -business! You know nothing at all about business. You're the very -antithesis of business. Whatever business you've ever had to do with -you've ruined. You've no right to judge and no grounds for judgment. -It's odious of you to asperse any of the Orgreaves. They were always -your best friends. I should never have met you if it hadn't been for -them. And where would you be now without me? Trying to run some -wretched boarding-house and probably starving. Why do you assume that -I'm a d----d fool? You always do. Let me tell you that I'm one of the -most common-sense men in this town, and everybody knows it except you. -Anyhow I was clever enough to get _you_ out of a mess.... You knew I -was hiding something from you, did you? I wish you wouldn't talk such -infernal rot. And moreover I won't have you interfering in my business. -Other wives don't, and you shan't. So let that be clearly understood." -In his heart he was very ill-used and very savage. - -But he only said: - -"Well, we shall see." - -She retorted: - -"Naturally if you've made up your mind, there's no more to be said." - -He broke out viciously: - -"I've not made up my mind. Don't I tell you I've only just begun to -think about it?" - -He was angry. And now that he actually was angry, he took an almost -sensual pleasure in being angry. He had been angry before, though on a -smaller scale, with less provocation, and he had sworn that he would -never be angry again. But now that he was angry again, he gloomily and -fiercely revelled in it. - -Hilda silently folded up the shawl, and, putting it into a drawer of the -wardrobe, shut the drawer with an irritatingly gentle click.... Click! -He could have killed her for that click.... She seized a dressing-gown. - -"I must just go and look at George," she murmured, with cool, clear -calmness,--the virtuous, anxious mother; not a trace of coquetry -anywhere in her. - -"What bosh!" he thought. "She knows perfectly well George's door is -bolted." - -Marriage was a startling affair. Who could have foretold this finish to -the evening? Nothing had occurred ... nothing ... and yet everything. -His plans were all awry. He could see naught but trouble. - -She was away some time. When she returned, he was in bed, with his face -averted. He heard her moving about. - -"Will she, or won't she, come and kiss me?" he thought. - -She came and kissed him, but it was a meaningless kiss. - -"Good-night," she said, aloofly. - -"'Night." - -She slept. But he could not sleep. He kept thinking the same thought: -"She's no right whatever.... I must say I never bargained for this...." -etc. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE TRUCE - - - I - - -Nearly a week passed. Hilda, in the leisure of a woman of fashion after -dinner, was at the piano in the drawing-room. She had not urgent -stockings to mend, nor jam to make, nor careless wenches to overlook, -nor food to buy, nor accounts to keep, nor a new dress to scheme out of -an old one, nor to perform her duty to her neighbour. She had nothing -to do. Like Edwin, she could not play the piano, but she had picked up -a note here and a note there in the course of her life, and with much -labour and many slow hesitations she could puzzle out a chord or a -melody from the printed page. She was now exasperatingly spelling with -her finger a fragment of melody from one of Dvorak's "Legends,"--a -fragment that had inhabited her mind since she first heard it, and that -seemed to gather up and state all the sweet heart-breaking intolerable -melancholy implicit in the romantic existence of that city on the map, -Prague. On the previous day she had been a quarter of an hour -identifying the unforgetable, indismissible fragment amid the multitude -of notes. Now she had recognisably pieced its phrases together, and as -her stiff finger stumbled through it, her ears heard it, once more; and -she could not repeat it often enough. What she heard was not what she -was playing but something finer,--her souvenir of what Tertius Ingpen -had played; and something finer than that, something finer than the -greatest artist could possibly play--magic! - -It was in the nature of a miracle to her that she had been able to -reproduce the souvenir in physical sound. She was proud of herself as a -miracle-worker, and somewhat surprised. And at the same time she was -abject because she "could not play the piano." She thought that she -would be ready to sacrifice many happinesses in order to be able to play -as well as even George played, that she would exchange all her own gifts -multiplied by a hundred in order to be able to play as Janet Orgreave -played, and that to be a world-renowned pianist dominating immense -audiences in European capitals must mean the summit of rapture and -glory. (She had never listened to a world-renowned pianist.) -Meanwhile, without the ennui and slavery of practice, she was enchanting -herself; and she savoured her idleness, and thought of her young pretty -servants at work, and her boy loose and at large, and her husband -keeping her, and of the intensity of beautiful sorrow palpitating behind -the mediæval façades of Prague. Had Ingpen overheard her, he might have -demanded: "Who is making that infernal noise on the piano?" - -Edwin came into the room, holding a thick green book. He ought long ago -to have been back at the works (or "shop," as it was still called, -because it had once been principally a shop), keeping her. - -"Hello!" she murmured, without glancing away from the piano. "I thought -you were gone." - -They had not quarrelled; but they had not made peace; and the open -question of lithography and the new works still separated them. -Sometimes they had approached each other, pretending amiably or even -affectionately that there was no open question. But the reality of the -question could not be destroyed by any pretence of ignoring it. - -While gazing at the piano, Hilda could also see Edwin. She thought she -knew him, but she was always making discoveries in this branch of -knowledge. Now and then she was so bewildered by discoveries that she -came to wonder why she had married him, and why people do marry--really! -The fact was that she had married him for the look in his eyes. It was -a sad look, and beyond that it could not be described. Also, a little, -she had married him for his bright untidy hair, and for that short -oblique shake of the head which with him meant a greeting or an -affirmative. She had not married him for his sentiments nor for his -goodness of heart. Some points in him she did not like. He had a -tendency to colds, and she hated him whenever he had a cold. She often -detested his terrible tidiness, though it was a convenient failing. -More and more she herself wilfully enjoyed being untidy, as her mother -had been untidy.... And to think that her mother's untidiness used to -annoy her! On the other hand she found pleasure in humouring Edwin's -crotchettiness in regard to the details of a meal. She did not like his -way of walking, which was ungainly, nor his way of standing, which was -infirm. She preferred him to be seated. She could not but regret his -irresolution, and his love of ease. However, the look in his eyes was -paramount, because she was in love with him. She knew that he was more -deeply and helplessly in love with her than she with him, but even she -was perhaps tightlier bound than in her pride she thought. - -Her love had the maladies of a woman's love when it is great; these may -possibly be also the maladies of a man's love. It could be bitter. -Certainly it could never rest from criticism, spoken or unspoken. In -the presence of others she would criticise him to herself, if not aloud, -nearly all the time; the ordeal was continuous. When she got him alone -she would often endow him at a stroke with perfection, and her -tenderness would pour over him. She trusted him profoundly; and yet she -had constant misgivings, which weakened or temporarily destroyed her -confidence. She would treat a statement from him with almost hostile -caution, and accept blindly the very same statement from a stranger! -Her habit was to assume that in any encounter between him and a stranger -he would be worsted. She was afraid for him. She felt that she could -protect him better than he could protect himself,--against any danger -whatever. This instinct to protect him was also the instinct of -self-protection; for peril to him meant peril to her. And she had had -enough of peril. After years of disastrous peril she was safe and -George was safe. And if she was passionately in love with Edwin, she -was also passionately in love with safety. She had breathed a long sigh -of relief, and from a desperate self-defender had become a woman. She -lay back, as it were, luxuriously on a lounge, after exhausting and -horrible exertions; she had scarcely ceased to pant. At the least sign -of recurring danger all her nerves were on the _qui vive_. Hence her -inimical attitude towards the project of the new works and the extension -of lithography in Bursley. The simpleton (a moment earlier the perfect -man) might ruin himself--and her! In her view he was the last person to -undertake such an enterprise. - -Since her marriage, Clara, Maggie, and Auntie Hamps had been engaged in -the pleasant endless task of telling her all about everything that -related to the family, and she had been permitted to understand that -Edwin, though utterly admirable, was not of a creative disposition, and -that he had done nothing but conserve what his father had left. Without -his father Edwin "would have been in a very different position." She -believed this. Every day, indeed, Edwin, by the texture of his hourly -life, proved the truth of it.... All the persons standing to make a -profit out of the new project would get the better of his fine ingenuous -temperament--naturally! She knew the world. Did Edwin suppose that she -did not know what the world was? ... And then the interminable worry of -the new enterprise--misgivings, uncertainties, extra work, secret -preoccupations! What room for love, what hope of tranquillity in all -that? He might argue---- But she did not want to argue; she would not -argue. She was dead against the entire project. He had not said to her -that it was no affair of hers, but she knew that such was his thought, -and she resented the attitude. No affair of hers? When it threatened -her felicity? No! She would not have it. She was happy and secure. And -while lying luxuriously back in her lounge she would maintain all the -defences of her happiness and her security. - - - - II - - -Holding the green book in front of her, Edwin said quietly: - -"Read this!" - -"Which?" - -He pointed with his finger. - -She read: - - -"_I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and -self-contained._ - -_I stand and look at them long and long._ - -_They do not sweat and whine about their condition._ - -_They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins._ - -_They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God._ - -_Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning -things._ - -_Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of -years ago._ - -_Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth._" - - -Edwin had lately been exciting himself, not for the first time, over -Walt Whitman. - -"Fine, isn't it?" he said, sure that she would share his thrill. - -"Magnificent!" she agreed with quiet enthusiasm. "I must read more of -that." She gazed over the top of the book through the open -blue-curtained window into the garden. - -He withdrew the book and closed it. - -"You haven't got that tune exactly right, you know," he said, jerking -his head in the direction of the music. - -"Oh!" She was startled. What did he know about it? He could not play -the piano. - -"Where are you?" he asked. "Show me. Where's the confounded place on -the piano? Well! At the end you play it like this." He imitated her. -"Whereas it ought to be like this." He played the last four notes -differently. - -"So it ought!" She murmured with submission, after having frowned. - -"That bit of a tune's been running in my head, too," he said. - -The strange beauty of Whitman and the strange beauty of Dvorak seemed to -unite, and both Edwin and Hilda were uplifted, not merely by these -mingled beauties, but by their realisation of the wondrous fact that -they both took intense pleasure in the same varied forms of beauty. -Happiness rose about them like a sweet smell in the spaces of the -comfortable impeccable drawing-room. And for a moment they leaned -towards each other in bliss--across the open question.... Was it still -open? ... Ah! Edwin might be ingenuous, a simpleton, but Hilda admitted -the astounding, mystifying adroitness of his demeanour. Had he -abandoned the lithographic project, or was he privately nursing it? In -his friendliness towards herself was there a reserve, or was there not? -She knew ... she did not know ... she knew.... Yes, there was a -reserve, but it was so infinitesimal that she could not define -it,--could not decide whether it was due to obstinacy of purpose, or -merely to a sense of injury, whether it was resentful or condescending. -Exciting times! And she perceived that her new life was gradually -getting fuller of such excitements. - -"Well," said he. "It's nearly three. Quarter-day's coming along. I'd -better be off down and earn a bit towards Maggie's rent." - -Before the June quarter-day, he had been jocular in the same way about -Maggie's rent. In the division of old Darius Clayhanger's estate Maggie -had taken over the Clayhanger house, and Edwin paid rent to her -therefor. - -"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Hilda, pouting amiably. - -"Why not?" - -"Well, I wish you wouldn't." - -"Anyhow, the rent has to be paid, I suppose." - -"And I wish it hadn't. I wish we didn't live in Maggie's house." - -"Why?" - -"I don't like the idea of it." - -"You're sentimental." - -"You can call it what you like. I don't like the idea of us living in -Maggie's house. I never feel as if I was at home. No, I don't feel as -if I was at home." - -"What a kid you are!" - -"You won't change me," she persisted stoutly. - -He knew that she was not sympathetic towards the good Maggie. And he -knew the reasons for her attitude, though they had never been mentioned. -One was mere vague jealousy of Maggie as her predecessor in the house. -The other was that Maggie was always very tepid towards George. George -had annoyed her on his visits previous to his mother's marriage, and -moreover Maggie had dimly resented Edwin's interest in the son of a -mysterious woman. If she had encountered George after the proclamation -of Edwin's engagement she would have accepted the child with her -customary cheerful blandness. But she had encountered him too soon, and -her puzzled gaze had said to George: "Why is my brother so taken up with -you? There must be an explanation, and your strange mother is the -explanation." Edwin did not deny Maggie's attitude to George, but he -defended Maggie as a human being. Though dull, "she was absolutely the -right sort," and the very slave of duty and loyalty. He would have -liked to make Hilda see all Maggie's excellences. - -"Do you know what I've been thinking?" Hilda went on. "Suppose you were -to buy the house from Maggie? Then it would be ours." - -He answered with a smile: - -"What price 'the mania for owning things'? ... Would you like me to?" -There was promise in his roguish voice. - -"Oh! I should. I've often thought of it," she said eagerly. And at -the same time all her gestures and glances seemed to be saying: "Humour -me! I appeal to you as a girl pouting and capricious. But humour me. -You know it gives you pleasure to humour me. You know you like me not to -be too reasonable. We both know it. I want you to do this." - -It was not the fact that she had often thought of the plan. But in her -eagerness she imagined it to be the fact. She had never seriously -thought of the plan until that moment, and it appeared doubly favourable -to her now, because the execution of it, by absorbing capital, ought to -divert Edwin from his lithographic project, and perhaps render the -lithographic project impossible for years. - -She added, aloud: - -"Then you wouldn't have any rent to pay." - -"How true!" said Edwin, rallying her. "But it would stand me in a loss, -because I should have to pay too much for the place." - -"Why?" she cried, in arms. "Why should Maggie ask too much just because -you want it? And think of all the money you've spent on it!" - -"The money spent on it only increases its value to Maggie. You don't -seem to understand landlordism, my child. But that's not the point at -all. Maggie won't ask any price. Only I couldn't decently pay her less -than the value she took the house over at when we divided up. To wit, -£1,800. It ain't worth that. I only pay £60 rent." - -"If she took it over at too high a value that's her look-out," said the -harsh and unjust Hilda. - -"Not at all. She was a fool. Albert and Clara persuaded her. It was a -jolly good thing for them. I couldn't very well interfere." - -"It seems a great shame you should have to pay for what Albert and Clara -did." - -"I needn't unless I want to. Only, if I buy the house, £1,800 will have -to be the price." - -"Well," said Hilda. "I wish you'd buy it." - -"Would she feel more at home if he did?" he seductively chaffed her. - -"Yes, she would." Hilda straightened her shoulders, and smiled with -bravado. - -"And suppose Mag won't sell?" - -"Will you allow me to mention it to her?" Hilda's submissive tone -implied that Edwin was a tyrant who ruled with a nod. - -"I don't mind," he said negligently. - -"Well, one of these days I just will." - -Edwin departed, leaving the book behind. Hilda was flushed. She -thought: "It is marvellous. I can do what I like with him. When I use -a particular tone, and look at him in a particular way, I can do what I -like with him." - -She was ecstatically conscious of an incomprehensible power. What a -rôle, that of the capricious, pouting queen, reclining luxuriously on -her lounge, and subduing a tyrant to a slave! It surpassed that of the -world-renowned pianist!... - - - - III - - -But soon she became more serious. She had a delicious glow of -seriousness. She overflowed with gratitude to Edwin. His good-nature -was exquisite. He was not perfect. She could see all his faults just -as plainly as when she was angry with him. But he was perfect in -lovableness. She adored every aspect of him, every manifestation of his -character. She felt her responsibility to him and to George. It was -hers to bring grace into their lives. Without her, how miserable, how -uncared for, those two would be! They would be like lost children. -Nobody could do for them what she did. Money could not buy what she -gave naturally, and mere invention could not devise it. She looked up -to Edwin, but at the same time she was mysteriously above both him and -George. She had a strange soft wisdom for them. It was agreeable, and -it was proper, and it was even prudent, to be capricious on occasion and -to win by pouting and wiles and seductions; but beneath all that lay the -tremendous sternness of the wife's duty, everlasting and intricate, a -heavy obligation that demanded all her noblest powers for its -fulfilment. She rose heroically to the thought of duty, conceiving it -as she had never conceived it before. She desired intensely to be the -most wonderful wife in the whole history of marriage. And she believed -strongly in her capabilities. - -She went upstairs to put on another and a finer dress; for since the -disastrous sequel to the At Home she had somewhat wearied in the pursuit -of elegance. She had thought: "What is the use of me putting myself to -such a lot of trouble for a husband who is insensible enough to risk my -welfare unnecessarily?" She was now ashamed of this backsliding. Ada -was in the bedroom finicking with something on the dressing-table. Ada -sprang to help as soon as she knew that her mistress had to go out. And -she openly admired the new afternoon dress and seemed as pleased as -though she was to wear it herself. And Ada buttoned her boots and found -her gloves and her parasol, and remembered her purse and her bag and her -handkerchief. - -"I don't quite know what time I shall be back, Ada." - -"No'm," said Ada eagerly, as though saying: "Of course you don't, m'm. -You have many engagements. But no matter when you come back we shall be -delighted to see you because the house is nothing without you." - -"Of course I shall be back for tea." - -"Oh, yes'm!" Ada agreed, as though saying: "Need you tell me that, m'm? -I know you would never leave the master to have his tea alone." - -Hilda walked regally down the stairs and glanced round about her at the -house, which belonged to Maggie and which Edwin had practically promised -to buy. Yes, it was a fine house, a truly splendid abode. And it seemed -all the finer because it was Maggie's. Hilda had this regrettable human -trait of overvaluing what was not hers and depreciating what was. It -accounted in part, possibly, for her often very critical attitude -towards Edwin. She passed out of the front-door in triumph, her head -full of wise schemes and plots. But even then she was not sure whether -she had destroyed--or could ever destroy, by no matter what arts!--the -huge dangerous lithographic project. - -As soon as she was gone, Ada ran yelling to the kitchen: - -"Hooray! She's safe." - -And both servants burst like infants into the garden, to disport -themselves upon the swing. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - THE FAMILY AT HOME - - - I - - -When Hilda knocked at the door of Auntie Hamps's house, in King Street, -a marvellously dirty and untidy servant answered the summons, and a -smell of greengage jam in the making surged out through the doorway into -the street. The servant wore an apron of rough sacking. - -"Is Miss Clayhanger in?" coldly asked Hilda, offended by the sight and -the smell. - -The servant looked suspicious and mysterious. - -"No, mum. Her's gone out." - -"Mrs. Hamps, then?" - -"Missis is up yon," said the servant, jerking her tousled head back -towards the stairs. - -"Will you tell her I'm here?" - -The servant left the visitor on the doorstep, and with an elephantine -movement of the knees ran upstairs. - -Hilda walked into the passage towards the kitchen. On the kitchen fire -was the brilliant copper pan sacred to "preserving." Rows of -earthenware and glass jars stood irregularly on the table. - -"Her'll be down," said the brusque servant, returning, and glared -open-mouthed. - -"Shall I wait in the sitting-room?" - -The house, about seventy years old, was respectably situated in the -better part of King Street, at the bottom of the slope near St. Luke's -Church. It had once been occupied by a dentist of a certain grandeur, -and possessed a garden, of which, however, Auntie Hamps had made a -wilderness. The old lady was magnificent, but her magnificence was -limited to herself. She could be sublimely generous, gorgeously -hospitable, but only upon special occasions. Her teas, at which a fresh -and costly pineapple and wonderful confectionery and pickled salmon and -silver plate never lacked, were renowned, but the general level of her -existence was very mean. Her servants, of whom she had many, though -never more than one at a time, were not only obliged to be Wesleyan -Methodists and to attend the Sunday night service, and in the week to go -to class-meeting for the purpose of confessing sins and proving the -power of Christ,--they were obliged also to eat dripping instead of -butter. The mistress sometimes ate dripping, if butter ran short or -went up in price. She considered herself a tremendous housewife. She -was a martyr to her housewifely ideals. Her private career was chiefly -an endless struggle to keep the house clean--to get forward with the -work. The house was always going to be clean and never was, despite -eternal soap, furniture-polish, scrubbing, rubbing. Auntie Hamps never -changed her frowsy house-dress for rich visiting attire without the sad -thought that she was "leaving something undone." The servant never went -to bed without hearing the discontented phrase: "Well, we must do it -to-morrow." Spring-cleaning in that house lasted for six weeks. On -days of hospitality the effort to get the servant "dressed" for tea-time -was simply desperate, and not always successful. - -Auntie Hamps had no sense of comfort and no sense of beauty. She was -incapable of leaning back in a chair, and she regarded linoleum as one -of the most satisfactory inventions of the modern age. She "saved" her -carpets by means of patches of linoleum, often stringy at the edges, and -in some rooms there was more linoleum than anything else. In the way of -renewals she bought nothing but linoleum,--unless some chapel bazaar -forced her to purchase a satin cushion or a hand-painted grate-screen. -All her furniture was old, decrepit and ugly; it belonged to the worst -Victorian period, when every trace of the eighteenth century had -disappeared. The abode was always oppressive. It was oppressive even -amid hospitality, for then the mere profusion on the tables accused the -rest of the interior, creating a feeling of discomfort; and moreover -Mrs. Hamps could not be hospitable naturally. She could be nothing and -do nothing naturally. She could no more take off her hypocrisy than she -could take off her skin. Her hospitality was altogether too ruthless. -And to satisfy that ruthlessness, the guests had always to eat too much. -She was so determined to demonstrate her hospitality to herself, that -she would never leave a guest alone until he had reached the bursting -point. - -Hilda sat grimly in the threadbare sitting-room amid morocco-bound -photograph albums, oleographs, and beady knickknacks, and sniffed the -strong odour of jam; and in the violence of her revolt against that -wide-spread messy idolatrous eternal domesticity of which Auntie Hamps -was a classic example, she protested that she would sooner buy the worst -jam than make the best, and that she would never look under a table for -dust, and that naught should induce her to do any housework after -midday, and that she would abolish spring-cleaning utterly. - -The vast mediocre respectability of the district weighed on her heart. -She had been a mistress-drudge in Brighton during a long portion of her -adult life; she knew the very depths of domesticity; but at Brighton the -eye could find large, rich, luxurious, and sometimes beautiful things -for its distraction; and there was the sea. In the Five Towns there was -nothing. You might walk from one end of the Five Towns to the other, and -not see one object that gave a thrill--unless it was a pair of lovers. -And when you went inside the houses you were no better off,--you were -even worse off, because you came at once into contact with an ignoble -race of slatternly imprisoned serfs driven by narrow-minded women who -themselves were serfs with the mentality of serfs and the prodigious -conceit of virtue.... Talk to Auntie Hamps at home of lawn-tennis or a -musical evening, and she would set you down as flighty, and shift the -conversation on to soaps or chapels. And there were hundreds of houses -in the Five Towns into which no ideas save the ideas of Auntie Hamps had -ever penetrated, and tens and hundreds of thousands of such houses all -over the industrial districts of Staffordshire, Cheshire, Lancashire, -and Yorkshire,--houses where to keep bits of wood clean and to fulfil -the ceremonies of pietism, and to help the poor to help themselves, was -the highest good, the sole good. Hilda in her mind saw every house, and -shuddered. She turned for relief to the thought of her own house, and -in a constructive spirit of rebellion she shaped instantaneously a -conscious policy for it.... Yes, she took oath that her house should at -any rate be intelligent and agreeable before it was clean. She pictured -Auntie Hamps gazing at a layer of dust in the Clayhanger hall, and heard -herself saying: "Oh, yes, Auntie, it's dust right enough. I keep it -there on purpose, to remind me of something I want to remember." She -looked round Auntie Hamps's sitting-room and revelled grimly in the -monstrous catalogue of its mean ugliness. - -And then Auntie Hamps came in, splendidly and yet soberly attired in -black to face the world, with her upright, vigorous figure, her -sparkling eye, and her admirable complexion; self-content, smiling -hospitably; quite unconscious that she was dead, and that her era was -dead, and that Hilda was not guiltless of the murder. - -"This is nice of you, Hilda. It's quite an honour." And then, archly: -"I'm making jam." - -"So I see," said Hilda, meaning that so she smelt. "I just looked in on -the chance of seeing Maggie." - -"Maggie went out about half-an-hour ago." - -Auntie Hamps's expression had grown mysterious. Hilda thought: "What's -she hiding from me?" - -"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," said she. "You're going out too, -Auntie." - -"I do wish I'd known you were coming, dear. Will you stay and have a -cup of tea?" - -"No, no! I won't keep you." - -"But it will be a _pleasure_, dear," Auntie Hamps protested warmly. - -"No, no! Thanks! I'll just walk along with you a little of the way. -Which direction are you going?" - -Auntie Hamps hesitated, she was in a dilemma. - -"What _is_ she hiding from me?" thought Hilda. - -"The truth is," said Auntie Hamps, "I'm just popping over to Clara's." - -"Well, I'll go with you, Auntie." - -"Oh, do!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamps almost passionately. "Do! I'm sure Clara -will be delighted!" She added in a casual tone: "Maggie's there." - -Thought Hilda: - -"She evidently doesn't want me to go." - -After Mrs. Hamps had peered into the grand copper pan and most -particularly instructed the servant, they set off. - -"I shan't be easy in my mind until I get back," said Auntie Hamps. -"Unless you look after them all the time they always forget to stir it." - - - - II - - -When they turned in at the gate of the Benbows' house the front-door was -already open, and Clara, holding Rupert--her youngest--by the hand, -stood smiling to receive them. Obviously they had been descried up the -street from one of the bow-windows. This small fact, strengthening in -Hilda's mind the gradually-formed notion that the Benbows were always -lying in wait and that their existence was a vast machination for -getting the better of other people, enlivened her prejudice against her -sister-in-law. Moreover Clara was in one of her best dresses, and her -glance had a peculiar self-conscious expression, partly guilty and -partly cunning. Nevertheless, the fair fragility of Clara's face, with -its wonderful skin, and her manner, at once girlish and maternal, of -holding fast the child's hand, reacted considerably against Hilda's -prejudice. - -Rupert was freshly all in white, stitched and embroidered with millions -of plain and fancy stitches; he had had time neither to tear nor to -stain; only on his bib there was a spot of jam. His obese right arm was -stretched straight upwards to attain the immense height of the hand of -the protective giantess his mother, and this reaching threw the whole -balance of his little body over towards the left, and gave him a comical -and wistful appearance. He was a pretty and yet sturdy child, with a -look indicating a nice disposition, and he had recently been acquiring -the marvellous gift of speech.... Astounding how the infantile brain -added word to word and phrase to phrase, and (as though there were not -enough) actually invented delicious words and graphic droll phrases! -Nobody could be surprised that he became at once the centre of -greetings. His grand-aunt snatched him up, and without the slightest -repugnance he allowed the ancient woman to bury her nose in his face and -neck. - -And then Hilda embraced him with not less pleasure, for the contact of -his delicate flesh, and his flushed timid smile, were exquisite. She -wished for a moment that George was only two and a half again, and that -she could bathe him, and wipe him, and nurse him close. Clara's pride, -though the visitors almost forgot to shake hands with her, was ecstatic. -At length Rupert was safely on the step once more. He had made no -remark whatever. Shyness prevented him from showing off his new -marvellous gift, but his mother, gazing at him, said that in ordinary -life he never stopped chattering. - -"Come this way, will you?" said Clara effusively, and yet -conspiratorially, pointing to the drawing-room, which was to the left of -the front-door. From the dining-room, which was to the right of the -front-door, issued confused sounds. "Albert's here. I'm so glad you've -come," she added to Hilda. - -Auntie Hamps murmured warningly into Hilda's ear: - -"It's Bert's birthday party." - -A fortnight earlier Hilda had heard rumours of Bert's approaching -birthday--his twelfth, and therefore a high solemnity--but she had very -wrongly forgotten about it. "I'm so glad you've come," Clara repeated -in the drawing-room. "I was afraid you might be hurt. I thought I'd -just bring you in here first and explain it all to you." - -"Oh! Bless me!" exclaimed Auntie Hamps,--interrupting, as she glanced -round the drawing-room. "We are grand! Well I never! We are grand!" - -"Do you like it?" said Clara, blushing. - -Auntie Hamps in reply told one of the major lies of her career. She -said with rapture that she did like the new drawing-room suite. This -suite was a proof, disagreeable to Auntie Hamps, that the world would -never stand still. It quite ignored all the old Victorian ideals of -furniture; and in ignoring the past, it also ignored the future. -Victorian furniture had always sought after immortality; in Bursley -there were thousands of Victorian chairs and tables that defied time and -that nothing but an axe or a conflagration could destroy. But this new -suite thought not of the morrow; it did not even pretend to think of the -morrow. Nobody believed that it would last, and the owners of it simply -forbore to reflect upon what it would be after a few years of family -use. They contemplated with joy its first state of dainty freshness, -and were content therein. Whereas the old Victorians lived in the -future (in so far as they truly lived at all), the neo-Victorians lived -careless in the present. - -The suite was of apparent rosewood, with salmon-tinted upholstery ending -in pleats and bows. But white also entered considerably into the -scheme, for enamel paint had just reached Bursley and was destined to -become the rage. Among the items of the suite was a three-legged -milking-stool in deal covered with white enamel paint heightened by -salmon-tinted bows of imitation silk. Society had recently been -thunderstruck by the originality of putting a milking-stool in a -drawing-room; its quaintness appealed with tremendous force to nearly -all hearts; nearly every house-mistress on seeing a milking-stool in a -friend's drawing-room, decided that she must have a milking-stool in her -drawing-room, and took measures to get one. Clara was among the earlier -possessors, the pioneers. Ten years--five years--before, Clara had -appropriated the word "æsthetic" as a term of sneering abuse, with but a -vague idea of its meaning; and now--such is the miraculous effect of -time--she was caught up in the movement as it had ultimately spread to -the Five Towns, a willing convert and captive, and nothing could exceed -her scorn for that which once she had admired to the exclusion of all -else. Into that mid-Victorian respectable house, situate in a rather -old-fashioned street leading from Shawport Lane to the Canal, and whose -boast (even when inhabited by non-conformists) was that it overlooked -the Rectory garden, the new ideals of brightness, freshness, -eccentricity, brittleness and impermanency had entered, and Auntie Hamps -herself was intimidated by them. - -Hilda gave polite but perfunctory praise. Left alone, she might not -have been averse from the new ideals in their more expensive forms, but -the influence of Edwin had taught her to despise them. Edwin's tastes -in furniture, imbibed from the Orgreaves, neglected the modern, and went -even further back than earliest Victorian. Much of the ugliness bought -by his father remained in the Clayhanger house, but all Edwin's own -purchases were either antique, or, if new, careful imitations of the -pre-Victorian. Had England been peopled by Edwins, all original artists -in furniture might have died of hunger. Yet he encouraged original -literature. What, however, put Hilda against Clara's drawing-room -suite, was not its style, nor its enamel, nor its frills, nor the -obviously inferior quality of its varnish, but the mere fact that it had -been exposed for sale in Nixon's shop-window in Duck Bank, with the -price marked. Hilda did not like this. Now Edwin might see an old -weather-glass in some frowsy second-hand shop at Hanbridge or Turnhill, -and from indecision might leave it in the second-hand shop for months, -and then buy it and hang it up at home,--and instantly it was somehow -transformed into another weather-glass, a superior and personal -weather-glass. But Clara's suite was not--for Hilda--thus transformed. -Indeed, as she sat there in Clara's drawing-room, she had the illusion -of sitting in Nixon's shop. - -Further, Nixon had now got in his window another suite precisely like -Clara's. It was astonishing to Hilda that Clara was not ashamed of the -publicity and the wholesale reproduction of her suite. But she was not. -On the contrary she seemed to draw a mysterious satisfaction from the -very fact that suites precisely similar to hers were to be found or -would soon be found in unnumbered other drawing-rooms. Nor did she mind -that the price was notorious. And in the matter of the price the phrase -"hire-purchase" flitted about in Hilda's brain. She felt sure that -Albert Benbow had not paid cash to Nixon. She regarded the -hire-purchase system as unrespectable, if not immoral, and this opinion -was one of the very few she shared with Auntie Hamps. Both ladies in -their hearts, and in the security of their financial positions, blamed -the Benbows for imprudence. Nobody, not even his wife, knew just how -Albert "stood," but many took leave to guess--and guessed unfavourably. - -"Do sit down," said Clara, too urgently. She was so preoccupied that -Hilda's indifference to her new furniture did not affect her. - -They all sat down, primly, in the pretty primness of the drawing-room, -and Rupert leaned as if tired against his mother's fine skirt. - -Hilda, expectant, glanced vaguely about her. Auntie Hamps did the same. -On the central table lay a dictionary of the English language, open and -leaves downwards; and near it a piece of paper containing a long list of -missing words in pencil. Auntie Hamps, as soon as her gaze fell on -these objects, looked quickly away, as though she had by accident met -the obscene. Clara caught the movement, flushed somewhat, and recovered -herself. - -"I'm so glad you've come," she repeated yet again to Hilda, with a -sickly-sweet smile. "I did so want to explain to you how it was we -didn't ask George--I was afraid you might be vexed." - -"What an idea!" Hilda murmured as naturally as she could, her nostrils -twitching uneasily in the atmosphere of small feuds and -misunderstandings which Clara breathed with such pleasure. She laughed, -to reassure Clara, and also in enjoyment of the thought that for days -Clara had pictured her as wondering sensitively why no invitation to the -party had come for George, while in fact the party had never crossed her -mind. She regretted that she had no gift for Bert, but decided to give -him half-a-crown for his savings-bank account, of which she had heard a -lot. - -"To tell ye the truth," said Clara, launching herself, "we've had a lot -of trouble with Bert. Albert's been quite put about. It was only the -day before yesterday Albert got out of him the truth about the night of -your At Home, Hilda, when he ran away after he'd gone to bed. Albert -said to him: 'I shan't whip you, and I shan't put you on bread and -water. Only if you don't tell me what you were doing that night -there'll be no birthday and no birthday party--that's all.' So at last -Bert gave in. And d'you know what he was doing? Holding a -prayer-meeting with your George and that boy of Clowes's next door to -your house down Hulton Street. Did you know?" - -Hilda shook her head bravely. Officially she did not know. - -"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" exclaimed Auntie Hamps. - -"Yes," proceeded Clara, taking breath for a new start. "And Bert's -story is that they prayed for a penknife for your George, and it came. -And then they prayed for a bicycle for our Bert, but the bicycle didn't -come, and then Bert and George had a fearful quarrel, and George gave -him the penknife--made him have it--and then said he'd never speak to -him any more as long as he lived. At first Albert was inclined to -thrash Bert for telling lies and being irreverent, but in the end he -came to the conclusion that at any rate Bert was telling what he thought -to be the truth.... And that Clowes boy is so _little_! ... Bert wanted -his birthday party of course, but he begged and prayed us not to ask -George. So in the end we decided we'd better not, and we let him have -his own way. That's all there is to it.... So George has said -nothing?" - -"Not a word," replied Hilda. - -"And the Clowes boy is so _little_!" said Clara again. She went suddenly -to the mantelpiece and picked up a penknife and offered it to Hilda. - -"Here's the penknife. Of course Albert took it off him." - -"Why?" said Hilda ingenuously. - -But Clara detected satire and repelled it with a glance. - -"It's not Edwin's penknife, I suppose?" she queried, in a severe tone. - -"No, it isn't. I've never seen it before. Why?" - -"We were only thinking Edwin might have overheard the boys and thrown a -knife over the wall. It would be just like Edwin, that would." - -"Oh, no!" The deceitful Hilda blew away such a possibility. - -"I'm quite sure he didn't," said she, and added mischievously as she -held out the penknife: "I thought all you folks believed in the efficacy -of prayer." - -These simple words were never forgiven by Clara. - -The next moment, having restored the magic penknife to the mantelpiece, -and gathered up her infant, she was leading the way to the dining-room. - -"Come along, Rupy, my darling," said she. - -"'Rupy!'" Hilda privately imitated her, deriding the absurdity of the -diminutive. - -"If you ask me," said Auntie Hamps, determined to save the honour of the -family, "it's that little Clowes monkey that is responsible. I've been -thinking it over since you told me about it last night, Clara, and I -feel almost sure it must have been that little Clowes monkey." - -She was magnificent. She was no longer a house-keeper worried about the -processes of jam-making, but a grandiose figure out in the world, a -figure symbolic, upon whom had devolved the duty of keeping up -appearances on behalf of all mankind. - - - - III - - -The dining-room had not yet begun to move with the times. It was rather -a shabby apartment, accustomed to daily ill-treatment, and its contents -dated from different periods, the most ancient object of all stretching -backwards in family history to the epoch of Albert's great-grandfather. -This was an oak arm-chair, occupied usually by Albert, but on the -present occasion by his son and heir, Bert. Bert, spectacled, was at -the head of the table; and at the foot was his auntie Maggie in front of -a tea-tray. Down the sides of the table were his sisters, thin Clara, -fat Amy, and little Lucy--the first nearly as old as Bert--and his -father; two crumb-strewn plates showed that the mother and Rupert had -left the meal to greet the visitors. And there were two other empty -places. In a tiny vase in front of Amy was a solitary flower. The room -was nearly full; it had an odour of cake, tea, and children. - -"Well, here we are," said Clara, entering with the guests and Rupert, -very cheerfully. "Getting on all right?" (She gave Albert a glance -which said: "I have explained everything, but Hilda is a very peculiar -creature.") - -"A1," Albert answered. "Hello, all you aunties!" - -"Albert left the works early on purpose," Clara explained her husband's -presence. - -He was a happy man. In early adolescence he had taken to Sunday Schools -as some youths take to vice. He loved to exert authority over children, -and experience had taught him all the principal dodges. Under the forms -of benevolent autocracy, he could exercise a ruthless discipline upon -youngsters. He was not at all ashamed at being left in charge of a -tableful of children while his wife went forth to conduct diplomatic -interviews. At the same time he had his pride. Thus he would express no -surprise, nor even pleasure, at the presence of Hilda, his theory being -that it ought to be taken as a matter of course. Indeed he was -preoccupied by the management of the meal, and he did not conceal the -fact. He shook hands with the ladies in a perfunctory style, which -seemed to say: "Now the supreme matter is this birthday repast. I am -running it, and I am running it very well. Slip inobtrusively into your -places in the machine, and let me continue my work of direction." - -Nevertheless, he saw to it that all the children rose politely and -saluted according to approved precedents. His eye was upon them. He -attached importance to every little act in any series of little acts. -If he cut the cake, he had the air of announcing to the world: "This is -a beautiful cake. I have carefully estimated the merits of this cake, -and mother has carefully estimated them; we have in fact all come to a -definite and favourable conclusion about this cake,--namely that it is a -beautiful cake. I will now cut it. The operation of cutting it is a -major operation. Watch me cut it, and then watch me distribute it. -Wisdom and justice shall preside over the distribution." Even if he -only passed the salt, he passed it as though he were passing extreme -unction. - -Auntie Hamps with apparent delight adapted herself to his humour. She -said she would "squeeze in" anywhere, and was soon engaged in finding -perfection in everything that appertained to the Benbow family. Hilda, -not being quite so intimate with the household, was installed with more -ceremony. She could not keep out of her eye the idea that it was droll -to see a stoutish, somewhat clay-dusted man neglecting his business in -order to take charge of a birthday-party of small children; and Albert, -observing this, could not keep out of his eye the rebutting assertion -that it was not in the least droll, but entirely proper and laudable. - -The first mention of birthday presents came from Auntie Hamps, who -remarked with enthusiasm that Bert looked a regular little man in his -beautiful new spectacles. Bert, glowering, gloomy and yet proud, and -above all self-conscious, grew even more self-conscious at this -statement. Spectacles had been ordained for him by the oculist, and his -parents had had the hardihood to offer him his first pair for a birthday -present. They had so insisted on the beauty and originality of the -scheme that Bert himself had almost come to believe that to get a pair -of spectacles for a birthday present was a great thing in a boy's life. -He was now wearing the spectacles for the first time. On the whole, -gloom outbalanced pride in his demeanour, and Bert's mysterious soul, -which had flabbergasted his father for about a week, peeped out sidelong -occasionally through those spectacles in bitter criticism of the -institution of parents. He ate industriously. Soon Auntie Hamps, -leaning over, rapped half-a-sovereign down on his sticky plate. -Everybody pretended to be overwhelmed, though nobody entitled to -prophesy had expected less. Almost simultaneously with the ring of the -gold on the plate, Clara said: - -"Now what do you say?" - -But Albert was judiciously benevolent: - -"Leave him alone, mother--he'll say it all right." - -"I'm sure he will," his mother agreed. - -And Bert said it, blushing, and fingering the coin nervously. And -Auntie Hamps sat like an antique goddess, bland, superb, morally -immense. And even her dirty and broken finger-nails detracted naught -from her grandiosity. She might feed servants on dripping, but when the -proper moment came she could fling half-sovereigns about with anybody. - -And then, opening her purse, Hilda added five shillings to the -half-sovereign, amid admiring exclamations sincere and insincere. -Beside Auntie Hamps's gold the two half-crowns cut a poor figure, and -therefore Hilda, almost without discontinuing the gesture of largesse, -said: - -"That is from Uncle Edwin. And this," putting a florin and three -shillings more to the treasure, "is from Auntie Hilda." - -Somehow she was talking as the others talked, and she disliked herself -for yielding to the spirit of the Benbow home, but she could not help -it; the pervading spirit conquered everybody. She felt self-conscious; -and Bert's self-consciousness was still further increased as the -exclamations grew in power and sincerity. Though he experienced the -mournful pride of rich possessions, he knew well that the money would be -of no real value. His presents, all useful (save a bouquet of flowers -from Rupert), were all useless to him. Thus the prim young Clara had -been parentally guided to give him a comb. If all the combs in the -world had been suddenly annihilated Bert would not have cared,--would -indeed have rejoiced. And as to the spectacles, he would have preferred -the prospect of total blindness in middle age to the compulsion of -wearing them. Who can wonder that his father had not fathomed the mind -of the strange creature? - -Albert gazed rapt at the beautiful sight of the plate. It reminded him -pleasantly of a collection-plate at the Sunday School Anniversary -sermons. In a moment the conversation ran upon savings-bank accounts. -Each child had a savings-bank account, and their riches were astounding. -Rupert had an account and was getting interest at the rate of two and a -half per cent on six pounds ten shillings. The thriftiness of the elder -children had reached amounts which might be mentioned with satisfaction -even to the luxurious wife of the richest member of the family. Young -Clara was the wealthiest of the band. "I've got the most, haven't I, -fardy?" she said with complacency. "I've got more than Bert, haven't -I?" Nobody seemed to know how it was that she had surpassed Bert, who -had had more birthdays and more Christmases. The inferiority of the -eldest could not be attributed to dissipation or improvidence, for none -of the children was allowed to spend a cent. The savings-bank devoured -all, and never rendered back. However, Bert was now creeping up, and -his mother exhorted him to do his best in future. She then took the -money from the plate, and promised Bert for the morrow the treat of -accompanying her to the Post Office in order to bury it. - -A bell rang within the house, and at once young Clara exclaimed: - -"Oh! There's Flossie! Oh, my word, she is late, isn't she, fardy? -What a good thing we didn't wait tea for her! ... Move up, miss." This -to Lucy. - -"People who are late must take the consequences, especially little -girls," said Albert in reply. - -And presently Flossie entered, tripping, shrugging up her shoulders and -throwing back her mane, and wonderfully innocent. - -"This is Flossie, who is always late," Albert introduced her to Hilda. - -"Am I really?" said Flossie, in a very low, soft voice, with a bright -and apparently frightened smile. - -Dark Flossie was of Amy's age and supposed to be Amy's particular -friend. She was the daughter of young Clara's music mistress. The -little girl's prestige in the Benbow house was due to two causes. First -she was graceful and rather stylish in movement--qualities which none of -the Benbow children had, though young Clara was pretty enough; and -second her mother had rather more pupils than she could comfortably -handle, and indeed sometimes refused a pupil. - -Flossie with her physical elegance was like a foreigner among the -Benbows. She had a precocious demeanour. She shook hands and embraced -like a woman, and she gave her birthday gift to Bert as if she were -distributing a prize. It was a lead-pencil, with a patent sharpener. -Bert would have preferred a bicycle, but the patent sharpener made an -oasis in his day. His father pointed out to him that as the pencil was -already sharpened he could not at present use the sharpener. Amy -thereupon furtively passed him the stump of a pencil to operate upon, -and then his mother told him that he had better postpone his first -sharpening until he got into the garden, where bits of wood would not be -untidy. Flossie carefully settled her very short white skirts on a -chair, smiling all the time, and enquired about two brothers whom she -had been told were to be among the guests. Albert informed her with -solemnity that these two brothers were both down with measles, and that -Auntie Hamps and Auntie Hilda had come to make up for their absence. - -"Poor things!" murmured Flossie sympathetically. - -Hilda laughed, and Flossie screwing up her eyes and shrugging up her -shoulders laughed too, as if saying: "You and I alone understand me." - -"What a pretty flower!" Flossie exclaimed, in her low soft voice, -indicating the flower in the vase in front of Amy. - -"There's half a crumb left," said Albert, passing the cake-plate to -Flossie carefully. "We thought we'd better keep it for you, though we -don't reckon to keep anything for little girls that come late." - -"Amy," whispered her mother, leaning towards the fat girl. "Wouldn't it -be nice of you to give your flower to Flossie?" Amy started. - -"I don't want to," she whispered back, flushing. - -The flower was a gift to Amy from Bert, out of the birthday bunch -presented to him by Rupert. Mysterious relations existed between Bert -and the benignant, acquiescent Amy. - -"Oh! Amy!" her mother protested, still whispering, but shocked. - -Tears came into Amy's eyes. These tears Amy at length wiped away, and, -straightening her face, offered the flower with stiff outstretched arm -to her friend Flossie. And Flossie smilingly accepted it. - -"It _is_ kind of you, you darling!" said Flossie, and stuck the flower -in an interstice of her embroidered pinafore. - -Amy, gravely lacking in self-control, began to whimper again. - -"That's my good little girl!" muttered Clara to her, exhibiting pride in -her daughter's victory over self, and rubbed the child's eyes with her -handkerchief. The parents were continually thus "bringing up" their -children. Hilda pressed her lips together. - -Immediately afterwards it was noticed that Flossie was no longer eating. - -"I've had quite enough, thank you," said she in answer to -expostulations. - -"No jam, even? And you've not finished your tea!" - -"I've had quite enough, thank you," said she, and folded up her napkin. - -"Please, father, can we go and play in the garden now?" Bert asked. - -Albert looked at his wife. - -"Yes, I think they might," said Clara. "Go and play nicely." They all -rose. - -"Now quietly, qui-etly!" Albert warned them. - -And they went from the room quietly, each in his own fashion,--Flossie -like a modest tsarina, young Clara full of virtue and holding Rupert by -the hand, Amy lumpily, tiny Lucy as one who had too soon been robbed of -the privilege of being the youngest, and Bert in the rear like a -criminal who is observed in a suspicious act. And Albert blew out wind, -as if getting rid of a great weight. - - - - IV - - -"Finished your greengage, auntie?" asked Clara, after the pause which -ensued while the adults were accustoming themselves to the absence of -the children. - -And it was Maggie who answered, rather eagerly: - -"No, she hasn't. She's left it to the tender mercies of that Maria. -She wouldn't let me stay, and she wouldn't stay herself." - -These were almost the first words, save murmurings as to cups of tea, -quantities of sugar and of milk, etc., that the taciturn Maggie had -uttered since Hilda's arrival. She was not sulky, she had merely been -devoting herself and allowing herself to be exploited, in the vacuous -manner customary to her,--and listening receptively--or perhaps not even -receptively--offering no remark. Save that the smooth-working mechanism -of the repast would have creaked and stopped at her departure, she might -have slipped from the room unnoticed as a cat. But now she spoke as one -capable of enthusiasm and resentment on behalf of an ideal. To her it -was scandalous that greengage jam should be jeopardised for the sake of -social pleasures, and suddenly it became evident she and her auntie had -had a difference on the matter. - -Mrs. Hamps said stoutly and defiantly, with grandeur: - -"Well, I wasn't going to have my eldest grand-nephew's twelfth birthday -party interfered with for any jam." - -"Hear, hear!" said Hilda, liking the terrific woman for an instant. - -But mild Maggie was inflexible. - -Clara, knowing that in Maggie very slight symptoms had enormous -significance, at once changed the subject. Albert went to the back -window, whence by twisting his neck he could descry a corner of the -garden. - -Said Clara, smiling: - -"I hear you're going to have some _musical evenings_, Hilda ... on -Sunday nights." - -Malice and ridicule were in Clara's tone. On the phrase "musical -evenings" she put a strange disdainful emphasis, as though a musical -evening denoted something not only unrighteous but snobbish, -new-fangled, and absurd. Yet envy also was in her tone. - -Hilda was startled. - -"Ah! Who told you that?" - -"Never mind! I heard," said Clara darkly. - -Hilda wondered where the Benbows, from whom seemingly naught could be -concealed, had in fact got this tit-bit of news. By tacit consent she -and Edwin had as yet said nothing to anybody except the Orgreaves, who -alone, with Tertius Ingpen and one or two more intimates, were invited, -or were to be invited, to the first evening. Relations between the -Orgreaves and the Benbows scarcely existed. - -"We're having a little music on Sunday night," said Hilda, as it were -apologetically, and scorning herself for being apologetic. Why should -she be apologetic to these base creatures? But she couldn't help it; -the public opinion of the room was too much for her. She even added: -"We're hoping that old Mrs. Orgreave will come. It will be the first -time she's been out in the evening for ever so long." The name of Mrs. -Orgreave was calculated by Hilda to overawe them and stop their mouths. - -No name, however, could overawe Mrs. Hamps. She smiled kindly, and with -respect for the caprices of others; she spoke in a tone exceptionally -polite,--but what she said was: "I'm sorry ... I'm sorry." - -The deliverance was final. Auntie Hamps was almost as deeply moved -about the approaching desecration of the Sabbath as Maggie had been -about the casual treatment of jam. In earlier years she would have said -a great deal more--just as in earlier years she would have punctuated -Bert's birthday mouthfuls with descants upon the excellence of his -parents and moral exhortations to himself; but Auntie Hamps was growing -older, and quieter, and "I'm sorry ... I'm sorry" meant much from her. - -Hilda became sad, disgusted, indignant, moody. The breach which -separated her and Edwin from the rest of the family was enormous, as -might be seen in the mere fact that they had never for a moment -contemplated asking anybody in the family to the musical evening, nor -had the family ever dreamed of an invitation. It was astonishing that -Edwin should be so different from the others. But after all, was he? -She could see in him sometimes bits of Maggie, of Clara, and even of the -Unspeakable. She was conscious of her grievances against Edwin. Among -these was that he never, or scarcely ever, praised her. At moments, -when she had tried hard, she felt a great need of praise. But Edwin -would watch her critically, with the damnable grim detachment of the -Five Towns towards a stranger or a returned exile. - -As she sat in the stuffy dining-room of the Benbows, surrounded by -hostilities and incomprehensions, she had a sensation of unreality, or -at any rate of a vast mistake. Why was she there? Was she not tied by -intimate experience to a man at that very instant in prison? (She had a -fearful vision of him in prison,--she, sitting there in the midst of -Maggie, Clara, and Auntie Hamps!) Was she not the mother of an -illegitimate boy? Victimised or not, innocent or not, she, a guest at -Bert's intensely legitimate birthday fête, was the mother of an -illegitimate boy. Incredible! She ought never to have married into the -Clayhangers, never to have come back to this cackling provincial -district. All these people were inimical towards her,--because she -represented the luxury and riches and worldly splendour of the family, -and because her illegitimate boy had tempted the heir of the Benbows to -blasphemous wickedness, and because she herself had tempted a weak Edwin -to abandon chapel and to desecrate the Sabbath, and again because she, -without a penny of her own, had stepped in and now represented the -luxury and riches and worldly splendour of the family. And all the -family's grievances against Edwin were also grievances against her. -Once, long ago, when he was yet a bachelor, and had no hope of Hilda, -Edwin had prevented his father, in dotage, from lending a thousand -pounds to Albert upon no security. The interference was unpardonable, -and Hilda would not be pardoned for it. - -Such was marriage into a family. Such was family life.... Yes, she -felt unreal there, and also unsafe. She had prevaricated about George -and the penknife; and she had allowed Clara to remain under the -impression that her visit to the house was a birthday visit. Auntie -Hamps and destiny, between them, would lay bare all this lying. The -antipathy against her would increase. But let it increase never so -much, it still would not equal Hilda's against the family, as she -thrilled to it then. Their narrow ignorance, their narrow self-conceit, -their detestation of beauty, their pietism, their bigotry--revolted her. -In what century had they been living all those years? Was this married -life? Had Albert and Clara ever felt a moment of mutual passion? They -were nothing but parents, eternally preoccupied with "oughts" and "ought -nots" and forbiddances and horrid reluctant permissions. They did not -know what joy was, and they did not want anybody else to know what joy -was. Even on the outskirts of such a family, a musical evening on a -Sunday night appeared a forlorn enterprise. And all the families in all -the streets were the same. Hilda was hard enough on George sometimes, -but in that moment she would have preferred George to be a thoroughly -bad rude boy and to go to the devil, and herself to be a woman abandoned -to every licence, rather than that he and she should resemble Clara and -her offspring. All her wrath centred upon Clara as the very symbol of -what she loathed. - -"Hello!" cried the watchful Albert from the window. "What's happening, I -wonder?" - -In a moment Rupert ran into the room, and without a word scrambled on -his mother's lap, absolutely confident in her goodness and power. - -"What's amiss, tuppenny?" asked his father. - -"Tired," answered Rupert, with a faint, endearing smile. - -He laid himself close against his mother's breast, and drew up his -knees, and Clara held his body in her arms, and whispered to him. - -"Amy 'udn't play with me," he murmured. - -"Wouldn't she? Naughty Amy!" - -"Mammy tired too," he glanced upwards at his mother's eyes in sympathy. - -And immediately he was asleep. Clara kissed him, bending her head down -and with difficulty reaching his cheek with her lips. - -Auntie Hamps enquired fondly: - -"What does he mean--'mother tired too'?" - -"Well," said Clara, "the fact is some of 'em were so excited they -stopped my afternoon sleep this afternoon. I always do have my nap, you -know,"--she looked at Hilda. "In here! When this door's closed they -know mother mustn't be disturbed. Only this afternoon Lucy or Amy--I -don't know which, and I didn't enquire too closely--forgot.... He's -remembered it, the little Turk." - -"Is he asleep?" Hilda demanded in a low voice. - -"Fast. He's been like that lately. He'll play a bit, and then he'll -stop, and say he's tired, and sometimes cry, and he'll come to me and be -asleep in two jiffs. I think he's been a bit run down. He said he had -toothache yesterday. It was nothing but a little cold; they've all had -colds; but I wrapped his face up to please him. He looked so sweet in -his bandage, I assure you I didn't want to take it off again. No, I -didn't.... I wonder why Amy wouldn't play with him? She's such a -splendid playmate--when she likes. Full of imagination! Simply full of -it!" - -Albert had approached from the window. - -With an air of important conviction, he said to Hilda: - -"Yes, Amy's imagination is really remarkable." As no one responded to -this statement, he drummed on the table to ease the silence, and then -suddenly added: "Well, I suppose I must be getting on with my dictionary -reading! I'm only at S; and there's bound to be a lot of words under -U--beginning with _un_, you know. I saw at once there would be." He -spoke rather defiantly, as though challenging public opinion to condemn -his new dubious activity. - -"Oh!" said Clara. "Albert's quite taken up with missing words -nowadays." - -But instead of conning his dictionary, Albert returned to the window, -drawn by his inexhaustible paternal curiosity, and he even opened the -window and leaned out, so that he might more effectively watch the -garden. And with the fresh air there entered the high, gay, inspiriting -voices of the children. - -Clara smiled down at the boy sleeping in her lap. She was happy. The -child was happy. His flushed face, with its expression of loving -innocence, was exquisitely touching. Clara's face was full of proud -tenderness. Everybody gazed at the picture with secret and profound -pleasure. Hilda wished once more that George was only two and a half -years old again. George's infancy, and her early motherhood, had been -very different from all this. She had never been able to shut a -dining-room door, or any other door, as a sign that she must not be -disturbed. And certainly George had never sympathetically remarked that -she was tired.... She was envious.... And yet a minute ago she had been -execrating the family life of the Benbows. The complexity of the tissue -of existence was puzzling. - - - - V - - -When Albert brought his head once more into the room he suddenly -discovered the stuffiness of the atmosphere, and with the large, free -gestures of a mountaineer and a sanitarian threw open both windows as -wide as possible. The bleak wind from the moorlands surged in, -fluttering curtains, and lowering the temperature at a run. - -"Won't Rupert catch cold?" Hilda suggested, chilled. - -"He's got to be hardened, Rupert has!" Albert replied easily. "Fresh -air! Nothing like it! Does 'em good to feel it!" - -Hilda thought: - -"Pity you didn't think so a bit earlier!" - -Her countenance was too expressive. Albert divined some ironic thought -in her brain, and turned on her with a sort of parrying jeer: - -"And how's the great man getting along?" - -In this phrase, which both he and Clara employed with increasing -frequency, Albert let out not only his jealousy of, but his respect for, -the head of the family. Hilda did not like it, but it flattered her on -Edwin's behalf, and she never showed her resentment of the attitude -which prompted it. - -"Edwin? Oh, he's all right. He's working." She put a slight emphasis -on the last pronoun, in order revengefully to contrast Edwin's industry -with Albert's presence during business hours at a children's birthday -party. "He said to me as he went out that he must go and earn something -towards Maggie's rent." She laughed softly. - -Clara smiled cautiously; Maggie smiled and blushed a little; Albert did -not commit himself; only Auntie Hamps laughed without reserve. - -"Edwin will have his joke," said she. - -Although Hilda had audaciously gone forth that afternoon with the -express intention of opening negotiations, on her own initiative, with -Maggie for the purchase of the house, she had certainly not meant to -discuss the matter in the presence of the entire family. But she was -seized by one of her characteristic impulses, and she gave herself up to -it with the usual mixture of glee and apprehension. She said: - -"I suppose you wouldn't care to sell us the house, would you, Maggie?" - -Everybody became alert, and as it grew apparent that the company was -assisting at the actual birth of a family episode or incident, a -peculiar feeling of eager pleasure spread through the room, and the -appetite for history-making leapt up. - -"Indeed I should!" Maggie answered, with a deepening flush, and all were -astonished at her decisiveness, and at the warmth of her tone. "I never -wanted the house. Only it was arranged that I should have it, so of -course I took it." The long-silent victim was speaking. Money was -useless to her, for she was incapable of turning it into happiness; but -she had her views on finance and property, nevertheless; and though in -all such matters she did as she was told, submissively accepting the -decisions of brother or brother-in-law as decrees of fate, yet she was -quite aware of the victimhood. The assemblage was surprised and even a -little intimidated by her mild outburst. - -"But you've got a very good tenant, Maggie," said Auntie Hamps -enthusiastically. - -"She's got a very good tenant, admitted!" Albert said judicially and -almost sternly. "But she'd never have any difficulty in finding a very -good tenant for that house. That's not the point. The point is that -the investment really isn't remunerative. Maggie could do much better -for herself than that. Very much better. Why, if she went the right -way about it she could get ten per cent on her money! I know of -things.... And I bet she doesn't get three and a half per cent clear -from the house. Not three and a half." He glanced reproachfully at -Hilda. - -"Do you mean the rent's too low?" Hilda questioned boldly. - -He hesitated, losing courage. - -"I don't say it's too low. But Maggie perhaps took the house over at -too big a figure." - -Maggie looked up at her brother-in-law. - -"And whose fault was that?" she asked sharply. The general surprise was -intensified. No one could understand Maggie. No one had the wit to -perceive that she had been truly annoyed by Auntie Hamps's negligence in -regard to jam, and was momentarily capable of bitterness. "Whose fault -was that?" she repeated. "You and Clara and Edwin settled it between -you. You yourself said over and over again it was a fair figure." - -"I thought so at the time! I thought so at the time!" said Albert -quickly. "We all acted for the best." - -"I'm sure you did," murmured Auntie Hamps. - -"I should think so, indeed!" murmured Clara, seeking to disguise her -constraint by attentions to the sleeping Rupert. - -"Is Edwin thinking of buying, then?" Albert asked Hilda in a quiet, -studiously careless voice. - -"We've discussed it," responded Hilda. - -"Because if he is, he ought to take it over at the price Mag took it at. -She oughtn't to lose on it. That's only fair." - -"I'm sure Edwin would never do anything unfair," said Auntie Hamps. - -Hilda made no reply. She had already heard the argument from Edwin, and -Albert now seemed to her more tedious and unprincipled than usual. Her -reason admitted the force of the argument as regards Maggie, but -instinct opposed it. - -Nevertheless she was conscious of sudden sympathy for Maggie, and of a -weakening of her prejudice against her. - -"Hadn't we better be going, Auntie?" Maggie curtly and reproachfully -suggested. "You know quite well that jam stands a good chance of being -ruined." - -"I suppose we had," Auntie Hamps concurred with a sigh, and rose. - -"I shall be able to carry out my plan," thought Hilda, full of wisdom -and triumph. And she saw Edwin, owner of the house, with his wild -lithographic project scotched. And the realisation of her own sagacity -thus exercised on behalf of those she loved, made her glad. - -At the same moment, just as Albert was recommencing his flow, the door -opened and Edwin entered. He had glimpsed the children in the garden -and had come into the house by the back way. There were cries of -stupefaction and bliss. Both Albert and Clara were unmistakably -startled and flattered. Indeed, several seconds elapsed before Albert -could assume the proper grim, casual air. Auntie Hamps rejoiced and sat -down again. Maggie disclosed no feeling, and she would not sit down -again. Hilda had a serious qualm. She was obliged to persuade herself -that in opening the negotiations for the house she had not committed an -enormity. She felt less sagacious and less dominant. Who could have -dreamt that Edwin would pop in just then? It was notorious, it was even -a subject of complaint, that he never popped in. In reply to enquiries -he stammered in his customary hesitating way that he happened to be in -the neighbourhood on business and that it had occurred to him, etc., -etc. In short, there he was. - -"Aren't you coming, Auntie?" Maggie demanded. - -"Let me have a look at Edwin, child," said Auntie Hamps, somewhat -nettled. "How set you are!" - -"Then I shall go alone," said Maggie. - -"Yes. But what about this house business?" Albert tried to stop her. - -He could not stop her. Finance, houses, rents, were not real to her. -She owned but did not possess such things. But the endangered jam was -real to her. She did not own it, but she possessed it. She departed. - -"What's amiss with her to-day?" murmured Mrs. Hamps. "I must go too, or -I shall be catching it; my word I shall!" - -"What house business?" Edwin asked. - -"Well," said Albert. "I like that! Aren't you trying to buy her house -from her? We've just been talking it over." - -Edwin glanced swiftly at Hilda, and Hilda knew from the peculiar -constrained, almost shamefaced, expression on his features, that he was -extremely annoyed. He gave a little nervous laugh. - -"Oh! Have ye?" he muttered. - - - - VI - - -Although Edwin discussed the purchase of the house quite calmly with -Albert, and appeared to regard it as an affair practically settled, -Hilda could perceive from a single gesture of his in the lobby as they -were leaving, that his resentment against herself had not been -diminished by the smooth course of talking. Nevertheless she was -considerably startled by his outburst in the street. - -"It's a pity Maggie went off like that," she said quietly. "You might -have fixed everything up immediately." - -Then it was that he turned on her, glowering angrily. - -"Why on earth did you go talking about it, without telling me first?" he -demanded, furious. - -"But it was understood, dear----" She smiled, affecting not to perceive -his temper, and thereby aggravating it. - -He almost shouted: - -"Nothing of the kind! Nothing of the kind!" - -"Maggie was there. I just happened to mention it." Hilda was still -quite placid. - -"You went down on purpose to tell her, so you needn't deny it. Do you -take me for a fool?" - -Her placidity was undiminished. - -"Of course I don't take you for a fool, dear. I assure you I hadn't the -slightest idea you'd be annoyed." - -"Yes, you had. I could see it on your face when I came in. Don't try -to stuff me up. You go blundering into a thing, without the least -notion--without the least notion! I've told you before, and I tell you -again--I won't have you interfering in my business affairs. You know -nothing of business. You'll make my life impossible. All you women are -the same. You will poke your noses in. There'll have to be a clear -understanding between you and me on one or two points, before we go much -further." - -"But you told me I could mention it to her." - -"No, I didn't." - -"You did, Edwin. Do be just." - -"I didn't say you could go and plunge right into it at once. These -things have to be thought out. Houses aren't bought like that. A house -isn't a pound of tea, and it isn't a hat." - -"I'm very sorry." - -"No, you aren't. And you know jolly well you aren't. Your scheme was -simply to tie my hands." - -She knew the truth of this, and her smile became queer. Nevertheless -the amiable calm which she maintained astonished even herself. She was -not happy, but certainly she was not unhappy. She had got, or she was -going to get, what she wanted; and here was the only fact important to -her; the means by which she had got it, or was going to get it, were -negligible now. It cost her very little to be magnanimous. She -wondered at Edwin. Was this furious brute the timid, worshipping boy -who had so marvellously kissed her a dozen years earlier--before she had -fallen into the hands of a scoundrel? Were these scenes what the -exquisite romance of marriage had come to? ... Well, and if it was so, -what then? If she was not happy she was elated, and she was -philosophic, and she had the terrific sense of realities of some of her -sex. She was out of the Benbow house; she breathed free, she had -triumphed, and she had her man to herself. He might be a brute--the -Five Towns (she had noticed as a returned exile) were full of brutes -whose passions surged and boiled beneath the phlegmatic surface--but he -existed, and their love existed. And a peep into the depth of the -cauldron was exciting.... The injustice or the justice of his behaviour -did not make a live question. - -Moreover, she did not in truth seriously regard him as a brute. She -regarded him as an unreasonable creature, something like a baby, to be -humoured in the inessentials of a matter of which the essentials were -now definitely in her favour. His taunt that she went blundering into a -thing, and that she knew naught of business, amused her. She knew her -own business, and knew it profoundly. The actual situation was a proof -of that. As for abstract principles of business, the conventions and -etiquette of it--her lips condescendingly curled. After all, what had -she done to merit this fury? Nothing! Nothing! What could it matter -whether the negotiations were begun instantly or in a week's or a -month's time? (Edwin would have dilly-dallied probably for three -months, or six). She had merely said a few harmless words, offered a -suggestion. And now he desired to tear her limb from limb and eat her -alive. It was comical! Impossible for her to be angry, in her triumph! -It was too comical! She had married an astounding personage.... But she -had married him. He was hers. She exulted in the possession of him. -His absurd peculiarities did not lower him in her esteem. She had a -perfect appreciation of his points, including his general wisdom. But -she was convinced that she had a special and different and superior kind -of wisdom. - -"And a nice thing you've let Maggie in for!" Edwin broke out afresh -after a spell of silent walking. - -"Let Maggie in for?" she exclaimed lightly. - -"Albert ought never to have known anything of it until it was all -settled. He will be yarning away to her about how he can use her money -for her, and what he gets hold of she'll never see again,--you may bet -your boots on that. If you'd left it to me I could have fixed things up -for her in advance. But no! In you must go! Up to the neck! And ruin -everything!" - -"Oh!" she said reassuringly. "You'll be able to look after Maggie all -right." - -He sniffed, and settled down into embittered disgust, quickening -somewhat his speed up the slope of Acre Lane. - -"Please don't walk so fast, Edwin," she breathed, just like a nice -little girl. "I can't keep up with you." - -In spite of his enormous anger he could not refuse such a request. She -was getting the better of him again. He knew it; he could see through -the devices. With an irritated swing of his body he slowed down to suit -her. - -She had a glimpse of his set, gloomy, savage, ruthless face, the lower -lip bulging out. Really it was grotesque! Were they grown up, he and -she? She smiled almost self-consciously, fearing that passers-by might -notice his preposterous condition. All the way up Acre Lane and across -by St. Luke's Churchyard into Trafalgar Road they walked thus side by -side in silence. By strange good luck they did not meet a single -acquaintance, and as Edwin had a latchkey, no servant had to come and -open the door and behold them. - -Edwin, throwing his hat on the stand, ran immediately upstairs. Hilda -passed idly into the drawing-room. She was glad to be in her own -drawing-room again. It was a distinguished apartment, after Clara's. -There lay the Dvorak music on the piano.... The atmosphere seemed full -of ozone. She rang for Ada and spoke to her with charming friendliness -about Master George. Master George had returned from an informal -cricket match in the Manor Fields, and was in the garden. Yes, Ada had -seen to his school-clothes. Everything was in order for the new term -shortly to commence. But Master George had received a blow from the -cricket-ball on his shin, which was black and blue.... Had Ada done -anything to the shin? No, Master George would not let her touch it, but -she had been allowed to see it.... Very well, Ada.... There was -something beatific about the state of being mistress of a house. -Without the mistress, the house would simply crumble to pieces. - -Hilda went upstairs; she was apprehensive, but her apprehensiveness was -agreeable to her.... No, Edwin was not in the bedroom.... She could -hear him in the bathroom. She tried the door. It was bolted. He always -bolted it. - -"Edwin!" - -"What is it?" - -He opened the door. He was in his shirt sleeves and had just finished -with the towel. She entered, and shut the door and bolted it. And then -she began to kiss him. She kissed him time after time, on his cheek so -damp and fresh. - -"Poor dear!" she murmured. - -She knew that he could not altogether resist those repeated kisses. -They were more effective than the best arguments or the most graceful -articulate surrenders. Thus she completed her triumph. But whether the -virtue of the kisses lay in their sensuousness or in their sentiment, -neither he nor she knew. And she did not care.... She did not kiss him -with abandonment. There was a reserve in her kisses, and in her smile. -Indeed she went on kissing him rather sternly. Her glance, when their -eyes were very close together, was curious. It seemed to imply: "We are -in love. And we love. I am yours. You are mine. Life is very fine -after all. I am a happy woman. But still--_each is for himself in this -world_, and that's the bedrock of marriage as of all other -institutions." Her sense of realities again! And she went on kissing, -irresistibly. - -"Kiss me." - -And he had to kiss her. - -Whereupon she softened to him, and abandoned herself to the emanations -of his charm, and her lips became almost liquid as she kissed him again; -nevertheless there was still a slight reserve in her kisses. - -At tea she chattered like a magpie, as the saying is. Between her and -George there seemed to be a secret instinctive understanding that Edwin -had to be humoured, enlivened, drawn into talk,--for although he had -kissed her, his mood was yet by no means restored to the normal. He -would have liked to remain, majestic, within the tent of his soul. But -they were too clever for him. Then, to achieve his discomfiture, -entered Johnnie Orgreave, with a suggestion that they should all -four--Edwin, Hilda, Janet, and himself--go to the theatre at Hanbridge -that night. Hilda accepted the idea instantly. Since her marriage, her -appetite for pleasure had developed enormously. At moments she was -positively greedy for pleasure. She was incapable of being bored at the -theatre, she would sooner be in the theatre of a night than out of it. - -"Oh! Do let's go!" she cried. - -Edwin did not want to go, but he had to concur. He did not want to be -pleasant to Johnnie Orgreave or to anybody, but he had to be pleasant. - -"Be on the first car that goes up after seven fifteen," said Johnnie as -he was departing. - -Edwin grunted. - -"You understand, Teddy? The first car that goes up after seven -fifteen." - -"All right! All right!" - -Blithely Hilda went to beautify herself. And when she had beautified -herself and made herself into a queen of whom the haughtiest -master-printer might be proud, she despatched Ada for Master George. -And Master George had to come to her bedroom. - -"Let me look at that leg," she said. "Sit down." - -Devious creature! During tea she had not even divulged that she had -heard of the damaged shin. Master George was taken by surprise. He sat -down. She knelt, and herself unloosed the stocking and exposed the -little calf. The place was black and blue, but it had a healthy look. - -"It's nothing," she said. - -And then, all in her splendid finery, she kissed the dirty discoloured -shin. Strange! He was only two years old and just learning to talk. - -"Now then, missis! Here's the tram!" Edwin yelled out loudly, roughly, -from below. He would have given a sovereign to see her miss the car, -but his inconvenient sense of justice forced him to warn her. - -"Coming! Coming!" - -She kissed Master George on the mouth eagerly, and George seemed, -unusually, to return the eagerness. She ran down the darkening stairs, -ecstatic. - -In the dusky road, Edwin curtly signalled to the vast ascending -steam-car, and it stopped. Those were in the old days, when people did -what they liked with the cars, stopping them here and stopping them -there according to their fancy. The era of electricity and fixed -stopping-places, and soulless, conscienceless control from London had -not set in. Edwin and Hilda mounted. Two hundred yards further on the -steam-tram was once more arrested, and Johnnie and Janet joined them. -Hilda was in the highest spirits. The great affair of the afternoon had -not been a quarrel, but an animating experience which, though dangerous, -intensified her self-confidence and her zest. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE WEEK-END - - - I - - -The events of the portentous week-end which included the musical evening -began early on the Saturday, and the first one was a chance word uttered -by George. - -Breakfast was nearly over in the Clayhanger dining-room. Hilda sat -opposite to Edwin, and George between them. They had all eaten with -appetite, and the disillusion which usually accompanies the satisfaction -of desire was upon them. They had looked forward to breakfast, scenting -with zest its pleasing odours, and breakfast was over, save perhaps for -a final unnecessary piece of toast or half a cup of chilled coffee. - -Hilda did not want to move, because she did not care for the Saturday -morning task of shopping and re-victualling and being bland with -fellow-shoppers in the emporiums. The house-doors were too frequently -open on Saturday mornings, and errand-boys thereat, and a wind blowing -through the house, and it was the morning for specially cleaning the -hall--detestable and damp operation--and servants seemed loose on -Saturday morning, and dinner was apt to be late. But Hilda knew she -would have to move. To postpone was only to aggravate. Destiny grasped -her firm. George was not keen about moving, because he had no plan of -campaign; the desolating prospect of resuming school on Monday had -withered his energy; he was in a mood to be either a martyr or a -villain. Edwin was lazily sardonic, partly because the leisure of -breakfast was at an end, partly because he hated the wage-paying -slackness of Saturday morning at the shop, and partly because his -relations with Hilda had remained indefinite and disquieting, despite a -thousand mutual urbanities and thoughtful refinements, and even some -caresses. A sense of aimlessness dejected him; and in the central caves -of his brain the question was mysteriously stirring: What is the use of -all these things,--success, dignity, importance, luxury, love, -sensuality, order, moral superiority? He foresaw thirty years of -breakfasts, with plenty of the finest home-cured bacon and fresh eggs, -but no romance. - -Before his marriage he used to read the paper honestly and rudely at -breakfast. That is to say, he would prop it up squarely in front of -him, hiding his sister Maggie, and anyhow ignoring her; and Maggie had -to "like it or lump it"; she probably lumped it. But upon marriage he -had become a chevalier; he had nobly decided that it was not correct to -put a newspaper between yourself and a woman who had denied you nothing. -Nevertheless, his appetite for newspapers being almost equal to his -appetite for bacon, he would still take nips at the newspaper during -breakfast, hold it in one hand, glance at it, drop it, pick it up, talk -amiably while glancing at it, drop it, pick it up again. So long as the -newspaper was held aside and did not touch the table, so long as he did -not read more than ten lines at a time, he considered that punctilio was -satisfied, and that he was not in fact reading the newspaper at all. -But towards the end of breakfast, when the last food was disappearing, -and he had lapped the cream off the news, he would hold the newspaper in -both hands--and brazenly and conscientiously read. His chief interest, -just then, was political. Like most members of his party, he was -endeavouring to decipher the party programme and not succeeding, and he -feared for his party and was a little ashamed for it. Grave events had -occurred. The substructure of the state was rocking. A newly elected -supporter of the Government, unaware that he was being admitted to the -best club in London, had gone to the House of Commons in a tweed cap and -preceded by a brass-band. Serious pillars of society knew that the time -had come to invest their savings abroad. Edwin, with many another -ardent liberal, was seeking to persuade himself that everything was all -right after all. The domestic atmosphere--Hilda's baffling face, the -emptied table, the shadow of business, repletion, early symptoms of -indigestion, the sound of a slop-pail in the hall--did not aid him to -optimism. In brief the morning was a fair specimen of a kind of morning -that seemed likely to be for him an average morning. - -"Can't I leave the table, mother?" asked George discontentedly. - -Hilda nodded. - -George gave a coarse sound of glee. - -"George! ... That's so unlike you!" his mother frowned. - -Instead of going directly towards the door, he must needs pass right -round the table, behind the chair of his occupied uncle. As he did so, -he scanned the newspaper and read out loudly in passing for the benefit -of the room: - -"'Local Divorce Case. Etches v. Etches. Painful details.'" - -The words meant nothing to George. They had happened to catch his eye. -He read them as he might have read an extract from the books of Euclid, -and noisily and ostentatiously departed, not without a further protest -from Hilda. - -And Edwin and Hilda, left alone together, were self-conscious. - -"Lively kid!" murmured Edwin self-consciously. - -And Hilda, self-consciously: - -"You never told me that case was on." - -"I didn't know till I saw it here." - -"What's the result?" - -"Not finished.... Here you are, if you want to read it." - -He handed the sheet across the table. Despite his serious interest in -politics he had read the report before anything else. Etches v. Etches, -indeed, surpassed Gladstonian politics as an aid to the dubious -prosperity of the very young morning newspaper, which represented the -latest and most original attempt to challenge the journalistic monopoly -of the afternoon _Staffordshire Signal_. It lived scarcely longer than -the divorce case, for the proprietors, though Non-conformists and -therefore astute, had failed to foresee that the Five Towns public would -not wait for racing results until the next morning. - -"Thanks," Hilda amiably and negligently murmured. - -Edwin hummed. - -Useless for Hilda to take that casual tone! Useless for Edwin to hum! -The unconcealable thought in both their minds was--and each could divine -the other's thought and almost hear its vibration: - -"We might end in the divorce court, too." - -Hence their self-consciousness. - -The thought was absurd, irrational, indefensible, shocking, it had no -father and no mother, it sprang out of naught; but it existed, and it -had force enough to make them uncomfortable. - -The Etches couple, belonging to the great, numerous, wealthy, and -respectable family of Etches, had been married barely a year. - -Edwin rose and glanced at his well-tended fingernails. The pleasant -animation of his skin caused by the bath was still perceptible. He -could feel it in his back, and it helped his conviction of virtue. He -chose a cigarette out of his silver case,--a good cigarette, a good -case--and lit it, and waved the match into extinction, and puffed out -much smoke, and regarded the correctness of the crease in his trousers -(the vertical trouser-crease having recently been introduced into the -district and insisted on by that tailor and artist and seeker after -perfection, Shillitoe), and walked firmly to the door. But the -self-consciousness remained. - -Just as he reached the door, his wife, gazing at the newspaper, stopped -him: - -"Edwin." - -"What's up?" - -He did not move from the door, and she did not look up from the -newspaper. - -"Seen your friend Big James this morning?" - -Edwin usually went down to business before breakfast, so that his -conscience might be free for a leisurely meal at nine o'clock. Big -James was the oldest employee in the business. Originally he had been -foreman compositor, and was still technically so described, but in fact -he was general manager and Edwin's majestic vicegerent in all the -printing-shops. "Ask Big James," was the watchword of the whole -organism. - -"No," said Edwin. "Why?" - -"Oh, nothing! It doesn't matter." - -Edwin had made certain resolutions about his temper, but it seemed to -him that such a reply justified annoyance, and he therefore permitted -himself to be annoyed, failing to see that serenity is a positive virtue -only when there is justification for annoyance. The nincompoop had not -even begun to perceive that what is called "right-living" means the -acceptance of injustice and the excusing of the inexcusable. - -"Now then," he said, brusquely. "Out with it." But there was still a -trace of rough tolerance in his voice. - -"No. It's all right. I was wrong to mention it." - -Her admission of sin did not in the least placate him. - -He advanced towards the table. - -"You haven't mentioned it," he said stiffly. - -Their eyes met, as Hilda's quitted the newspaper. He could not read -hers. She seemed very calm. He thought as he looked at her: "How -strange it is that I should be living with this woman! What is she to -me? What do I know of her?" - -She said with tranquillity: - -"If you do see Big James you might tell him not to trouble himself about -that programme." - -"Programme? What programme?" he asked, startled. - -"Oh! Edwin!" She gave a little laugh. "The musical evening programme, -of course. Aren't we having a musical evening to-morrow night?" - -More justification for annoyance! Why should she confuse the situation -by pretending that he had forgotten the musical evening? The pretence -was idiotic, deceiving no one. The musical evening was constantly being -mentioned. - -Reports of assiduous practising had reached them; and on the previous -night they had had quite a subdued altercation over a proposal of -Hilda's for altering the furniture in the drawing-room. - -"This is the first I've heard of any programme," said Edwin. "Do you -mean a printed programme?" - -Of course she could mean nothing else. He was absolutely staggered at -the idea that she had been down to his works, without a word to him, and -given orders to Big James, or even talked to Big James, about a -programme. She had no remorse. She had no sense of danger. Had she -the slightest conception of what business was? Imagine Maggie -attempting such a thing! It was simply not conceivable. A wife going to -her husband's works, and behind his back giving orders----! It was as -though a natural law had suspended its force. - -"Why, Edwin," she said in extremely clear, somewhat surprised, and -gently benevolent accents. "What ever's the matter with you? There -_is_ a programme of music, I suppose?" (There she was, ridiculously -changing the meaning of the word programme! What infantile tactics!) -"It occurred to me all of a sudden yesterday afternoon how nice it would -be to have it printed on gilt-edged cards, so I ran down to the shop, -but you weren't there. So I saw Big James." - -"You never said anything to me about it last night. Nor this morning." - -"Didn't I? ... Well, I forgot." - -Grotesque creature! - -"Well, what did Big James say?" - -"Oh! Don't ask me. But if he treats all your customers as he treated -me ... However, it doesn't matter now. I shall write the programme out -myself." - -"What did he say?" - -"It wasn't what he said.... But he's very rude, you know. Other people -think so too." - -"What other people?" - -"Oh! Never mind who! Of course, _I_ know how to take it. And I know -you believe in him blindly. But his airs are preposterous. And he's a -dirty old man. And I say, Edwin, seeing how very particular you are -about things at home, you really ought to see that the front shop is -kept cleaner. It's no affair of mine, and I never interfere,--but -really...!" - -Not a phrase of this speech but what was highly and deliberately -provocative. Assuredly no other person had ever said that Big James was -rude. (But _had_ someone else said so, after all? Suppose, challenged, -she gave a name!) Big James's airs were not preposterous; he was merely -old and dignified. His apron and hands were dirty, naturally.... And -then the implication that Big James was a fraud, and that he, Edwin, was -simpleton enough to be victimised by the fraud, while the great -all-seeing Hilda exposed it at a single glance! And the implication -that he, Edwin, was fussy at home, and negligent at the shop! And the -astounding assertion that she never interfered! - -He smothered up all his feelings, with difficulty, as a sailor smothers -up a lowered sail in a high wind, and merely demanded, for the third -time: - -"What did Big James say?" - -"I was given to understand," said Hilda roguishly, "that it was quite, -quite, quite impossible. But his majesty would see! ... Well, he -needn't 'see.' I see how wrong I was to suggest it at all." - -Edwin moved away in silence. - -"Are you going, Edwin?" she asked innocently. - -"Yes," glumly. - -"You haven't kissed me." - -She did not put him to the shame of returning to her. No, she jumped up -blithely, radiant. Her make-believe that nothing had happened was -maddening. She kissed him lovingly, with a smile, more than once. He -did not kiss; he was kissed. Nevertheless somehow the kissing modified -his mental position and he felt better after it. - -"Don't work yourself up, darling," she counselled him, with kindness and -concern, as he went out of the room. "You know how sensitive you are." -It was a calculated insult, but an insult which had to be ignored. To -notice it would have been a grave tactical error. - - - - II - - -When he reached the shop, he sat down at his old desk in the -black-stained cubicle, and spied forth and around for the alleged dust -which he would tolerate in business but would not tolerate at home. It -was there. He could see places that had obviously not been touched for -weeks, withdrawn places where the undisturbed mounds of stock and litter -had the eternal character of Roman remains or vestiges of creation. The -senior errand-boy was in the shop, snuffling over a blue-paper parcel. - -"Boy," said Edwin. "What time do you come here in the morning?" - -"'A' past seven, sir." - -"Well, on Monday morning you'll be here at seven and you'll move -everything--there and there and there--and sweep and dust properly. -This shop's like a pigstye. I believe you never dust anything but the -counters." - -He was mild but firm. He knew himself for a just man; yet the fact that -he was robbing this boy of half-an-hour's sleep and probably the boy's -mother also, and upsetting the ancient order of the boy's household, did -not trouble him, did not even occur to him. For him the boy had no -mother and no household, but was a patent self-causing boy that came -miraculously into existence on the shop doorstep every morning and -achieved annihilation thereon every night. - -The boy was a fatalist, but his fatalism had limits, because he well -knew that the demand for errand-boys was greater than the supply. -Though the limits of his fatalism had not yet been reached, he was -scarcely pleased. - -"If I come at seven who'll gi' me th' kays, sir?" he demanded rather -surlily, wiping his nose on his sleeve. - -"I'll see that you have the keys," said Edwin, with divine assurance, -though he had not thought of the difficulty of the keys. - -The boy left the shop, his body thrown out of the perpendicular by the -weight of the blue-paper parcel. - -"You ought to keep an eye on this place," said Edwin quietly to the -young man who combined the function of clerk with that of salesman to -the rare retail customers. "I can't see to everything. Here, check -these wages for me." He indicated small piles of money. - -"Yes, sir," said the clerk with self-respect, but admitting the justice -of the animadversion. - -Edwin seldom had difficulty with his employees. Serious friction was -unknown in the establishment. - -He went out by the back-entrance, thinking: - -"It's no affair whatever of hers. Moreover the shop's as clean as shops -are, and a damned sight cleaner than most. A shop isn't a -drawing-room.... And now there's the infernal programme." - -He would have liked to bury and forget the matter of the programme. But -he could not. His conscience, or her fussiness, would force him to -examine into it. There was no doubt that Big James was getting an old -man, with peculiar pompous mannerisms and a disposition towards -impossibilism. Big James ought to have remembered, in speaking to -Hilda, that he was speaking to the wife of his employer. That Hilda -should give an order, or even make a request, direct was perhaps -unusual, but--dash it!--you knew what women were, and if that old josser -of a bachelor, Big James, didn't know what women were, so much the worse -for him. He should just give Big James a hint. He could not have Big -James making mischief between himself and Hilda. - -But the coward would not go straight to Big James. He went first up to -what had come to be called "the litho room," partly in order to postpone -Big James, but partly also because he had quite an affectionate proud -interest in the litho room. In Edwin's childhood this room, now -stripped and soiled into a workshop, had been the drawing-room of the -Clayhanger family; and it still showed the defect which it had always -shown; the window was too small and too near the corner of the room. No -transformation could render it satisfactory save a change in the window. -Old Darius Clayhanger had vaguely talked of altering the window. Edwin -had thought seriously of it. But nothing had been done. Edwin was -continuing the very policy of his father which had so roused his disdain -when he was young: the policy of "making things do." Instead of -entering upon lithography in a manner bold, logical, and decisive, he -had nervously and half-heartedly slithered into it. Thus at the back of -the yard was a second-hand "Newsom" machine in quarters too small for -it, and the apparatus for the preliminary polishing of the stones; while -up here in the ex-drawing-room were grotesquely mingled the final -polishing process and the artistic department. - -The artist who drew the designs on the stone was a German, with short -fair hair and moustache, a thick neck and a changeless expression. -Edwin had surprisingly found him in Hanbridge. He was very skilled in -judging the amount of "work" necessary on the stone to produce a desired -result on the paper, and very laborious. Without him the nascent -lithographic trade could not have prospered. His wages were extremely -moderate, but they were what he had asked, and in exchange for them he -gave his existence. Edwin liked to watch him drawing, slavishly, -meticulously, endlessly. He was absolutely without imagination, -artistic feeling, charm, urbanity, or elasticity of any sort,--a miracle -of sheer gruff positiveness. He lived somewhere in Hanbridge, and had -once been seen by Edwin on a Sunday afternoon, wheeling a perambulator -and smiling at a young enceinte woman who held his free arm. An -astounding sight, which forced Edwin to adjust his estimates! He grimly -called himself an Englishman, and was legally entitled to do so. On -this morning he was drawing a ewer and basin, for the illustrated -catalogue of an earthenware manufacturer. - -"Not a very good light to-day," murmured Edwin. - -"Eh?" - -"Not a very good light." - -"No," said Karl sourly and indifferently, bent over the stone, and -breathing with calm regularity. "My eyesight is being de-stroit." - -Behind, a young man in a smock was industriously polishing a stone. - -Edwin beheld with pleasure. It was a joy to think that here was the -sole lithography in Bursley, and that his own enterprise had started it. -Nevertheless he was ashamed too,--ashamed of his hesitations, his -half-measures, his timidity, and of Karl's impaired eyesight. There was -no reason why he should not build a proper works, and every reason why -he should; the operation would be remunerative; it would set an example; -it would increase his prestige. He grew resolute. On the day of the -party at the Benbows' he had been and carefully inspected the plot of -land at Shawport, and yesterday he had made a very low offer for it. If -the offer was refused, he would raise it. He swore to himself he would -have his works. - -Then Big James came into the litho room. - -"I was seeking ye, sir," said Big James majestically, with a mysterious -expression. - -Edwin tried to look at him anew, as it were with Hilda's eyes. -Certainly his bigness amounted now to an enormity, for proportionately -his girth more than matched his excessive height. His apron descended -from the semicircle of his paunch like a vast grey wall. The apron was -dirty, this being Saturday, but it was at any rate intact; in old days -Big James and others at critical moments of machining used to tear -strips off their aprons for machine-rags.... Yes, he was conceivably a -grotesque figure, with his spectacles, which did not suit him, his heavy -breathing, his mannerisms, and his grandiose air of Atlas supporting the -moral world. A woman might be excused for seeing the comic side of him. -But surely he was honest and loyal. Surely he was not the adder that -Hilda with an intonation had suggested! - -"I'm coming," said Edwin, rather curtly. - -He felt just in the humour for putting Big James "straight." Still his -reply had not been too curt, for to his staff he was the opposite of a -bully; he always scorned to take a facile advantage of his power, often -tried even to conceal his power in the fiction that the employee was one -man and himself merely another. He would be far more devastating to his -wife and his sister than to any employee. But at intervals a bad or -careless workman had to meet the blaze of his eye and accept the lash of -his speech. - -"It's about that little job for the mistress, sir," said Big James in a -soft voice, when they were out on the landing. - -Edwin gave a start. The ageing man's tones were so eager, so anxiously -loyal! His emphasis on the word 'mistress' conveyed so clearly that the -mistress was a high and glorious personage to serve whom was an honour -and a fearful honour! The ageing man had almost whispered, like a boy, -glancing with jealous distrust at the shut door of the room that -contained the German. - -"Oh!" muttered Edwin, taken aback. - -"I set it up myself," said Big James, and holding his head very high -looked down at Edwin under his spectacles. - -"Why!" said Edwin cautiously. "I thought you'd given Mrs. Clayhanger -the idea it couldn't be done in time." - -"Bless ye, sir! Not if I know it! I intimated to her the situation in -which we were placed, with urgent jobs on hand, as in duty bound, sir, -she being the mistress. Ye know how slow I am to give a promise, sir. -But not to do it--such was not my intention. And as I have said -already, sir, I've set it up myself, and here's a rough pull." - -He produced a piece of paper. - -Edwin's ancient affection for Big James grew indignant. The old fellow -was the very mirror of loyalty. He might be somewhat grotesque and -mannered upon occasion, but he was the soul of the Clayhanger business. -He had taught Edwin most of what he knew about both typesetting and -machining. It seemed not long since that he used to call Edwin "young -sir," and to enter into tacit leagues with him against the dangerous -obstinacies of his decaying father. Big James had genuinely admired -Darius Clayhanger. Assuredly he admired Darius's son not less. His -fidelity to the dynasty was touching; it was wistful. The order from -the mistress had tremendously excited and flattered him in his secret -heart.... And yet Hilda must call him names, must insinuate against his -superb integrity, must grossly misrepresent his attitude to herself. -Whatever in his pompous old way he might have said, she could not -possibly have mistaken his anxiety to please her. No, she had given a -false account of their interview,--and Edwin had believed it! Edwin now -swerved violently back to his own original view. He firmly believed Big -James against his wife. He reflected: "How simple I was to swallow all -Hilda said without confirmation! I might have known!" And that he -should think such a thought shocked him tremendously. - -The programme was not satisfactorily set up. Apart from several -mistakes in the spelling of proper names, the thing with its fancy -types, curious centring, and superabundance of full-stops, resembled -more the libretto of a Primitive Methodist Tea-meeting than a programme -of classical music offered to refined dilettanti on a Sunday night. -Though Edwin had endeavoured to modernise Big James, he had failed. It -was perhaps well that he had failed. For the majority of customers -preferred Big James's taste in printing to Edwin's. He corrected the -misspellings and removed a few full-stops, and then said: - -"It's all right. But I doubt if Mrs. Clayhanger'll care for all these -fancy founts," implying that it was a pity, of course, that Big James's -fancy founts would not be appreciated at their true value, but women -were women. "I should almost be inclined to set it all again in -old-face. I'm sure she'd prefer it. Do you mind?" - -"With the greatest of pleasure, sir," Big James heartily concurred, -looking at his watch. "But I must be lively." - -He conveyed his immense bulk neatly and importantly down the narrow -stairs. - - - - III - - -Edwin sat in his cubicle again, his affection for Big James very active. -How simple and agreeable it was to be a man among men only! The -printing-business was an organism fifty times as large as the home, and -it worked fifty times more smoothly. No misunderstandings, no secrecies -(at any rate among the chief persons concerned), and a general -recognition of the principles of justice! Even the errand-boy had -understood. And the shop-clerk by his tone had admitted that he too was -worthy of blame. The blame was not overdone, and common-sense had -closed the episode in a moment. And see with what splendid good-will -Big James, despite the intense conservatism of old age, had accepted the -wholesale condemnation of his idea of a programme! The relations of men -were truly wonderful, when you come to think about it. And to be at -business was a relief and even a pleasure. Edwin could not remember -having ever before regarded the business as a source of pleasure. A -youth, he had gone into it greatly against his will, and by tradition he -had supposed himself still to hate it. - -Why had Hilda misled him as to Big James? For she had misled him. Yes, -she had misled him. What was her motive? What did she think she could -gain by it? He was still profoundly disturbed by this deception. -"Why!" he thought, "I can't trust her! I shall have to be on my guard! -I've been in the habit of opening my mouth and swallowing practically -everything she says!" His sense of justice very sharply resented her -perfidy to Big James. His heart warmed to the defence of the excellent -old man. What had she got against Big James? Since the day when the -enormous man had first shown her over the printing shops, before their -original betrothal, a decade and more ago, he had never treated her with -anything but an elaborate and sincere respect. Was she jealous of him, -because of his, Edwin's, expressed confidence in and ancient regard for -him, and because Edwin and he had always been good companions? Or had -she merely taken a dislike to him,--a physical dislike? Edwin had -noticed that some women had a malicious detestation for some old men, -especially when the old men had any touch of the grotesque or the -pompous.... Well, he should defend Big James against her. She should -keep her hands off Big James. His sense of justice was so powerful in -that moment that if he had had to choose between his wife and Big James -he would have chosen Big James. - -He came out of the cubicle into the shop, and arranged his countenance -so that the clerk should suppose him to be thinking in tremendous -concentration upon some complex problem of the business. And -simultaneously Hilda passed up Duck Bank on the way to market. She -passed so close to the shop that she seemed to brush it like a -delicious, exciting, and exasperating menace. If she turned her head -she could scarcely fail to see Edwin near the door of the shop. But she -did not turn her head. She glided up the slope steadily and implacably. -And even in the distance of the street her individuality showed itself -mysterious and strong. He could never decide whether she was beautiful -or not; he felt that she was impressive, and not to be scorned or -ignored. Perhaps she was not beautiful. Certainly she was not young. -She had not the insipidity of the young girl unfulfilled. Nor did she -inspire melancholy like the woman just beyond her prime. The one was -going to be; the other had been. Hilda was. And she had lived. There -was in her none of the detestable ignorance and innocence that, for -Edwin, spoilt the majority of women. She knew. She was an equal, and a -dangerous equal. Simultaneously he felt that he could crush and kill -the little thing, and that he must beware of the powerful, unscrupulous, -inscrutable individuality.... And she receded still higher up Duck Bank -and then turned round the corner to the Market Place and vanished. And -there was a void. - -She would return. As she had receded gradually, so she would gradually -approach the shop again with her delicious, exciting, exasperating -menace. And he had a scheme for running out to her and with candour -inviting her in and explaining to her in just the right tone of -good-will that loyalty to herself simply hummed and buzzed in the shop -and the printing-works, and that Big James worshipped her, and that -though she was perfect in sagacity she had really been mistaken about -Big James. And he had a vision of her smiling kindly and frankly upon -Big James, and Big James twisting upon his own axis in joyous pride. -Nothing but good-will and candour was required to produce this bliss. - -But he knew that he would never run out to her and invite her to enter. -The enterprise was perilous to the point of being foolhardy. With a -tone, with a hesitation, with an undecipherable pout, she might, she -would, render it absurd.... And then, his pride! ... At that moment -young Alec Batchgrew, perhaps then the town's chief mooncalf, came down -Duck Bank in dazzling breeches on a superb grey horse. And Edwin went -abruptly back to work lest the noodle should rein in at the shop door -and talk to him. - - - - IV - - -When he returned home, a few minutes before the official hour of one -o'clock, he heard women's voices and laughter in the drawing-room. And -as he stood in the hall, fingering the thin little parcel of six -programmes which he had brought with him, the laughter overcame the -voices and then expended itself in shrieks of quite uncontrolled mirth. -The drawing-room door was half open. He stepped quietly to it. - -The weather, after being thunderous, had cleared, and the part of the -drawing-room near the open window was shot with rays of sunshine. - -Janet Orgreave, all dressed in white, lay back in an easy chair; she was -laughing and wiping the tears from her eyes. At the piano sat very -upright a seemingly rather pert young woman, not laughing, but smiling, -with arch sparkling eyes fixed on the others; this was Daisy Marrion, a -cousin of Mrs. Tom Orgreave, and the next to the last unmarried daughter -of a large family up at Hillport. Standing by the piano was a young -timid girl of about sixteen, whom Edwin, who had not seen her before, -guessed to be Janet's niece, Elaine, eldest daughter of Janet's elder -sister in London; Elaine's approaching visit had been announced. These -other two, like Janet, were in white. Lastly there was Hilda, in grey, -with a black hat, laughing like a child. "They are all children," he -thought as, unnoticed, he watched them in their bright fragile frocks -and hats, and in their excessive gaiety, and in the strange abandon of -their gestures. "They are a foreign race encamped among us men. Fancy -women of nearly forty giggling with these girls as Janet and Hilda are -giggling!" He felt much pleasure in the sight. It could not have -happened in poor old Maggie's reign. It was delicious. It was one of -the rewards of existence, for the grace of these creatures was -surpassing. But at the same time it was hysterical and infantile. He -thought: "I've been taking women too seriously." And his heart -lightened somewhat. - -Elaine saw him first. A flush flowed from her cheeks to her neck. Her -body stiffened. She became intensely self-conscious. She could not -speak, but she leaned forward and gazed with a passion of apprehension -at Janet, as if murmuring: "Look! The enemy! Take care!" The -imploring silent movement was delightful in its gawky ingenuousness. - -"Do tell us some more, Daisy," Hilda implored weakly. - -"There is no more," said Daisy, and then started: "Oh, Mr. Clayhanger! -How long have you been there?" - -He entered the room, yielding himself, proud, masculine, acutely aware -of his sudden effect on these girls. For even Hilda was naught but a -girl at the moment; and Janet was really a girl, though the presence of -that shy niece, just awaking to her own body and to the world, made -Janet seem old in spite of her slimness and of that smoothness of skin -that was due to a tranquil, kind temperament. The shy niece was -enchantingly constrained upon being introduced to Edwin, whom she was -enjoined to call uncle. Only yesterday she must have been a child. Her -marvellously clear complexion could not have been imitated by any aunt -or elder sister. - -"And now perhaps you'll tell me what it's all about," said Edwin. - -Hilda replied: - -"Janet's called about tennis. It seems they're sick of the new Hillport -Club. I knew they would be. And so next year Janet's having a private -club on her lawn----" - -"Bad as it is," said Janet. - -"Where the entire conversation won't be remarks by girls about other -girls' frocks and remarks by men about the rotten inferiority of other -men." - -"This is all very sound," said Edwin, rather struck by Hilda's -epigrammatic quality. "But what I ask is--what were you laughing at?" - -"Oh, nothing!" said Daisy Marrion. - -"Very well then," said Edwin, going to the door and shutting it. -"Nobody leaves this room till I know.... Now, niece Elaine!" - -Elaine went crimson and squirmed on her only recently hidden legs, but -she did not speak. - -"Tell him, Daisy," said Janet. - -Daisy sat still straighter. - -"It was only about Alec Batchgrew, Mr. Clayhanger; I suppose you know -him." - -Alec was the youngest scion of the great and detested plutocratic family -of Batchgrew,--enormously important in his nineteen years. - -"Yes, I know him," said Edwin. "I saw him on his new grey horse this -morning." - -"His 'orse," Janet corrected. They all began to laugh again loudly. - -"He's taken a terrific fancy to Maud, my kiddie sister," said Daisy. -"She's sixteen. Yesterday afternoon at the tennis club he said to Maud: -'Look 'ere. I shall ride through the town to-morrow morning on my 'orse, -while you're all marketing. I shan't take any notice of any of the -other girls, but if you bow to me I'll take my 'at off to you.'" She -imitated the Batchgrew intonation. - -"That's a good tale," said Edwin calmly. "What a cuckoo! He ought to -be put in a museum." - -Daisy, made rather nervous by the success of her tale, bent over the -piano, and skimmed pianissimo and rapidly through the "Clytie" waltz. -Elaine moved her shoulders to the rhythm. - -Janet said they must go. - -"Here! Hold on a bit!" said Edwin, through the light film of music, and -undoing the little parcel he handed one specimen of the programme to -Hilda and another to Janet, simultaneously. - -"Oh, so my ideas are listened to, sometimes!" murmured Hilda, who was, -however, pleased. - -A malicious and unjust remark, he thought. But the next instant Hilda -said in a quite friendly natural tone: - -"Janet's going to bring Elaine. And she says Tom says she is to tell -you that he's coming whether he's wanted or not. Daisy won't come." - -"Why?" asked Edwin, but quite perfunctorily; he knew that the Marrions -were not interested in interesting music, and his design had been to -limit the audience to enthusiasts. - -"Church," answered Daisy succinctly. - -"Come after church." - -She shook her head. - -"And how's the practising?" Edwin enquired from Janet. - -"Pretty fair," said she. "But not so good as this programme. What -swells we are, my word!" - -"Hilda's idea," said Edwin generously. "Your mother coming?" - -"Oh, yes, I think so." - -As the visitors were leaving, Hilda stopped Janet. - -"Don't you think it'll be better if we have the piano put over there, -and all the chairs together round here, Janet?" - -"It might be," said Janet uncertainly. - -Hilda turned sharply to Edwin: - -"There! What did I tell you?" - -"Well," he protested good-humouredly, "what on earth do you expect her -to say, when you ask her like that? Anyhow I may announce definitely -that I'm not going to have the piano moved. We'll try things as they -are, for a start, and then see. Why, if you put all the chairs together -over there, the place'll look like a blooming boarding-house." - -The comparison was a failure in tact, which he at once recognised but -could not retrieve. Hilda faintly reddened, and the memory of her -struggles as manageress of a boarding-house was harshly revived in her. - -"Some day I shall try the piano over there," she said, low. - -And Edwin concurred, amiably: - -"All right. Some day we'll try it together, just to see what it is -like." - -The girls, the younger ones still giggling, slipped elegantly out of the -house, one after another. - -Dinner passed without incident. - - - - V - - -The next day, Sunday, Edwin had a headache; and it was a bilious -headache. Hence he insisted to himself and to everyone that it was not -a bilious headache, but just one of those plain headaches which -sometimes visit the righteous without cause or excuse; for he would -never accept the theory that he had inherited his father's digestive -weakness. A liability to colds he would admit, but not on any account a -feeble stomach. Hence, further, he was obliged to pretend to eat as -usual. George was rather gnat-like that morning, and Hilda was in a -susceptible condition, doubtless due to nervousness occasioned by the -novel responsibilities of the musical evening--and a Sabbath musical -evening at that! After the one o'clock dinner, Edwin lay down on the -sofa in the dining-room and read and slept; and when he woke up he felt -better, and was sincerely almost persuaded that his headache had not -been and was not a bilious headache. He said to himself that a short -walk might disperse the headache entirely. He made one or two trifling -adjustments in the disposition of the drawing-room furniture--his own -disposition of it, and immensely and indubitably superior to that so -pertinaciously advocated by Hilda--and then he went out. Neither Hilda -nor George was visible. Possibly during his rest they had gone for a -walk; they had fits of intimacy. - -He walked in the faint September sunshine down Trafalgar Road into the -town. Except for a few girls in dowdy finery and a few heavy youths -with their black or dark-blue trousers turned up round the ankles far -enough to show the white cotton lining, the street was empty. The -devout at that hour were either dozing at home or engaged in Sunday -school work; thousands of children were concentrated in the hot Sunday -schools. As he passed the Bethesda Chapel and School he heard the -voices of children addressing the Lord of the Universe in laudatory and -intercessory song. Near the Bethesda chapel, by the Duke of Cambridge -Vaults, two men stood waiting, their faces firm in the sure knowledge -that within three hours the public-houses would again be open. Thick -smoke rose from the chimneys of several manufactories and thin smoke -from the chimneys of many others. The scheme of a Sunday musical -evening in that land presented itself to Edwin as something rash, -fantastic, and hopeless,--and yet solacing. Were it known it could -excite only hostility, horror, contempt, or an intense bovine -indifference; chiefly the last.... Breathe the name of Chopin in that -land!... - -As he climbed Duck Bank he fumbled in his pocket for his private key of -the shop, which he had brought with him; for, not the desire for fresh -air, but an acute curiosity as to the answer to his letter to the -solicitor to the Hall trustees making an offer for the land at Shawport, -had sent him out of the house. Would the offer be accepted or declined, -or would a somewhat higher sum be suggested? The reply would have been -put into the post on Saturday, and was doubtless then lying in the -letter-box within the shop. The whole future seemed to be lying -unopened in that letter-box. - -He penetrated into his own shop like a thief, for it was not meet for an -important tradesman to be seen dallying with business of a Sunday -afternoon. As he went into the shutter-darkened interior he thought of -Hilda, whom many years earlier he had kissed in that very same -shutter-darkened interior one Thursday afternoon. Life appeared -incredible to him, and in his wife he could see almost no trace of the -girl he had kissed there in the obscure shop. There was a fair quantity -of letters in the box. The first one he opened was from a solicitor; -not the solicitor to the Hall trustees, but Tom Orgreave, who announced -to Edwin Clayhanger, Esquire, dear sir, that his clients, the Palace -Porcelain Company of Longshaw, felt compelled to call their creditors -together. The Palace Porcelain Company, who had believed in the -efficacy of printed advertising matter and expensive catalogues, owed -Edwin a hundred and eighty pounds. It was a blow, and the more so in -that it was unexpected. "Did I come messing down here on a Sunday -afternoon to receive this sort of news?" he bitterly asked. A moment -earlier he had not doubted the solvency of the Palace Porcelain Company; -but now he felt that the Company wouldn't pay two shillings in the -pound,--perhaps not even that, as there were debenture-holders. The -next letter was an acceptance of his offer for the Shawport land. The -die was cast, then. The new works would have to be created; lithography -would increase; in the vast new enterprise he would be hampered by the -purchase of Maggie's house; he had just made a bad debt; and he would -have Hilda's capricious opposition to deal with. He quitted the shop -abruptly, locked the door, and went back home, his mind very active but -undirected. - - - - VI - - -Something unfamiliar in the aspect of the breakfast-room as glimpsed -through the open door from the hall, drew him within. Hilda had at last -begun to make it into "her" room. She had brought an old writing-desk -from upstairs and put it between the fireplace and the window. Edwin -thought: "Doesn't she even know the light ought to fall over the left -shoulder, not over the right?" Letter paper and envelopes and even -stamps were visible; and a miscellaneous mass of letters and bills had -been pushed into the space between the flat of the desk and the small -drawers about it. There was also an easy-chair, with a freshly-covered -cushion on it; a new hearthrug that Edwin neither recognised nor -approved of; several framed prints, and other oddments. His own -portrait still dominated the mantelpiece, but it was now flanked by two -brass candle-sticks. He thought: "If she'd ask me, I could have -arranged it for her much better than that." Nevertheless the idea of -her being absolute monarch of the little room, and expressing her -individuality in it and by it, both pleased and touched him. Nor did he -at all resent the fact that she had executed her plan in secret. She -must have been anxious to get the room finished for the musical evening. - -Thence he passed into the drawing-room,--and was thunderstruck. The -arrangement of the furniture was utterly changed, and the resemblance to -a boarding-house parlour after all achieved. The piano had crossed the -room; the chairs were massed together in the most ridiculous way; the -sofa was so placed as to be almost useless. His anger was furious but -cold. The woman had considerable taste in certain directions, but she -simply did not understand the art of fixing up a room. Whereas he did. -Each room in the house (save her poor little amateurish breakfast-room -or "boudoir") had been arranged by himself, even to small details,--and -well arranged. Everyone admitted that he had a talent for interiors. -The house was complete before she ever saw it, and he had been -responsible for it. He was not the ordinary inexperienced ignorant -husband who "leaves all that sort of thing to the missis." Interiors -mattered to him; they influenced his daily happiness. The woman had -clearly failed to appreciate the sacredness of the _status quo_. He -appreciated it himself, and never altered anything without consulting -her and definitely announcing his intention to alter. She probably -didn't care a fig for the _status quo_. Her conduct was inexcusable. -It was an attack on vital principles. It was an outrage. Doubtless, in -her scorn for the _status quo_, she imagined that he would accept the -_fait accompli_. She was mistaken. With astounding energy he set to -work to restore the _status quo ante_. The vigour with which he dragged -and pushed an innocent elephantine piano was marvellous. In less than -five minutes not a trace remained of the _fait accompli_. He thought: -"This is a queer start for a musical evening!" But he was triumphant, -resolute, and remorseless. He would show her a thing or two. In -particular he would show that fair play had to be practised in his -house. Then, perceiving that his hands were dirty, and one finger -bleeding, he went majestically, if somewhat breathless, upstairs to the -bathroom, and washed with care. In the glass he saw that, despite his -exertions, he was pale. At length he descended, wondering where she -was, where she had hidden herself, who had helped her to move the -furniture, and what exactly the upshot would be. There could be no -doubt that he was in a state of high emotion, in which unflinching -obstinacy was shot through with qualms about disaster. - -He revisited the drawing-room to survey his labours. She was there. -Whence she had sprung, he knew not. But she was there. He caught sight -of her standing by the window before entering the room. - -When he got into the room he saw that her emotional excitement far -surpassed his own. Her lips and her hands were twitching; her nostrils -dilated and contracted; tears were in her eyes. - -"Edwin," she exclaimed very passionately, in a thick voice, quite unlike -her usual clear tones, as she surveyed the furniture, "this is really -too much!" - -Evidently she thought of nothing but her resentment. No consideration -other than her outraged dignity would have affected her demeanour. If a -whole regiment of their friends had been watching at the door, her -demeanour would not have altered. The bedrock of her nature had been -reached. - -"It's war, this is!" thought Edwin. - -He was afraid; he was even intimidated by her anger; but he did not lose -his courage. The determination to fight for himself, and to see the -thing through no matter what happened, was not a bit weakened. An -inwardly feverish but outwardly calm vindictive desperation possessed -him. He and she would soon know who was the stronger. - -At the same time he said to himself: - -"I was hasty. I ought not to have acted in such a hurry. Before doing -anything I ought to have told her quietly that I intended to have the -last word as regards furniture in this house. I was within my rights in -acting at once, but it wasn't very clever of me, clumsy fool!" - -Aloud he said, with a kind of self-conscious snigger: - -"What's too much?" - -Hilda went on: - -"You simply make me look a fool in my own house, before my own son and -the servants." - -"You've brought it on yourself," said he fiercely. "If you will do these -idiotic things you must take the consequences. I told you I didn't want -the furniture moved, and immediately my back's turned you go and move -it. I won't have it, and so I tell you straight." - -"You're a brute," she continued, not heeding him, obsessed by her own -wound. "You're a brute!" She said it with terrifying conviction. -"Everybody knows it. Didn't Maggie warn me? You're a brute and a -bully. And you do all you can to shame me in my own house. Who'd think -I was supposed to be the mistress here? Even in front of my friends you -insult me." - -"Don't act like a baby. How do I insult you?" - -"Talking about boarding-houses. Do you think Janet and all of them -didn't notice it?" - -"Well," he said. "Let this be a lesson to you." - -She hid her face in her hands and sobbed, moving towards the door. - -He thought: - -"She's beaten. She knows she's got to take it." - -Then he said: - -"Do _I_ go altering furniture without consulting you? Do _I_ do things -behind your back? Never!" - -"That's no reason why you should try to make me look a fool in my own -house. I told Ada how I wanted the furniture, and George and I helped -her. And then a moment afterwards you give them contrary orders. What -will they think of me? Naturally they'll think I'm not your wife, but -your slave. You're a brute." Her voice rose. - -"I didn't give any orders. I haven't seen the damned servants and I -haven't seen George." - -She looked up suddenly: - -"Then who moved the furniture?" - -"I did." - -"Who helped you?" - -"Nobody helped me." - -"But I was here only a minute or two since." - -"Well, do you suppose it takes me half a day to move a few sticks of -furniture?" - -She was impressed by his strength and his swiftness, and apparently -silenced; she had thought that the servants had been brought into the -affair. - -"You ought to know perfectly well," he proceeded, "I should never dream -of insulting you before the servants. Nobody's more careful of your -dignity than I am. I should like to see anybody do anything against -your dignity while I'm here." - -She was still sobbing. - -"I think you ought to apologise to me," she blubbered. "Yes, I really -do." - -"Why should I apologise to you? You moved the furniture against my -wish. I moved it against yours. That's all. You began. I didn't -begin. You want everything your own way. Well, you won't have it." - -She blubbered once more: - -"You ought to apologise to me." - -And then she wept hysterically. - -He meditated sourly, harshly. He had conquered. The furniture was as he -wished, and it would remain so. The enemy was in tears, shamed, -humiliated. He had a desire to restore her dignity, partly because she -was his wife and partly because he hated to see any human being beaten. -Moreover, at the bottom of his heart he had a tremendous regard for -appearances, and he felt fears for the musical evening. He could not -contemplate the possibility of visitors perceiving that the host and -hostess had violently quarrelled. He would have sacrificed almost -anything to the social proprieties. And he knew that Hilda would not -think of them, or at any rate would not think of them effectively. He -did not mind apologising to her, if an apology would give her -satisfaction. He was her superior in moral force, and naught else -mattered. - -"I don't think I ought to apologise," he said, with a slight laugh. -"But if you think so I don't mind apologising. I apologise. There!" -He dropped into an easy-chair. - -To him it was as if he had said: - -"You see what a magnanimous chap I am." - -She tried to conceal her feelings, but she was pleased, flattered, -astonished. Her self-respect returned to her rapidly. - -"Thank you," she murmured, and added: "It was the least you could do." - -At her last words he thought: - -"Women are incapable of being magnanimous." - -She moved towards the door. - -"Hilda," he said. - -She stopped. - -"Come here," he commanded with gentle bluffness. - -She wavered towards him. - -"Come here, I tell you," he said again. - -He drew her down to him, all fluttering and sobbing and wet, and kissed -her, kissed her several times; and then, sitting on his knees, she -kissed him. But, though she mysteriously signified forgiveness, she -could not smile; she was still far too agitated and out of control to be -able to smile. - -The scene was over. The proprieties of the musical evening were saved. -Her broken body and soul huddled against him were agreeably wistful to -his triumphant manliness. - -But he had had a terrible fright. And even now there was a certain mere -bravado in his attitude. In his heart he was thinking: - -"By Jove! Has it come to this?" - -The responsibilities of the future seemed too complicated, wearisome and -overwhelming. The earthly career of a bachelor seemed almost heavenly -in its wondrous freedom.... Etches v. Etches.... The unexampled -creature, so recently the source of ineffable romance, still sat on his -knees, weighing them down. Suddenly he noticed that his head ached very -badly--worse than it had ached all day. - - - - VII - - -The Sunday musical evening, beyond its artistic thrills and emotional -quality, proved to be exciting as a social manifestation. Those present -at it felt as must feel Russian conspirators in a back room of some big -grey house of a Petrograd suburb when the secret printing-press begins -to function before their eyes. This concert of profane harmonies, -deliberately planned and pouring out through open windows to affront the -ears of returners from church and chapel, was considered by its -organisers as a remarkable event; and rightly so. The Clayhanger house -might have been a fortress, with the blood-red standard of art and -freedom floating from a pole lashed to its chimney. Of course everybody -pretended to everybody else that the musical evening was a quite -ordinary phenomenon. - -It was a success, and a flashing success, yet not unqualified. The -performers--Tertius Ingpen on the piano, on the fiddle, and on the -clarinet, Janet Orgreave on the piano, and very timidly in a little song -by Grieg, Tom Orgreave on the piano and his contralto wife in two famous -and affecting songs by Schumann and also on the piano, and Edwin sick -but obstinate as turner-over of pages--all did most creditably. The -music was given with ardent sympathy, and in none of it did any marked -pause occur which had not been contemplated by the composer himself. -But abstentions had thinned the women among the audience. Elaine Hill -did not come, and, far more important, Mrs. Orgreave did not come. Her -husband, old Osmond Orgreave, had not been expected, as of late (owing -to the swift onset of renal disease, hitherto treated by him with some -contempt) he had declined absolutely to go out at night; but Edwin had -counted on Mrs. Orgreave. She simply sent word that she did not care to -leave her husband, and that Elaine was keeping her company. -Disappointment, keen but brief, resulted. Edwin's severe sick headache -was also a drawback. It did, however, lessen the bad social effect of -an altercation between him and Hilda, in which Edwin's part was -attributed to his indisposition. This altercation arose out of an -irresponsible suggestion from somebody that something else should be -played instead of something else. Now, for Edwin, a programme was a -programme,--sacred, to be executed regardless of every extrinsic -consideration. And seeing that the programme was printed...! Edwin -negatived the suggestion instantly, and the most weighty opinion in the -room agreed with him, but Hilda must needs fly out: "Why not change it? -I'm sure it will be better," etc. Whereas she could be sure of nothing -of the sort, and was incompetent to offer an opinion. And she -unreasonably and unnecessarily insisted, despite Tertius Ingpen, and the -change was made. It was astounding to Edwin that, after the shattering -scene of the afternoon, she should be so foolhardy, so careless, so -obstinate. But she was. He kept his resentment neatly in a little -drawer in his mind, and glanced at it now and then. And he thought of -Tertius Ingpen's terrible remark about women at Ingpen's first visit. -He said to himself: "There's a lot in it, no doubt about that." - -At the close of the last item, two of Brahms's Hungarian Dances for -pianoforte duet (played with truly electrifying _brio_ by little -wizening Tom Orgreave and his wife), both Tertius Ingpen and Tom fussed -consciously about the piano, triumphant, not knowing quite what to do -next, and each looking rather like a man who has told a good story, and -in the midst of the applause tries to make out by an affectation of -casualness that the story is nothing at all. - -"Of course," said Tom Orgreave carelessly, and glancing at the ground as -he usually did when speaking, "Fine as those dances are on the piano, I -should prefer to hear them with the fiddle." - -"Why?" demanded Ingpen challengingly. - -"Because they were written for the fiddle," said Tom Orgreave with -finality. - -"Written for the fiddle? Not a bit of it!" - -With superiority outwardly unruffled, Tom said: - -"Pardon me. Brahms wrote them for Joachim. I've heard him play them." - -"So have I," said Tertius Ingpen, lightly but scornfully. "But they -were written originally for pianoforte duet, as you played them -to-night. Brahms arranged them afterwards for Joachim." - -Tom Orgreave shook under the blow, for in musical knowledge his -supremacy had never been challenged in Bleakridge. - -"Surely----!" he began weakly. - -"My dear fellow, it is so," said Ingpen impatiently. - -"Look it up," said Edwin, with false animation, for his head was -thudding. "George, fetch the encyclopædia B--and J too." - -Delighted, George ran off. He had been examining Johnnie Orgreave's -watch, and it was to Johnnie he delivered the encyclopædia, amid mock -protests from his uncle Edwin. More than one person had remarked the -growing alliance between Johnnie and young George. - -But the encyclopædia gave no light. - -Then the eldest Swetnam (who had come by invitation at the last moment) -said: - -"I'm sure Ingpen is right." - -He was not sure, but from the demeanour of the two men he could guess, -and he thought he might as well share the glory of Ingpen's triumph. - -The next instant Tertius Ingpen was sketching out future musical -evenings at which quartets and quintets should be performed. He knew -men in the orchestra at the Theatre Royal, Hanbridge; he knew -girl-violinists who could be drilled, and he was quite certain that he -could get a 'cello. From this he went on to part-songs, and in answer -to scepticism about local gift for music, he said that during his visits -of inspection to factories he had heard spontaneous part-singing "that -would knock spots off the Savoy chorus." Indeed, since his return to -it, Ingpen had developed some appreciation of certain aspects of his -native district. He said that the kindly commonsense with which as an -inspector he was received on pot-banks, surpassed anything in the whole -country. - -"Talking of pot-banks, you'll get a letter from me about the Palace -Porcelain Company," Tom Orgreave lifting his eyebrows muttered to Edwin -with a strange gloomy constraint. - -"I've had it," said Edwin. "You've got some nice clients, I must say." - -In a moment, though Tom said not a word more, the Palace Porcelain -Company was on the carpet, to Edwin's disgust. He hated to talk about a -misfortune. But others beside himself were interested in the Palace -Porcelain Company, and the news of its failure had boomed mysteriously -through the Sabbath air of the district. - -Hilda and Janet were whispering together. And Edwin, gazing at them, -saw in them the giggling tennis-playing children of the previous -day,--specimens of a foreign race encamped among the men. - -Suddenly Hilda turned her head towards the men, and said: - -"Of course _Edwin's_ been let in!" - -It was a reference to the Palace Porcelain Company. How ungracious! How -unnecessary! How unjust! And somehow Edwin had been fearing it. And -that was really why he had not liked the turn of the conversation,--he -had been afraid of one of her darts! - -Useless for Tom Swetnam to say that a number of business men quite as -keen as Edwin had been "let in"! From her disdainful silence it appeared -that Hilda's conviction of the unusual simplicity of her husband was -impregnable. - -"I hear you've got that Shawport land," said Johnnie Orgreave. - -The mystic influences of music seemed to have been overpowered. - -"Who told ye?" asked Edwin in a low voice, once more frightened of -Hilda. - -"Young Toby Hall. Met him at the Conservative Club last night." - -But Hilda had heard. - -"What land is that?" she demanded curtly. - -"'What land is that?'" Johnnie mimicked her. "It's the land for the new -works, missis." - -Hilda threw her shoulders back, glaring at Edwin with a sort of outraged -fury. Happily most of the people present were talking among themselves. - -"You never told me," she muttered. - -He said: - -"I only knew this afternoon." - -Her anger was unmistakable. She was no longer a fluttering feminine -wreck on his manly knee. - -"Well, good-bye," said Janet Orgreave startlingly to him. "Sorry I have -to go so soon." - -"You aren't going!" Edwin protested with unnatural loudness. "What -about the victuals? I shan't touch 'em myself. But they must be -consumed. Here! You and I'll lead the way." - -Half playfully he seized her arm. She glanced at Hilda uncertainly. - -"Edwin," said Hilda very curtly and severely, "don't be so clumsy. -Janet has to go at once. Mr. Orgreave is very ill--very ill indeed. -She only came to oblige us." Then she passionately kissed Janet. - -It was like a thunderclap in the room. Johnnie and Tom confirmed the -news. Of the rest only Tom's wife and Hilda knew. Janet had told Hilda -before the music began. Osmond Orgreave had been taken ill between five -and six in the afternoon. Dr. Stirling had gone in at once, and -pronounced the attack serious. Everything possible was done; even a -nurse was obtained instantly, from the Clowes Hospital by the station. -From reasons of sentiment, if from no other, Janet would have stayed at -home and foregone the musical evening. But those Orgreaves at home had -put their heads together and decided that Janet should still go, because -without her the entire musical evening would crumble to naught. Here -was the true reason of the absence of Mrs. Orgreave and Elaine--both -unnecessary to the musical evening. The boys had come, and Tom's wife -had come, because, even considered only as an audience, the Orgreave -contingent was almost essential to the musical evening. And so Janet, -her father's especial favourite and standby, had come, and she had -played, and not a word whispered except to Hilda. It was wondrous. It -was impressive. All the Orgreaves departed, and the remnant of guests -meditated in proud, gratified silence upon the singular fortitude and -heroic commonsense that distinguished their part of the world. The -musical evening was dramatically over, the refreshments being almost -wasted. - - - - VIII - - -Hilda was climbing on to the wooden-seated chair in the hall to put out -the light there when she heard a noise behind the closed door of the -kitchen, which she had thought to be empty. She went to the door and -pushed it violently open. Not only was the gas flaring away in an -unauthorised manner, not only were both servants (theoretically in bed) -still up, capless and apronless and looking most curious in unrelieved -black, but the adventurous and wicked George was surreptitiously with -them, flattering them with his aristocratic companionship, and eating -blanc-mange out of a cut-glass dish with a tablespoon. Twice George had -been sent to bed. Once the servants had been told to go to bed. The -worst of carnivals is that the dregs of the population, such as George, -will take advantage of them to rise to the surface and, conscienceless -and mischievous, set at defiance the conventions by which society -protects itself. - -She merely glanced at George; the menace of her eyes was alarming. His -lower lip fell; he put down the dish and spoon, and slunk timorously -past her on his way upstairs. - -Then she said to the servants: - -"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, encouraging him! Go to bed at -once." And as they began nervously to handle the things on the table, -she added, more imperiously: "At once! Don't keep me waiting. I'll see -to all this." - -And they followed George meekly. - -She gazed in disgust at the general litter of broken refreshments, -symbolising the traditional inefficiency of servants, and extinguished -the gas. - -The three criminals were somewhat the victims of her secret resentment -against Edwin, who, a mere martyrised perambulating stomach, had -retired. Edwin had defeated her in the afternoon; and all the evening, -in the disposition of the furniture, the evidence of his victory had -confronted her. By prompt and brutal action, uncharacteristic of him -and therefore mean, he had defeated her. True he had embraced and -comforted her tears, but it was the kiss of a conqueror. And then, on -the top of that, he had proved his commercial incompetence by making a -large bad debt, and his commercial rashness by definitely adopting a -scheme of whose extreme danger she was convinced. One part of her mind -intellectually knew that he had not wilfully synchronised these events -in order to wound her, but another part of her mind felt deeply that he -had. She had been staggered by the revelation that he was definitely -committed to the project of lithography and the new works. Not one word -about the matter had he said to her since their altercation on the night -of the reception; and she had imagined that, with his usual indecision, -he was allowing it to slide. She scarcely recognised her Edwin. Now -she accused him of a malicious obstinacy, not understanding that he was -involved in the great machine of circumstance and perhaps almost as much -surprised as herself at the movement of events. At any rate she was -being beaten once more, and her spirit rebelled. Through all the -misfortunes previous to her marriage that spirit, if occasionally cowed, -had never been broken. She had sat grim and fierce against even -bum-bailiffs in her time. Yes, her spirit rebelled, and the fact that -others had known about the Shawport land before she knew made her still -more mutinous against destiny. She looked round dazed at the situation. -What? The mild Edwin defying and crushing her? It was scarcely -conceivable. The tension of her nerves from this cause only was -extreme. Add to it the strain of the musical evening, intensified by -the calamity at the Orgreaves'! - -A bell rang in the kitchen, and all the ganglions of her spinal column -answered it. Had Edwin rung? No. It was the front-door. - -"Pardon me," said Tertius Ingpen, when she opened. "But all my friends -soon learn how difficult it is to get rid of me." - -"Come in," she said, liking his tone, which flattered her by assuming -her sense of humour. - -"As I'm sleeping at the office to-night, I thought I might as well take -one or two of my musical instruments after all. So I came back." - -"You've been round?" she asked, meaning round to the Orgreaves'. - -"Yes." - -"What is it, really?" - -"Well, it appears to be pericarditis supervening on renal disease. He -lost consciousness, you know." - -"Yes, I know. But what is pericarditis?" - -"Pericarditis is inflammation of the pericardium." - -"And what's the pericardium?" - -They both smiled faintly. - -"The pericardium is the membrane that encloses the heart. I don't mind -telling you that I've only just acquired this encyclopædic knowledge -from Stirling,--he was there." - -"And is it supposed to be very dangerous?" - -"I don't know. Doctors never want to tell you anything except what you -can find out for yourself." - -After a little hesitating pause they went into the drawing-room, where -the lights were still burning, and the full disorder of the musical -evening persisted, including the cigarette-ash on the carpet. Tertius -Ingpen picked up his clarinet case, took out the instrument, examined -the mouthpiece lovingly, and with tenderness laid it back. - -"Do sit down a moment," said Hilda, sitting limply down. "It's -stifling, isn't it?" - -"Let me open the window," he suggested politely. - -As he returned from the window, he said, pulling his short beard: - -"It was wonderful how those Orgreaves went through the musical evening, -wasn't it? Makes you proud of being English.... I suppose Janet's a -great friend of yours?" - -His enthusiasm touched her, and her pride in Janet quickened to it. She -gave a deliberate, satisfied nod in reply to his question. She was glad -to be alone with him in the silence of the house. - -"Ed gone to bed?" he questioned, after another little pause. - -Already he was calling her husband Ed, and with an affectionate -intonation! - -She nodded again. - -"He stuck it out jolly well," said Ingpen, still standing. - -"He brings these attacks on himself," said Hilda, with the calm -sententiousness of a good digestion discussing a bad one. She was -becoming pleased with herself--with her expensive dress, her position, -her philosophy, and her power to hold the full attention of this man. - -Ingpen replied, looking steadily at her: - -"We bring everything on ourselves." - -Then he smiled, as a comrade to another. - -She shifted her pose. A desire to discuss Edwin with this man grew in -her, for she needed sympathy intensely. - -"What do you think of this new scheme of his?" she demanded somewhat -self-consciously. - -"The new works? Seems all right. But I don't know much about it." - -"Well, I'm not so sure." And she exposed her theory of the entire -satisfactoriness of their present situation, of the needlessness of -fresh risks, and of Edwin's unsuitability for enterprise. "Of course -he's splendid," she said. "But he'll never push. I can look at him -quite impartially--I mean in all those things." - -Ingpen murmured as it were dreamily: - -"Have you had much experience of business yourself?" - -"It depends what you call business. I suppose you know I used to keep a -boarding-house." She was a little defiant. - -"No, I didn't know. I may have heard vaguely. Did you make it pay?" - -"It did pay in the end." - -"But not at first? ... Any disasters?" - -She could not decide whether she ought to rebuff the cross-examiner or -not. His manner was so objective, so disinterested, so innocent, so -disarming, that in the end she smiled uncertainly, raising her thick -eyebrows. - -"Oh yes," she said bravely. - -"And who came to the rescue?" Ingpen proceeded. - -"Edwin did." - -"I see," said Ingpen, still dreamily. - -"I believe you knew all about it," she remarked, having flushed. - -"Pardon me! Almost nothing." - -"Of course you take Edwin's side." - -"Are we talking man to man?" he asked suddenly, in a new tone. - -"Most decidedly!" She rose to the challenge. - -"Then I'll tell you my leading theory," he said in a soft, polite voice. -"The proper place for women is the harem." - -"Mr. Ingpen!" - -"No, no!" he soothed her, but firmly. "We're talking man to man. I can -whisper sweet nothings to you, if you prefer it, but I thought we were -trying to be honest. I hold a belief. I state it. I may be wrong, but -I hold that belief. You can persecute me for my belief if you like. -That's your affair. But surely you aren't afraid of an idea! If you -don't like the mere word, let's call it zenana. Call it the -drawing-room and kitchen." - -"So we're to be kept to our sphere!" - -"Now don't be resentful. Naturally you're to be kept to your own -sphere. If Edwin began dancing around in the kitchen, you'd soon begin -to talk about _his_ sphere. You can't have the advantages of married -life for nothing--neither you nor he. But some of you women nowadays -seem to expect them gratis. Let me tell you, everything has to be paid -for on this particular planet. I'm a bachelor. I've often thought -about marrying, of course. I might get married some day. You never -know your luck. If I do----" - -"You'll keep your wife in the harem, no doubt! And she'll have to -accept without daring to say a word all the risks you choose to take." - -"There you are again!" he said. "This notion that marriage ought to be -the end of risks for a woman is astonishingly rife, I find. Very -curious! Very curious!" He seemed to address the wall. "Why, it's the -beginning of them. Doesn't the husband take risks?" - -"He chooses his own. He doesn't have business risks thrust upon him by -his wife." - -"Doesn't he? What about the risk of finding himself tied for life to an -inefficient housekeeper? That's a bit of a business risk, isn't it? -I've known more than one man let in for it." - -"And you've felt so sorry for him!" - -"No, not specially. You must run risks. When you've finished running -risks you're dead and you ought to be buried. If I was a wife I should -enjoy running a risk with my husband. I swear I shouldn't want to shut -myself up in a glass case with him out of all the draughts! Why, what -are we all alive for?" - -The idea of the fineness of running risks struck her as original. It -challenged her courage, and she began to meditate. - -"Yes," she murmured. "So you sleep at the office sometimes?" - -"A certain elasticity in one's domestic arrangements." He waved a hand, -seeming to pooh-pooh himself lightly. Then, quickly changing his mood, -he bent and said good-night, but not quite with the saccharine -artificiality of his first visit--rather with honest, friendly -sincerity, in which were mingled both thanks and appreciation. Hilda -jumped up responsively. And, the clarinet-case under his left arm, and -the fiddle-case in his left hand, leaving the right arm free, Ingpen -departed. - -She did not immediately go to bed. Now that Ingpen was gone she -perceived that though she had really said little in opposition to -Edwin's scheme, he had at once assumed that she was a strong opponent of -it. Hence she must have shown her feelings far too openly at the first -mention of the affair before anybody had left. This annoyed her. Also -the immense injustice of nearly all Ingpen's argument grew upon her -moment by moment. She was conscious of a grudge against him, even while -greatly liking him. But she swore that she would never show the grudge, -and that he should never suspect it. To the end she would play a man's -part in the man-to-man discussion. Moreover her anger against Edwin had -not decreased. Nevertheless, a sort of zest, perhaps an angry joy, -filled her with novel and intoxicating sensations. Let the scheme of -the new works go forward! Let it fail! Let it ruin them! She would -stand in the breach. She would show the whole world that no ordeal -could lower her head. She had had enough of being the odalisque and the -queen, reclining on the soft couch of security. Her nostrils scented -life on the wind.... Then she heard a door close upstairs, and began at -last rapidly, as it were cruelly, to put out the lights. - - - - IX - - -The incubus and humiliations of a first-class bilious attack are not -eternal. Edwin had not retired very long before the malignant phase of -the terrible malady passed inevitably, by phenomena according with all -clinical experience, into the next phase. And the patient, who from -being chiefly a stomach, had now become chiefly a throbbing head, lay on -his pillow exhausted but once more capable of objective thought. His -resentment against his wife on account of her gratuitous disbelief in -his business faculty, and on account of her interference in a matter -that did not concern her, flickered up into new flame. He was -absolutely innocent. She was absolutely guilty; no excuse existed or -could be invented for her rude and wounding attitude. He esteemed -Tertius Ingpen, bachelor, the most fortunate of men.... Women--unjust, -dishonourable, unintelligent, unscrupulous, giggling, pleasure-loving! -Their appetite for pleasure was infantile and tigerish. He had noticed -it growing in Hilda. Previous to marriage he had regarded Hilda as -combining the best feminine with the best masculine qualities. In many -ways she had exhibited the comforting straightforward characteristics of -the male. But since marriage her mental resemblance to a man had -diminished daily, and now she was the most feminine woman he had ever -met, in the unsatisfactory sense of the word. Women ... Still, the -behaviour of Janet and Hilda during the musical evening had been rather -heroic. Impossible to dismiss them as being exclusively of the giggling -race! They had decided to play a part, and they had played it with -impressive fortitude.... And the house of the Orgreaves--was it about -to fall? He divined that it was about to fall. No death had so far -occurred in the family, which had seemed to be immune through decades -and forever. He wondered what would have happened to the house of -Orgreave in six months' time.... Then he went back into the dark -origins of his bilious attack.... And then he was at inexcusable Hilda -again. - -At length he heard her on the landing. - -She entered the bedroom, and quickly he shut his eyes. He felt -unpleasantly through his eyelids that she had turned up the gas. Then -she was close to him, sat down on the edge of the bed. She asked him a -question, calmly, as to occurrences since his retirement. He nodded an -affirmative. - -"Your forehead's all broken out," she said, moving away. - -In a few moments he was aware of the delicious, soothing, heavenly -application to his forehead of a handkerchief drenched in eau de cologne -and water. The compress descended upon his forehead with the infinite -gentleness of an endearment and the sudden solace of a reprieve. He -made faint, inarticulate noises. - -The light was extinguished for his ease. - -He murmured weakly: - -"Are you undressed already?" - -"No," she said quietly. "I can undress all right in the dark." - -He opened his eyes, and could dimly see her moving darkly about, -brushing her hair, casting garments. Then she came towards him, a vague -whiteness against the gloom, and, bending, felt for his face, and kissed -him. She kissed him with superb and passionate violence; she drew his -life out of him, and poured in her own. The tremendous kiss seemed to -prove that there is no difference between love and hate. It contained -everything--surrender, defiance, anger and tenderness. - -Neither of them spoke. The kiss dominated and assuaged him. Its -illogicalness overthrew him. He could never have kissed like that under -such circumstances. It was a high and bold gesture. It expressed and -transmitted confidence. She had explained nothing, justified nothing, -made no charge, asked no forgiveness. She had just confronted him with -one unarguable fact. And it was the only fact that mattered. His -pessimism about marriage lifted. If his spirit was splendidly romantic -enough to match hers, marriage remained a feasible state. And he threw -away logic and the past, and in a magic vision saw that success in -marriage was an affair of goodwill and the right tone. With the whole -force of his heart he determined to succeed in marriage. And in the -mighty resolve marriage presented itself to him as really rather easy -after all. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE ORGREAVE CALAMITY - - - I - - -On the following Saturday afternoon--that is, six days later--Edwin had -unusually been down to the shop after dinner, and he returned home about -four o'clock. Ada, hearing his entrance, came into the hall and said: - -"Please, sir, missis is over at Miss Orgreave's and will ye please go -over?" - -"Where's Master George?" - -"In missis's own room, sir." - -"All right." - -The "mistress's own room" was the new nomenclature adopted by the -kitchen, doubtless under suggestion, for the breakfast-room or boudoir. -Edwin opened the door and glanced in. George, apparently sketching, sat -at his mother's desk, with the light falling over his right shoulder. - -He looked up quickly in self-excuse: - -"Mother said I could! Mother said I could!" - -For the theory of the special sanctity of the boudoir had mysteriously -established itself in the house during the previous eight or ten days. -George was well aware that even Edwin was not entitled to go in and out -as he chose. - -"Keep calm, sonny," said Edwin, teasing him. - -With permissible and discreet curiosity he glanced from afar at the -desk, its upper drawers and its pigeon-holes. Obviously it was very -untidy. Its untidiness gave him sardonic pleasure, because Hilda was -ever implying, or even stating, that she was a very tidy woman. He -remembered that many years ago Janet had mentioned orderliness as a -trait of the wonderful girl, Hilda Lessways. But he did not personally -consider that she was tidy; assuredly she by no means reached his -standard of tidiness, which standard indeed she now and then dismissed -as old-maidish. Also, he was sardonically amused by the air of -importance and busyness which she put on when using the desk and the -room; her household accounts, beheld at a distance, were his wicked joy. -He saw a bluish envelope lying untidily on the floor between the desk -and the fireplace, and he picked it up. It had been addressed to "Mrs. -George Cannon, 59 Preston Street, Brighton," and readdressed in a -woman's hand to "Mrs. Clayhanger, Trafalgar Road, Bursley." Whether the -handwriting of the original address was masculine or feminine he could -not decide. The envelope had probably contained only a bill or a -circular. Nevertheless he felt at once inimically inquisitive towards -the envelope. Without quite knowing it he was jealous of all Hilda's -past life up to her marriage with him. After a moment, reflecting that -she had made no mention of a letter, he dropped the envelope -superciliously, and it floated to the ground. - -"I'm going to Lane End House," he said. - -"Can I come?" - -"No." - - - - II - - -The same overhanging spirit of a great event which had somehow justified -him in being curt to the boy, rendered him self-conscious and furtive as -he stood in the porch of the Orgreaves, waiting for the door to open. -Along the drive that curved round the oval lawn under the high trees -were wheel-marks still surviving from the previous day. The house also -survived; the curtains in all the windows, and the plants or the pieces -of furniture between the curtains, were exactly as usual. Yet the solid -building and its contents had the air of an illusion. - -A servant appeared. - -"Good afternoon, Selina." - -He had probably never before called her by name, but to-day his -self-consciousness impelled him to do uncustomary things. - -"Good afternoon, sir," said Selina, whose changeless attire ignored even -the greatest events. And it was as if she had said: - -"Ah, sir! To what have we come!" - -She too was self-conscious and furtive. - -Aloud she said: - -"Miss Orgreave and Mrs. Clayhanger are upstairs, sir. I'll tell Miss -Orgreave." - -Coughing nervously, he went into the drawing-room, the large obscure -room, crowded with old furniture and expensive new furniture, with -books, knickknacks, embroidery, and human history, in which he had first -set eyes on Hilda. It was precisely the same as it had been a few days -earlier; absolutely nothing had been changed, and yet now it had the -archæological and forlorn aspect of a museum. - -He dreaded the appearance of Janet and Hilda. What could he say to -Janet, or she to him? But he was a little comforted by the fact that -Hilda had left a message for him to join them. - -On the previous Tuesday Osmond Orgreave had died, and within twenty-four -hours Mrs. Orgreave was dead also. On the Friday they were buried -together. To-day the blinds were up again; the funereal horses with -their artificially curved necks had already dragged other corpses to the -cemetery; the town existed as usual; and the family of Orgreave was -scattered once more. Marian, the eldest daughter, had not been able to -come at all, because her husband was seriously ill. Alicia Hesketh, the -youngest daughter, far away in her large house in Devonshire, had not -been able to come at all, because she was hourly expecting her third -child; nor would Harry, her husband, leave her. Charlie, the doctor at -Ealing, had only been able to run down for the funeral, because, his -partner having broken his leg, the whole work of the practice was on his -shoulders. And to-day Tom, the solicitor, was in his office exploring -the financial side of his father's affairs; Johnnie was in the office of -Orgreave and Sons, busy with the professional side of his father's -affairs; Jimmie, who had made a sinister marriage, was nobody knew -precisely where; Tom's wife had done what she could and gone home; -Jimmie's wife had never appeared; Elaine, Marian's child, was shopping -at Hanbridge for Janet; and Janet remained among her souvenirs. An -epoch was finished, and the episode that concluded it, in its strange -features and its swiftness, resembled a vast hallucination. - -Certain funerals will obsess a whole town. And the funeral of Mr. and -Mrs. Osmond Orgreave might have been expected to do so. Not only had -their deaths been almost simultaneous, but they had been preceded by -superficially similar symptoms, though the husband had died of -pericarditis following renal disease, and the wife of hyperæmia of the -lungs following increasingly frequent attacks of bronchial catarrh. The -phenomena had been impressive, and rumour had heightened them. Also -Osmond Orgreave for half a century had been an important and celebrated -figure in the town; architecturally a large portion of the new parts of -it were his creation. Yet the funeral had not been one of the town's -great feverish funerals. True, the children would have opposed anything -spectacular; but had municipal opinion decided against the children, -they would have been compelled to yield. Again and again prominent men -in the town had as it were bought their funeral processions in advance -by the yard--processions in which their families, willing or not, were -reduced to the rôle of stewards. - -Tom and Janet, however, had ordained that nobody whatever beyond the -family should be invited to the funeral, and there had been no sincere -protest from outside. - -The fact was that Osmond Orgreave had never related himself to the -crowd. He was not a Freemason; he had never been President of the -Society for the Prosecution of Felons; he had never held municipal -office; he had never pursued any object but the good of his family. He -was a particularist. His charm was kept chiefly for his own home. And -beneath the cordiality of his more general connections, there had always -been a subtle reservation--on both sides. He was admired for his -cleverness and his distinction, liked where he chose to be liked, but -never loved save by his own kin. Further, he had a name for being -"pretty sharp" in business. Clients had had prolonged difficulties with -him--Edwin himself among them. The town had made up its mind about -Osmond Orgreave, and the verdict, as with most popular verdicts, was -roughly just so far as it went, but unjust in its narrowness. The -laudatory three-quarters of a column in the _Signal_ and the briefer -effusive notice in the new half-penny morning paper, both reflected, for -those with perceptions delicate enough to understand, the popular -verdict. And though Edwin hated long funerals and the hysteria of a -public woe, he had nevertheless a sense of disappointment in the -circumstances of the final disappearance of Osmond Orgreave. - -The two women entered the room, silently. Hilda looked fierce and -protective. Janet Orgreave, pale and in black, seemed very thin. She -did not speak. She gave a little nod of greeting. - -Edwin, scarcely controlling his voice and his eyes, murmured: - -"Good afternoon." - -They would not shake hands; the effort would have broken them. All -remained standing, uncertainly. Edwin saw before him two girls aged by -the accumulation of experience. Janet, though apparently healthy, with -her smooth fair skin, was like an old woman in the shell of a young one. -Her eyes were dulled, her glance plaintive, her carriage slack. The -conscious wish to please had left her, together with her main excuse for -being alive. She was over thirty-seven, and more and more during the -last ten years she had lived for her parents. She alone among all the -children had remained absolutely faithful to them. To them, and to -nobody else, she had been essential--a fountain of vigour and brightness -and kindliness from which they drew. To see her in the familiar and -historic room which she had humanised and illuminated with her very -spirit, was heartrending. In a day she had become unnecessary, and -shrunk to the unneeded, undesired virgin which in truth she was. She -knew it. Everybody knew it. All the waves of passionate sympathy which -Hilda and Edwin in their different ways ardently directed towards her -broke in vain upon that fact. - -Edwin thought: - -"And only the other day she was keen on tennis!" - -"Edwin," said Hilda. "Don't you think she ought to come across to our -place for a bit? I'm sure it would be better for her not to sleep -here." - -"Most decidedly," Edwin answered, only too glad to agree heartily with -his wife. - -"But Johnnie?" Janet objected. - -"Pooh! Surely he can stay at Tom's." - -"And Elaine?" - -"She can come with you. Heaps of room for two." - -"I couldn't leave the servants all alone. I really couldn't. They -wouldn't like it," Janet persisted. "Moreover, I've got to give them -notice." - -Edwin had to make the motion of swallowing. - -"Well," said Hilda obstinately. "Come along now--for the evening, -anyhow. We shall be by ourselves." - -"Yes, you must," said Edwin, curtly. - -"I--I don't like walking down the street," Janet faltered, blushing. - -"You needn't. You can get over the wall," said Edwin. - -"Of course you can," Hilda concurred. "Just as you are now. I'll tell -Selina." - -She left the room with decision, and the next instant returned with a -telegram in her hand. - -"Open it, please. I can't," said Janet. - -Hilda read: - -"Mother and boy both doing splendidly. Harry." - -Janet dropped onto a chair and burst into tears. - -"I'm so glad. I'm so glad," she spluttered. "I can't help it." - -Then she jumped up, wiped her eyes, and smiled. - -For a few yards the Clayhanger and the Orgreave properties were -contiguous, and separated by a fairly new wall, which, after much -procrastination on the part of owners, had at last replaced an -unsatisfactory thorn-hedge. While Selina put a chair in position for -the ladies to stand on as a preliminary to climbing the wall, Edwin -suddenly remembered that in the days of the untidy thorn-hedge Janet had -climbed a pair of steps in order to surmount the hedge and visit his -garden. He saw her balanced on the steps, and smiling and then jumping, -like a child. Now, he preceded her and Hilda on to the wall, and they -climbed carefully, and when they were all up Selina handed him the chair -and he dropped it on his own side of the wall so that they might descend -more easily. - -"Be careful, Edwin. Be careful," cried Hilda, neither pleasantly nor -unpleasantly. - -And as he tried to read her mood in her voice, the mysterious and -changeful ever-flowing undercurrent of their joint life bore rushingly -away his sense of Janet's tragedy; and he knew that no events exterior -to his marriage could ever overcome for long that constant secret -preoccupation of his concerning Hilda's mood. - - - - III - - -When they came into the house, Ada met them with zest and calamity in -her whispering voice: - -"Please 'm, Mr. and Mrs. Benbow are here. They're in the drawing-room. -They said they'd wait a bit to see if you came back." - -Ada had foreseen that, whatever their superficially indifferent -demeanour as members of the powerful ruling caste, her master and -mistress would be struck all of a heap by this piece of news. And they -were. For the Benbows did not pay chance calls; in the arrangement of -their lives every act was neatly planned and foreordained. Therefore -this call was formal, and behind it was an intention. - -"_I_ can't see them. I can't possibly, dear," Janet murmured, as it -were intimidated. "I'll run back home." - -Hilda replied with benevolent firmness: - -"No you won't. Come upstairs with me till they're gone. Edwin, you go -and see what they're after." - -Janet faltered and obeyed, and the two women crept swiftly upstairs. -They might have been executing a strategic retirement from a bad smell. -The instinctive movement, and the manner, were a judgment on the ideals -of the Benbows so terrible and final that even the Benbows, could they -have seen it, must have winced and doubted for a moment their own moral -perfection. It came to this, that the stricken fled from their -presence. - -"'What they're after'!" Edwin muttered to himself, half resenting the -phrase; because Clara was his sister; and though she bored and -exasperated him, he could not class her with exactly similar boring and -exasperating women. - -And, throwing down his cap, he went with false casual welcoming into the -drawing-room. - -Young Bert Benbow, prodigiously solemn and uncomfortable in his birthday -spectacles, was with his father and mother. Immense satisfaction, -tempered by a slight nervousness, gleamed in the eyes of the parents. -And the demeanour of all three showed instantly that the occasion was -ceremonious. Albert and Clara could not have been more pleased and -uplifted had the occasion been a mourning visit of commiseration or even -a funeral. - -The washed and brushed schoolboy, preoccupied, did not take his share in -the greetings with sufficient spontaneity and promptitude. - -Clara said, gently shocked: - -"Bert, what do you say to your uncle?" - -"Good afternoon, uncle." - -"I should think so indeed!" - -Clara of course sprang at once to the luscious first topic, as to a -fruit: - -"How is poor Janet bearing up?" - -Edwin was very characteristically of the Five Towns in this,--he hated -to admit, in the crisis itself, that anything unusual was happening or -had just happened. Thus he replied negligently: - -"Oh! All right!" - -As though his opinion was that Janet had nothing to bear up against. - -"I hear it was a _very_ quiet funeral," said Clara, suggesting somehow -that there must be something sinister behind the quietness of the -funeral. - -"Yes," said Edwin. - -"Didn't they ask _you_?" - -"No." - -"Well--my word!" - -There was a silence, save for faint humming from Albert. And then, just -as Clara was mentioning her name, in rushed Hilda. - -"What's the matter?" the impulsive Hilda demanded bluntly. - -This gambit did not please Edwin, whose instinct was always to pretend -that nothing was the matter. He would have maintained as long as anybody -that the call was a chance call. - -After a few vague exchanges, Clara coughed and said: - -"It's really about your George and our Bert.... Haven't you heard? ... -Hasn't George said anything?" - -"No.... What?" - -Clara looked at her husband expectantly, and Albert took the grand male -rôle. - -"I gather they had a fight yesterday at school," said he. - -The two boys went to the same school, the new-fangled Higher Grade -School at Hanbridge, which had dealt such a blow at the ancient -educational foundations at Oldcastle. That their Bert should attend the -same school as George was secretly a matter of pride to the Benbows. - -"Oh," said Edwin. "We've seen no gaping wounds, have we, Hilda?" - -Albert's face did not relax. - -"You've only got to look at Bert's chin," said Clara. - -Bert shuffled under the world's sudden gaze. Undeniably there was a -small discoloured lump on his chin. - -"I've had it out with Bert," Albert continued severely. "I don't know -who was in the wrong--it was about that penknife business, you know--but -I'm quite sure that Bert was not in the right. And as he's the older -we've decided that he must ask George's forgiveness." - -"Yes," eagerly added Clara, tired of listening. "Albert says we can't -have quarrels going on like this in the family--they haven't spoken -friendly to each other since that night we were here--and it's the manly -thing for Bert to ask George's forgiveness, and then they can shake -hands." - -"That's what I say." Albert massively corroborated her. - -Edwin thought: - -"I suppose these people imagine they're doing something rather fine." - -Whatever they imagined they were doing, they had made both Edwin and -Hilda sheepish. Either of them would have sacrificed a vast fortune and -the lives of thousands of Sunday school officers in order to find a -dignified way of ridiculing and crushing the expedition of Albert and -Clara; but they could think of naught that was effective. - -Hilda asked, somewhat curtly, but lamely: - -"Where is George?" - -"He was in your boudoir a two-three minutes ago, drawing," said Edwin. - -Clara's neck was elongated at the sound of the word "boudoir." - -"Boudoir?" said she. And Edwin could in fancy hear her going down -Trafalgar Road and giggling at every house-door: "Did ye know Mrs. -Clayhanger has a boudoir? That's the latest." Still he had employed -the word with intention, out of deliberate bravado. - -"Breakfast-room," he added, explanatory. - -"I should suggest," said Albert, "that Bert goes to him in the -breakfast-room. They'll settle it much better by themselves." He was -very pleased by this last phrase, which proved him a man of the world -after all. - -"So long as they don't smash too much furniture while they're about it," -murmured Edwin. - -"Now, Bert, my boy," said Albert, in the tone of a father who is also a -brother. - -And, as Hilda was inactive, Bert stalked forth upon his mission of -manliness, smiling awkwardly and blushing. He closed the door after him, -and not one of the adults dared to rise and open it. - -"Had any luck with missing words lately?" Albert asked, in a detached -airy manner, showing that the Bert-George affair was a trifle to him, to -be dismissed from the mind at will. - -"No," said Edwin. "I've been off missing words lately." - -"Of course you have," Clara agreed with gravity. "All this must have -been very trying to you all.... Albert's done very well of course." - -"I was on 'politeness,' my boy," said Albert. - -"Didn't you know?" Clara expressed surprise. - -"'Politeness'?" - -"Sixty-four pounds nineteen shillings per share," said Albert -tremendously. - -Edwin appreciatively whistled. - -"Had the money?" - -"No. Cheques go out on Monday, I believe. Of course," he added, "I go -in for it scientifically. I leave no chances, I don't. I'm making a -capital outlay of over five pounds ten on next week's competition, and I -may tell you I shall get it back again, _with_ interest." - -At the same moment, Bert re-entered the room. - -"He's not there," said Bert. "His drawing's there, but he isn't." - -This news was adverse to the cause of manly peace. - -"Are you sure?" asked Clara, implying that Bert might not have made a -thorough search for George in the boudoir. - -Hilda sat grim and silent. - -"He may be upstairs," said the weakly amiable Edwin. - -Hilda rang the bell with cold anger. - -"Is Master George in the house?" she harshly questioned Ada. - -"No'm. He went out a bit since." - -The fact was that George, on hearing from the faithful Ada of the -arrival of the Benbows, had retired through the kitchen and through the -back-door, into the mountainous country towards Bleakridge -railway-station, where kite-flying was practised on immense -cinder-heaps. - -"Ah! Well," said Albert, undefeated, to Edwin. "You might tell him -Bert's been up specially to apologise to him. Oh! And here's that -penknife!" He looked now at Hilda, and, producing Tertius Ingpen's -knife, he put it with a flourish on the mantelpiece. "I prefer it to be -on your mantelpiece than on ours," he added, smiling rather grandiosely. -His manner as a whole, though compound, indicated with some clearness -that while he adhered to his belief in the efficacy of prayer, he could -not allow his son to accept from George earthly penknives alleged to -have descended from heaven. It was a triumphant hour for Albert Benbow, -as he stood there dominating the drawing-room. He perceived that, in -addition to silencing and sneaping the elder and richer branch of the -family, he was cutting a majestic figure in the eyes of his own son. - -In an awful interval, Clara said with a sweet bright smile: - -"By the way, Albert, don't forget about what Maggie asked you to ask." - -"Oh, yes! By the way," said Albert, "Maggie wants to know how soon you -can complete the purchase of this house of yours." - -Edwin moved uneasily. - -"I don't know," he mumbled. - -"Can you stump up in a month? Say the end of October anyway, at -latest." Albert persisted, and grew caustic. "You've only got to sell -a few of your famous securities." - -"Certainly. Before the end of October," Hilda replied, with impulsive -and fierce assurance. - -Edwin was amazed by this interference on her part. Was she incapable of -learning from experience? Let him employ the right tone with absolutely -perfect skill, marriage would still be impossible if she meant to carry -on in this way! What did she know about the difficulties of completing -the purchase? What right had she to put in a word apparently so -decisive? Such behaviour was unheard of. She must be mad. Nevertheless -he did not yield to anger. He merely said feebly and querulously: - -"That's all very well! That's all very well! But I'm not quite so sure -as all that. Will she let some of it be on mortgage?" - -"No, she won't," said Albert. - -"Why not?" - -"Because I've got a new security for the whole amount myself." - -"Oh!" - -Edwin glanced at his wife and his resentful eyes said: "There you are! -All through your infernal hurry and cheek Maggie's going to lose -eighteen hundred pounds in a rotten investment. I told you Albert would -get hold of that money if he heard of it. And just look!" - -At this point Albert, who knew fairly well how to draw an advantage from -his brother-in-law's characteristic weaknesses, perceived suddenly the -value of an immediate departure. And amid loud enquiries of all sorts -from Clara, and magnificent generalities from Albert, and gloomy, stiff -salutations from uncomfortable Bert, the visit closed. - -But destiny lay in wait at the corner of the street for Albert Benbow's -pride. Precisely as the Benbows were issuing from the portico, the -front-door being already closed upon them, the second Swetnam son came -swinging down Trafalgar Road. He stopped, raising his hat. - -"Hallo, Mr. Benbow," he said. "You've heard the news, I suppose?" - -"What about?" - -"Missing word competitions." - -It is a fact that Albert paled. - -"What?" - -"Injunction in the High Court this morning. All the money's impounded, -pending a hearing as to whether the competitions are illegal or not. At -the very least half of it will go in costs. It's all over with missing -words." - -"Who told you?" - -"I've had a wire to stop me from sending in for next week's." - -Albert Benbow gave an oath. His wife ought surely to have been -horrorstruck by the word; but she did not blench. Flushing and scowling -she said: - -"What a shame! We've sent ours in." - -The faithful creature had for days past at odd moments been assisting -her husband in the dictionary and as a clerk.... And lo! at last, -confirmation of those absurd but persistent rumours to the effect that -certain busybodies meant if they could to stop missing word competitions -on the ground that they were simply a crude appeal to the famous -"gambling instincts" of mankind and especially of Englishmen! - -Albert had rebutted the charge with virtuous warmth, insisting on the -skill involved in word-choosing, and insisting also on the historical -freedom of the institutions of his country. He maintained that it was -inconceivable that any English court of justice should ever interfere -with a pastime so innocent and so tonic for the tired brain. And though -he had had secret fears, and had been disturbed and even hurt by the -comments of a religious paper to which he subscribed, he would not waver -from his courageous and sensible English attitude. Now the fearful blow -had fallen, and Albert knew in his heart that it was heaven's punishment -for him. He turned to shut the gate after him, and noticed Bert. It -appeared to him that in hearing the paternal oath, Bert had been guilty -of a crime, or at least an indiscretion, and he at once began to make -Bert suffer. - -Meanwhile Swetnam had gone on, to spread the tale which was to bring -indignation and affliction into tens of thousands of respectable homes. - - - - IV - - -Janet came softly and timidly into the drawing-room. - -"They are gone?" she questioned. "I thought I heard the front-door." - -"Yes, thank goodness!" Hilda exclaimed candidly, disdaining the -convention (which Edwin still had in respect) that a weakness in family -ties should never be referred to, beyond the confines of the family, -save in urbane terms of dignity and regret excusing so far as possible -the sinner. But in this instance the immense ineptitude of the Benbows -had so affected Edwin that, while objecting to his wife's outbreak, he -could not help giving a guffaw which supported it. And all the time he -kept thinking to himself: - -"Imagine that d----d pietistic rascal dragging the miserable shrimp up -here to apologise to George!" - -He was ashamed, not merely of his relatives, but somehow of all -humanity. He could scarcely look even a chair in the face. The Benbows -had left behind them desolation, and this desolation affected -everything, and could be tasted on the tongue. Janet of course -instantly noticed it, and felt that she ought not to witness the shaming -of her friends. Moreover, her existence now was chiefly an apology for -itself. - -She said: - -"I really think I ought to go back and see about a meal for Johnnie in -case he turns up." - -"Nonsense!" said Hilda, sharply. "With three servants in the house, I -suppose Johnnie won't starve! Now just sit down. Sit _down_!" Her tone -softened. "My dear, you're worse than a child.... Tell Edwin." She put -a cushion behind Janet in the easy chair. And the gesture made Janet's -eyes humid once more. - -Edwin had the exciting, disquieting, vitalising sensation of being shut -up in an atmosphere of women. Not two women, but two thousand, seemed to -hem him in with their incalculable impulses, standards, inspirations. - -"Janet wants to consult you," Hilda added; and even Hilda appeared to -regard him as a strong saviour. - -He thought: - -"After all, then, I'm not the born idiot she'd like to make out. Now -we're getting at her real opinion of me!" - -"It's only about father's estate," said Janet. - -"Why? Hasn't he made a will?" - -"Oh yes! He made a will over thirty years ago. He left everything to -mother and made her sole executor or whatever you call it. Just like -him, wasn't it? ... D'you know that he and mother never had a quarrel, -nor anything near a quarrel?" - -"Well," Edwin, nodding appreciatively, answered with an informed -masculine air. "The law provides for all that. Tom will know. Did -your mother make a will?" - -"No. Dear thing! She would never have dreamt of it." - -"Then letters of administration will have to be taken out," said Edwin. - -Janet began afresh: - -"Father was talking of making a new will two or three months ago. He -mentioned it to Tom. He said he should like you to be one of the -executors. He said he would sooner have you for an executor than -anybody." - -An intense satisfaction permeated Edwin, that he should have been -desired as an executor by such an important man as Osmond Orgreave. He -felt as though he were receiving compensation for uncounted detractions. - -"Really?" said he. "I expect Tom will take out letters of -administration, or Tom and Johnnie together; they'll make better -executors than I should." - -"It doesn't seem to make much difference who looks after it and who -doesn't," Hilda sharply interrupted. "When there's nothing to look -after." - -"Nothing to look after?" Edwin repeated. - -"Nothing to look after!" said Hilda in a firm and clear tone. -"According to what Janet says." - -"But surely there must be something!" - -Janet answered mildly: - -"I'm afraid there isn't much." - -It was Hilda who told the tale. The freehold of Lane End House belonged -to the estate, but there were first and second mortgages on it, and had -been for years. Debts had always beleaguered the Orgreave family. A -year ago money had apparently been fairly plentiful, but a great deal -had been spent on re-furnishing. Jimmie had had money, in connection -with his sinister marriage; Charlie had had money in connection with his -practice, and Tom had enticed Mr. Orgreave into the Palace Porcelain -Company. Mr. Orgreave had given a guarantee to the Bank for an -overdraft, in exchange for debentures and shares in that company. The -debentures were worthless, and therefore the shares also, and the bank -had already given notice under the guarantee. There was an insurance -policy--one poor little insurance policy for a thousand pounds--whose -capital well invested might produce an income of twelve or fifteen -shillings a week; but even that policy was lodged as security for an -overdraft on one of Osmond's several private banking accounts. There -were many debts, small to middling. The value of the Orgreave -architectural connection was excessively dubious--so much of it had -depended upon Osmond Orgreave himself. The estate might prove barely -solvent; on the other hand it might prove insolvent; so Johnnie, who had -had it from Tom, had told Janet that day, and Janet had told Hilda. - -"Your father was let in for the Palace Porcelain Company?" Edwin -breathed, with incredulous emphasis on the initial p's. "What on earth -was Tom thinking of?" - -"That's what Johnnie wants to know," said Janet. "Johnnie was very -angry. They've had some words about it." - -Except for the matter of the Palace Porcelain Company, Edwin was not -surprised at the revelations, though he tried to be. The more closely -he examined his attitude for years past to the Orgreave household -structure, the more clearly he had to admit that a suspicion of secret -financial rottenness had never long been absent from his mind--not even -at the period of renewed profuseness, a year or two ago, when -furniture-dealers, painters, and paperhangers had been enriched. His -resentment against the deceased charming Osmond and also against the -affectionate and blandly confident mother, was keen and cold. They had -existed, morally, on Janet for many years; monopolised her, absorbed -her, aged her, worn her out, done everything but finish her,--and they -had made no provision for her survival. In addition to being useless, -she was defenceless, helpless, penniless, and old; and she shivered now -that the warmth of her parents' affection was withdrawn by death. - -"You see," said Janet. "Father was so transparently honest and -generous." - -Edwin said nothing to this sincere outburst. - -"Have you got any money at all, Janet?" asked Hilda. - -"There's a little household money, and by a miracle I've never spent the -ten-pound note poor dad gave me on my last birthday." - -"Well," said Edwin, sardonically imaging that ten-pound note as a sole -defence for Janet against the world. "Of course Johnnie will have to -allow you something out of the business--for one thing." - -"I'm sure he will, if he can," Janet agreed. "But he says it's going to -be rather tight. He wants us to clear out of the house at once." - -"Take my advice and don't do it," said Edwin. "Until the house is let or -sold it may as well be occupied by you as stand empty--better in fact, -because you'll look after it." - -"_That's_ right enough, anyway," said Hilda, as if to imply that by a -marvellous exception a man had for once in a while said something -sensible. - -"You needn't use all the house," Edwin proceeded. "You won't want all -the servants." - -"I wish you'd say a word to Johnnie," breathed Janet. - -"I'll say a word to Johnnie, all right," Edwin answered loudly. "But it -seems to me it's Tom that wants talking to. I can't imagine what he was -doing to let your father in for that Palace Porcelain business. It -beats me." - -Janet quietly protested: - -"I feel sure he thought it was all right." - -"Oh, of course!" said Hilda, bitterly. "Of course! They always do think -it's all right. And here's my husband just going into one of those big -dangerous affairs, and _he_ thinks it's all right, and nothing I can say -will stop him from going into it. And he'll keep on thinking it's all -right until it's all wrong and we're ruined, and perhaps me left a widow -with George." Her lowered eyes blazed at the carpet. - -Janet, troubled, glanced from one to the other, and then, with all the -tremendous unconscious persuasive force of her victimhood and her -mourning, murmured gently to Edwin: - -"Oh! Don't run any risks! Don't run any risks!" - -Edwin was staggered by the swift turn of the conversation. Two thousand -women hemmed him in more closely than ever. He could do nothing against -them except exercise an obstinacy which might be esteemed as merely -brutal. They were not accessible to argument--Hilda especially. -Argument would be received as an outrage. It would be impossible to -convince Hilda that she had taken a mean and disgraceful advantage of -him, and that he had every right to resent her behaviour. She was -righteousness and injuredness personified. She partook, in that moment, -of the victimhood of Janet. And she baffled him. - -He bit his lower lip. - -"All that's not the business before the meeting," he said as lightly as -he could. "D'you think if I stepped down now I should catch Johnnie at -the office?" - -And all the time, while his heart hardened against Hilda, he kept -thinking: - -"Suppose I _did_ come to smash!" - -Janet had put a fear in his mind, Janet who in her wistfulness and her -desolating ruin seemed to be like only a little pile of dust--all that -remained of the magnificent social structure of a united and numerous -Orgreave family. - - - - V - - -Edwin met Tertius Ingpen in the centre of the town outside the offices -of Orgreave and Sons, amid the commotion caused by the return of -uplifted spectators from a football match in which the team curiously -known to the sporting world as "Bursley Moorthorne" had scored a broken -leg and two goals to nil. - -"Hello!" Ingpen greeted him. "I was thinking of looking in at your -place to-night." - -"Do!" said Edwin. "Come up with me now." - -"Can't! ... Why do these ghastly louts try to walk over you as if they -didn't see you?" Then in another tone, very quietly, and nodding in the -direction of the Orgreave offices: "Been in there? ... What a week, eh! -... How are things?" - -"Bad," Edwin answered. "In a word, bad!" - -Ingpen lifted his eyebrows. - -They turned away out of the crowd, up towards the tranquillity of the -Turnhill Road. They were manifestly glad to see each other. Edwin had -had a satisfactory interview with Johnnie Orgreave,--satisfactory in the -sense that Johnnie had admitted the wisdom of all that Edwin said and -promised to act on it. - -"I've just been talking to young Johnnie for his own good," said Edwin. - -And in a moment, with eagerness, with that strange deep satisfaction -felt by the carrier of disastrous tidings, he told Ingpen all that he -knew of the plight of Janet Orgreave. - -"If you ask me," said he, "I think it's infamous." - -"Infamous," Ingpen repeated the word savagely. "There's no word for it. -What'll she do?" - -"Well, I suppose she'll have to live with Johnnie." - -"And where will Mrs. Chris come in, then?" Ingpen asked in a murmur. - -"Mrs. Chris Hamson?" exclaimed Edwin startled. "Oh! Is that affair -still on the carpet? ... Cheerful outlook!" - -Ingpen pulled his beard. - -"Anyhow," said he, "Johnnie's the most reliable of the crew. Charlie's -the most agreeable, but Johnnie's the most reliable. I wouldn't like to -count much on Tom, and as for Jimmie, well of course----!" - -"I always look on Johnnie as a kid. Can't help it." - -"There's no law against that, so long as you don't go and blub it out to -Mrs. Chris," Ingpen laughed. - -"I don't know her." - -"You ought to know her. She's an education, my boy." - -"I've been having a fair amount of education lately," said Edwin. "Only -this afternoon I was practically told that I ought to give up the idea -of my new works because it has risks and the Palace Porcelain Co. was -risky and Janet hasn't a cent. See the point?" - -He was obliged to talk about the affair, because it was heavily on his -mind. A week earlier he had persuaded himself that the success of a -marriage depended chiefly on the tone employed to each other by the -contracting parties. But in the disturbing scene of the afternoon, his -tone had come near perfection, and yet marriage presented itself as even -more stupendously difficult than ever. Ingpen's answering words salved -and strengthened him. The sensation of being comprehended was -delicious. Intimacy progressed. - -"I say," said Edwin, as they parted. "You'd better not know anything -about all this when you come to-night." - -"Right you are, my boy." - -Their friendship seemed once more to be suddenly and surprisingly -intensified. - -When Edwin returned, Janet had vanished again. Like an animal which -fears the hunt and whose shyness nothing can cure, she had fled to cover -at the first chance. According to Hilda she had run home because it had -occurred to her that she must go through her mother's wardrobe and chest -of drawers without a moment's delay. - -Edwin's account to his wife of the interview with Johnnie Orgreave was -given on a note justifiably triumphant. In brief he had "talked sense" -to Johnnie, and Johnnie had been convicted and convinced. Hilda -listened with respectful propriety. Edwin said nothing as to his -encounter with Tertius Ingpen, partly from prudence and partly from -timidity. When Ingpen arrived at the house, much earlier than he might -have been expected to arrive, Edwin was upstairs, and on descending he -found his wife and his friend chatting in low and intimate voices close -together in the drawing-room. The gas had been lighted. - -"Here's Mr. Ingpen," said Hilda, announcing a surprise. - -"How do, Ingpen?" - -"How do, Ed?" - -Ingpen did not rise. Nor did they shake hands, but in the Five Towns -friends who have reached a certain degree of intimacy proudly omit the -ceremony of handshaking when they meet. It was therefore impossible for -Hilda to divine that Edwin and Tertius had previously met that day, and -apparently Ingpen had not divulged the fact. Edwin felt like a plotter. - -The conversation of course never went far away from the subject of the -Orgreaves--and Janet in particular. Ingpen's indignation at the -negligence which had left Janet in the lurch was more than warm enough -to satisfy Hilda, whose grievance against the wicked carelessness of -heads of families in general seemed to be approaching expression again. -At length she said: - -"It's enough to make every woman think seriously of where she'd be--if -anything happened." - -Ingpen smiled teasingly. - -"Now you're getting personal." - -"And what if I am? With my headstrong husband going in for all sorts of -schemes!" Hilda's voice was extraordinarily clear and defiant. - -Edwin nervously rose. - -"I'll just get some cigarettes," he mumbled. - -Hilda and Ingpen scarcely gave him any attention. Already they were -exciting themselves. Although he knew that the supply of cigarettes was -in the dining-room, he toured half the house before going there; and -then lit the gas and with strange deliberation drew the blinds; next he -rang the bell for matches, and, having obtained them, lit a cigarette. - -When he re-entered the drawing-room, Ingpen was saying with terrific -conviction: - -"You're quite wrong, as I've told you before. It's your instinct that's -wrong, not your head. Women will do anything to satisfy their -instincts, simply anything. They'll ruin your life in order to satisfy -their instincts. Yes, even when they know jolly well their instincts -are wrong!" - -Edwin thought: - -"Well, if these two mean to have a row, it's no affair of mine." - -But Hilda, seemingly overfaced, used a very moderate tone to retort: - -"You're very outspoken." - -Tertius Ingpen answered firmly: - -"I'm only saying aloud what every man thinks.... Mind--every man." - -"And how comes it that _you_ know so much about women?" - -"I'll tell you sometime," said Ingpen, shortly, and then smiled again. - -Edwin, advancing, murmured: - -"Here. Have a cigarette." - -A few moments later Ingpen was sketching out a Beethoven symphony -unaided on the piano, and holding his head back to keep the -cigarette-smoke out of his eyes. - - - - VI - - -When the hour struck for which Hilda had promised a sandwich supper -Edwin and Tertius Ingpen were alone in the drawing-room, and Ingpen was -again at the piano, apparently absorbed in harmonic inventions of his -own. No further word had been said upon the subject of the discussion -between Ingpen and Hilda. On the whole, despite the reserve of Hilda's -demeanour, Edwin considered that marriage at the moment was fairly -successful, and the stream of existence running in his favour. At five -minutes after the hour, restless, he got up and said: - -"I'd better be seeing what's happened to that supper." - -Ingpen nodded, as in a dream. - -Edwin glanced into the dining-room, where the complete supper was -waiting in illuminated silence and solitude. Then he went to the -boudoir. There, the two candlesticks from the mantelpiece had been put -side by side on the desk, and the candles lit the figures of Hilda and -her son. Hilda, kneeling, held a stamped and addressed letter in her -hand, the boy was bent over the desk at his drawing, which his mother -regarded. Edwin in his heart affectionately derided them for employing -candles when the gas would have been so much more effective; he thought -that the use of candles was "just like" one of Hilda's unforeseeable -caprices. But in spite of his secret derision he was strangely affected -by the group as revealed by the wavering candle-flames in the general -darkness of the room. He seldom saw Hilda and George together; neither -of them was very expansive; and certainly he had never seen Hilda -kneeling by her son's side since a night at the Orgreaves' before her -marriage, when George lay in bed unconscious and his spirit hesitated -between earth and heaven. He knew that Hilda's love for George had in -it something of the savage, but, lacking demonstrations of it, he had -been apt to forget its importance in the phenomena of their united -existence. Kneeling by her son, Hilda had the look of a girl, and the -ingenuousness of her posture touched Edwin. The idea shot through his -brain like a star, that life was a marvellous thing. - -As the door had been ajar, they scarcely heard him come in. George -turned first. - -And then Ada was standing at the door. - -"Yes'm?" - -"Oh! Ada! Just run across with this letter to the pillar, will you?" - -"Yes'm." - -"You've missed the post, you know," said Edwin. - -Hilda got up slowly. - -"It doesn't matter. Only I want it to be in the post." - -As she gave the letter to Ada he speculated idly as to the address of -the letter, and why she wanted it to be in the post. Anyhow, it was -characteristic of her to want the thing to be in the post. She would -delay writing a letter for days, and then, having written it, be "on -pins" until it was safely taken out of the house; and even when the -messenger returned she would ask: "Did you put that letter in the post?" - -Ada had gone. - -"What's he drawing, this kid?" asked Edwin, genially. - -Nobody answered. Standing between his wife and the boy he looked at the -paper. The first thing he noticed was some lettering, achieved in an -imitation of architect's lettering: "_Plan for proposed new -printing-works to be erected by Edwin Clayhanger, Esq., upon land at -Shawport. George Edwin Clayhanger, architect._" And on other parts of -the paper, "Ground-floor plan" and "Elevation." The plan at a distance -resembled the work of a real architect. Only when closely examined did -it reveal itself as a piece of boyish mimicry. The elevation was not -finished.... It was upon this that, with intervals caused by the -necessity of escaping from bores, George had been labouring all day. -And here was exposed the secret and the result of his chumminess with -Johnnie Orgreave. Yet the boy had never said a word to Edwin in -explanation of that chumminess; nor had Johnnie himself. - -"He's been telling me he's going to be an architect," said Hilda. - -"Is this plan a copy of Johnnie's, or is it his own scheme?" asked -Edwin. - -"Oh, his own!" Hilda answered, with a rapidity and an earnestness which -disclosed all her concealed pride in the boy. - -Edwin was thrilled. He pored over the plan, making remarks and putting -queries, in a dull matter-of-fact tone; but he was so thrilled that he -scarcely knew what he was saying or understood the replies to his -questions. It seemed to him wondrous, miraculous, overwhelming, that -his own disappointed ambition to be an architect should have re-flowered -in his wife's child who was not his child. He was reconciled to being a -printer, and indeed rather liked being a printer, but now all his career -presented itself to him as a martyrisation. And he passionately swore -that such a martyrisation should not happen to George. George's ambition -should be nourished and forwarded as no boyish ambition had ever been -nourished and forwarded before. For a moment he had a genuine -conviction that George must be a genius. - -Hilda, behind the back of proud, silent George, pulled Edwin's face to -hers and kissed it. And as she kissed she gazed at Edwin and her eyes -seemed to be saying: "Have your works; I have yielded. Perhaps it is -George's plan that has made me yield, but anyhow I am strong enough to -yield. And my strength remains." - -And Edwin thought: "This woman is unique. What other woman could have -done that in just that way?" And in their embrace, intensifying and -complicating its significance, were mingled the sensations of their -passion, his triumph, her surrender, the mysterious boy's promise, and -their grief for Janet's tragedy. - -"Old Ingpen's waiting for his supper, you know," said Edwin tenderly. -"George, you must show that to Mr. Ingpen." - - - - - BOOK II - - THE PAST - - - - CHAPTER XI - - LITHOGRAPHY - - - I - - -Edwin, sitting behind a glazed door with the word "Private" elaborately -patterned on the glass, heard through the open window of his own office -the voices of the Benbow children and their mother in the street -outside. - -"Oh, Mother! What a big sign!" - -"Yes. Isn't Uncle Edwin a proud man to have such a big sign?" - -"Hsh!" - -"It wasn't up yesterday." - -"L, i, t, h, o,----" - -"My word, Rupy! You are getting on!" - -"They're such large letters, aren't they, mother? ... 'Lithographic' ... -'Lithographic printing. Edwin Clayhanger'." - -"Hsh! ... Bert, how often do you want me to tell you about your -shoe-lace?" - -"I wonder if George has come." - -"Mother, can't _I_ ring the bell?" - -All the children were there, with their screeching voices. Edwin -wondered that Rupert should have been brought. Where was the sense of -showing a three-year-old infant like Rupert over a printing-works? But -Clara was always like that. The difficulty of leaving little Rupert -alone at home did not present itself to the august uncle. - -Edwin rose, locked a safe that was let into the wall of the room, and -dropped the key into his pocket. The fact of the safe being let into -the wall gave him as much simple pleasure as any detail of the new -works; it was an idea of Johnnie Orgreave's. He put a grey hat -carelessly at the back of his head, and, hands in pockets, walked into -the next and larger room, which was the clerks' office. - -Both these rooms had walls distempered in a green tint, and were fitted -and desked in pitchpine. Their newness was stark, and yet in the -clerks' office the irrational habituating processes of time were already -at work. On the painted iron mantelpiece lay a dusty white tile, -brought as a sample long before the room was finished, and now without -the slightest excuse for survival. Nevertheless the perfunctory cleaner -lifted the tile on most mornings, dusted underneath it, and replaced it; -and Edwin and his staff saw it scores of times daily and never -challenged it, and gradually it was acquiring a prescriptive right to -exist just where it did. And the day was distant when some -inconvenient, reforming person would exclaim: - -"What's this old tile doing here?" - -What Edwin did notice was that the walls and desks showed marks and even -wounds; it seemed to him somehow wrong that the brand new could not -remain forever brand new. He thought he would give a mild reproof or -warning to the elder clerk, (once the shop-clerk in the ancient -establishment at the corner of Duck Bank and Wedgwood Street) and then -he thought: "What's the use?" and only murmured: - -"I'm not going off the works." - -And he passed out, with his still somewhat gawky gait, to the small -entrance-hall of the works. On the outer face of the door, which he -closed, was painted the word "Office." He had meant to have the words -"Counting-House" painted on that door, because they were romantic and -fine-sounding; but when the moment came to give the order he had quaked -before such romance; he was afraid as usual of being sentimental and of -"showing off," and with assumed satire had publicly said: "Some chaps -would stick 'Counting-house' as large as life all across the door." He -now regretted his poltroonery. And he regretted sundry other failures -in courage connected with the scheme of the works. The works existed, -but it looked rather like other new buildings, and not very much like -the edifice he had dreamed. It ought to have been grander, more -complete, more dashingly expensive, more of an exemplar to the slattern -district. He had been (he felt) unduly influenced by the local spirit -for half-measures. And his life seemed to be a life of half-measures, a -continual falling-short. Once he used to read studiously on Tuesday, -Thursday and Saturday evenings. He seldom read now, and never with -regularity. Scarcely a year ago he had formed a beautiful vague project -of being "musical." At Hilda's instigation he had bought a book of -musical criticism by Hubert Parry, and Hilda had swallowed it in three -days, but he had begun it and not finished it. And the musical -evenings, after feeble efforts to invigorate them, had fainted and then -died on the miserable excuse that circumstances were not entirely -favourable to them. And his marriage, so marvellous in its romance -during the first days...! - -Then either his commonsense or his self-respect curtly silenced these -weak depreciations. He had wanted the woman and he had won her,--he had -taken her. There she was, living in his house, bearing his name, -spending his money! The world could not get over that fact, and the -carper in Edwin's secret soul could not get over it either. He had said -that he would have a new works, and, with all its faults and little -cowardices, there the new works was! And moreover it had just been -assessed for municipal rates at a monstrous figure. He had bought his -house (and mortgaged it); he had been stoical to bad debts; he had sold -securities--at rather less than they cost him; he had braved his -redoubtable wife; and he had got his works! His will, and naught else, -was the magic wand that had conjured it into existence. - -The black and gold sign that surmounted its blue roofs could be seen -from the top of Acre Lane and half way along Shawport Lane, proclaiming -the progress of lithography and steam-printing, and the name of Edwin -Clayhanger. Let the borough put that in its pipe and smoke it! He was -well aware that the borough felt pride in his works. And he had orders -more than sufficient to keep the enterprise handsomely going. Even in -the Five Towns initiative seemed to receive its reward. - -Life might be as profoundly unsatisfactory as you pleased, but there was -zest in it. - -The bell had rung. He opened the main door, and there stood Clara and -her brood. And Edwin was the magnificent, wonderful uncle. The -children entered, with maternal precautions and recommendations. Every -child was clean and spruce: Bert clumsy, Clara minxlike, Amy heavy and -benignant, Lucy the pretty little thing, and Rupert simply -adorable--each representing a separate and considerable effort of -watchful care. The mother came last, worn, still pretty, with a slight -dragging movement of the limbs. In her glittering keen eyes were both -envy and naïve admiration of her brother. "What a life!" thought Edwin, -meaning what a narrow, stuffy, struggling, conventional, unlovely -existence was the Benbows'! He and they lived in different worlds of -intelligence. Nevertheless he savoured the surpassing charm of Rupert, -the goodness of Amy, the floral elegance of Lucy, and he could -appreciate the unending labours of that mother of theirs, malicious -though she was. He was bluff and jolly with all of them. The new works -being fairly close to the Benbow home, the family had often come _en -masse_ to witness its gradual mounting, regarding the excursions as a -sort of picnic. And now that the imposing place was inaugurated and the -signs up, Uncle Edwin had been asked to show them over it in a grand -formal visit, and he had amiably consented. - -"Has George come, Uncle Edwin?" asked Bert. - -George had not come. A reconciliation had occurred between the cousins -(though by no means at the time nor in the manner desired by Albert); -they were indeed understood by the Benbows to be on the most touching -terms of intimacy, which was very satisfactory to the righteousness of -Albert and Clara; and George was to have been of the afternoon party; -but he had not arrived. Edwin, knowing the unknowableness of George, -suspected trouble. - -"Machines! Machines!" piped tiny white-frocked Rupert, to whom wondrous -tales had been told. - -"You'll see machines all right," said Edwin promisingly. It was not his -intention to proceed straight to the machine-room. He would never have -admitted it, but his deliberate intention was to display the works -dramatically, with the machine-room as a culmination. The truth was, -the man was full of secret tricks, contradicting avuncular superior -indifference. He was a mere boy--he was almost a school-girl. - -He led them through a longish passage, and up steps and down -steps--steps which were not yet hollowed, but which would be -hollowed--into the stone-polishing shop, which was romantically obscure, -with a specially dark corner where a little contraption was revolving -all by itself in the process of smoothing a stone. Young Clara stared -at the two workmen, while the rest stared at the contraption, and Edwin, -feeling ridiculously like a lecturer, mumbled words of exposition. And -then next, after climbing some steps, they were in a lofty apartment -with a glass roof, sunshine-drenched and tropical. Here lived two more -men, including Karl the German, bent in perspiration over desks, and -laboriously drawing. Round about were coloured designs, and stones -covered with pencilling, and boards, and all sorts of sheets of paper -and cardboard. - -"Ooh!" murmured Bert, much impressed by the meticulous cross-hatching of -Karl's pencil on a stone. - -And Edwin said: - -"This is the drawing-office." - -"Oh yes!" murmured Clara vaguely. "It's very warm, isn't it?" - -None of them except Bert was interested. They gazed about dully, -uncomprehendingly, absolutely incurious. - -"Machines!" Rupert urged again. - -"Come on, then," said Edwin going out with assumed briskness and gaiety. - -At the door stood Tertius Ingpen, preoccupied and alert, with all the -mien of a factory inspector in full activity. - -"Don't mind me," said Ingpen, "I can look after myself. In fact I -prefer to." - -At the sight of an important stranger speaking familiarly to Uncle -Edwin, all the children save Rupert grew stiff, dismal and apprehensive, -and Clara looked about as though she had suddenly discovered very -interesting phenomena in the corners of the workshop. - -"My sister, Mrs. Benbow--Mr. Ingpen. Mr. Ingpen is Her Majesty's -Inspector of Factories, so we must mind what we're about," said Edwin. - -Clara gave a bright, quick smile as she limply shook hands. The -sinister enchantment which precedes social introduction was broken. And -Clara, overcome by the extraordinary chivalry and deference of Ingpen's -customary greeting to women, decided that he was a particularly polite -man; but she reserved her general judgment on him, having several times -heard Albert inveigh against the autocratic unreasonableness of this -very inspector, who, according to Albert, forgot that even an employer -had to live, and that that which handicapped the employer could not -possibly help the workman--"in the long run." - -"Machines!" Rupert insisted. - -They all laughed; the other children laughed suddenly and imitatively, -and an instant later than the elders; and Tertius Ingpen, as he grasped -the full purport of the remark, laughed more than anyone. He turned -sideways and bent slightly in order to give vent to his laughter, which, -at first noiseless and imprisoned, gradually grew loud in freedom. When -he had recovered, he said thoughtfully, stroking his soft beard: - -"Now it would be very interesting to know exactly what that child -understands by 'machines'--what his mental picture of them is. Very -interesting! Has he ever seen any?" - -"No," said Clara. - -"Ah! That makes it all the more interesting," Ingpen added roguishly: -"I suppose you think you do know, Mrs. Benbow?" - -Clara smiled the self-protective, non-committal smile of one who is not -certain of having seen the point. - -"It's very hot in here, Edwin," she said, glancing at the door. The -family filed out, shepherded by Edwin. - -"I'll be back in a sec," said he to Clara, on the stairs, and returned -to the drawing-office. - -Ingpen was in apparently close conversation with Karl. - -"Yes," murmured Ingpen, thoughtfully tapping his teeth. "The whole -process is practically a contest between grease and water on the stone." - -"Yes," said Karl gruffly, but with respect. - -And Edwin could almost see the tentacles of Ingpen's mind feeling and -tightening round a new subject of knowledge, and greedily possessing it. -What a contrast to the vacuous indifference of Clara, who was so -narrowed by specialisation that she could never apply her brain to -anything except the welfare and the aggrandizement of her family! He -dwelt sardonically upon the terrible results of family life on the -individual, and dreamed of splendid freedoms. - -"Mr. Clayhanger," said Ingpen, in his official manner, turning. - -The two withdrew to the door. Invisible, at the foot of the stairs, -could be heard the family, existing. - -"Haven't seen much of lithography, eh?" said Edwin, in a voice -discreetly restrained. - -Ingpen, ignoring the question, murmured: - -"I say, you know this place is much too hot." - -"Well," said Edwin. "What do you expect in August?" - -"But what's the object of all that glass roof?" - -"I wanted to give 'em plenty of light. At the old shop they hadn't -enough, and Karl, the Teuton there, was always grumbling." - -"Why didn't you have some ventilation in the roof?" - -"We did think of it. But Johnnie Orgreave said if we did we should -never be able to keep it watertight." - -"It certainly isn't right as it is," said Ingpen. "And our experience -is that these skylighted rooms that are too hot in summer are too cold -in winter. How should you like to have your private office in here?" - -"Oh!" protested Edwin. "It isn't so bad as all that." - -Ingpen said quietly: - -"I should suggest you think it over--I mean the ventilation." - -"But you don't mean to say that this shop here doesn't comply with your -confounded rules?" - -Ingpen answered: - -"That may or may not be. But we're entitled to make recommendations in -any case, and I should like you to think this over, if you don't mind. -I haven't any thermometer with me, but I lay it's ninety degrees here, -if not more." In Ingpen's urbane, reasonable tone there was just a hint -of the potential might of the whole organised kingdom. - -"All serene," said Edwin, rather ashamed of the temperature after all, -and loyally responsive to Ingpen's evident sense of duty, which somehow -surprised him; he had not chanced, before, to meet Ingpen at work; -earthenware manufactories were inspected once a quarter, but other -factories only once a year. The thought of the ameliorating influence -that Ingpen must obviously be exerting all day and every day somewhat -clashed with and overset his bitter scepticism concerning the real value -of departmental administrative government,--a scepticism based less upon -experience than upon the persuasive tirades of democratic apostles. - -They walked slowly towards the stairs, and Ingpen scribbled in a -notebook. - -"You seem to take your job seriously," said Edwin, teasing. - -"While I'm at it. Did you imagine that I'd dropped into a sinecure? -Considering that I have to keep an eye on three hundred and fifty -potbanks, over a thousand other factories, and over two thousand -workshops of sorts, my boy...! _And_ you should see some of 'em. _And_ -you should listen to the excuses." - -"No wonder," thought Edwin, "he hasn't told me what a fine and large -factory mine is! ... Still, he might have said something, all the same. -Perhaps he will." - -When, after visiting the composing-room, and glancing from afar at the -engine-house, the sight-seeing party reached the machine-room, Rupert -was so affected by the tremendous din and the confusing whir of huge -machinery in motion that he began to cry, and, seizing his mother's -hand, pressed himself hard against her skirt. The realisation of his -ambition had overwhelmed him. Amy protectingly took Lucy's hand. Bert -and Clara succeeded in being very casual. - -In the great lofty room there were five large or fairly large machines, -and a number of small ones. The latter had chiefly to do with envelope -and bill-head printing and with bookbinding, and only two of them were -in use. Of the large machines, three were functioning--the cylinder -printing-machine which had been the pride of Edwin's father, the -historic "old machine," also his father's, which had been so called ever -since Edwin could remember and which was ageless, and Edwin's latest and -most expensive purchase, the "Smithers" litho-printer. It was on the -guarded flank of the Smithers, close to the roller-racks, that Edwin -halted his convoy. The rest of the immense shop with its complex masses -of metal revolving, sliding, or paralysed, its shabby figures of men, -boys, and girls shifting mysteriously about, its smell of iron, grease, -and humanity, and its fearful racket, was a mere background for the -Smithers in its moving might. - -The Smithers rose high above the spectators, and at one end of it, -higher even than the top parts of the machine, was perched a dirty, -frowsy, pretty girl. With a sweeping gesture of her bare arms this girl -took a wide sheet of blank paper from a pile of sheets, and lodged it on -the receiving rack, whereupon it was whirled off, caught into the -clutches of the machine, turned, reversed, hidden away from sight among -revolving rollers red and black, and finally thrust out at the other end -of the machine, where it was picked up by a dirty, frowsy girl, not -pretty, smaller and younger than the high-perched creature, indeed -scarcely bigger than Amy. And now on the sheet was printed four times -in red the words "Knype Mineral Water Mnfg. Co. Best and cheapest. -Trademark." Clara screeched a question about the trademark, which was -so far invisible. Edwin made a sign to the lower dirty, frowsy girl, -who respectfully but with extreme rapidity handed him a sheet as it came -off the machine, and he shouted through the roar in explanation that the -trademark, a soda-water syphon in blue, would be printed on the same -sheet later from another stone, and the sheets cut into fours, each -quarter making a complete poster. "I thought it must be like that," -replied Clara superiorly. From childhood she had been well accustomed -to printing processes, and it was not her intention to be perplexed by -"this lithography." Edwin made a gesture to hand back the sheet to the -machine-girl, but the machine would not pause to allow her to take it. -She was the slave of the machine; so long as it functioned, every second -of her existence was monopolised, and no variation of conduct -permissible. The same law applied to the older girl up near the -ceiling. He put the sheet in its place himself, and noticed that to do -so required appreciable care and application of the manipulative -faculty. - -These girls, and the other girls at their greasy task in the great -shaking interior which he had created, vaguely worried him. Exactly -similar girls were employed in thousands on the pot-banks, and had once -been employed also at the pit-heads and even in the pits; but until -lately he had not employed girls, nor had his father ever employed -girls; and these girls so close to him, so dependent on him, so -submissive, so subjugated, so soiled, so vulgar, whose wages would -scarcely have kept his wife in boots and gloves, gave rise to strange -and disturbing sensations in his heart--not merely in regard to -themselves, but in regard to the whole of the workpeople. A question -obscure and lancinating struck upwards through his industrial triumph -and through his importance in the world, a question scarcely articulate, -but which seemed to form itself into the words: Is it right? - -"Is what right?" his father would have snapped at him. "Is what right?" -would have respectfully demanded Big James, who had now sidled -grandiosely to the Smithers, and was fussing among the rollers in the -rack. Neither of them would have been capable of comprehending his -trouble. To his father an employee was an employee, to be hired as -cheaply as possible, and to be exploited as completely as possible. And -the attitude of Big James towards the underlings was precisely that of -his deceased master. They would not be unduly harsh, they would often -be benevolent, but the existence of any problem, and especially any -fundamental problem, beyond the direct inter-relation of wages and work -could not conceivably have occurred to them. After about three quarters -of a century of taboo trade-unions had now for a dozen years ceased to -be regarded as associations of anarchistic criminals. Big James was -cautiously in favor of trade-unions, and old Darius Clayhanger in late -life had not been a quite uncompromising opponent of them. As for -Edwin, he had always in secret sympathised with them, and the -trade-unionists whom he employed had no grievance against him. Yet this -unanswerable, persistent question would pierce the complacency of -Edwin's prosperity. It seemed to operate in a sort of fourth dimension; -few even amongst trade-unionists themselves would have reacted to it. -But Edwin lived with it more and more. He was indeed getting used to -it. Though he could not answer it, he could parry it, thanks to -scientific ideas obtained from Darwin and Spencer, by the reflection -that both he and his serfs, whatever their sex, were the almost blind -agencies of a vast process of evolution. And this he did, exulting with -pride sometimes in the sheer adventure of the affair, and sharing his -thoughts with none.... Strange that once, and not so many years ago -either, he had been tempted to sell the business and live inert and -ignobly secure on the interest of invested moneys! But even to-day he -felt sudden fears of responsibility; they came and went. - -The visitors, having wandered to and fro, staring, trailed out of the -machine-room, led by Edwin. A wide door swung behind them, and they -were in the abrupt, startling peace of another corridor. Clara wiped -Rupert's eyes, and he smiled, like a blossom after a storm. The mother -and the uncle exchanged awkward glances. They had nothing whatever to -say to each other. Edwin could seldom think of anything that he really -wanted to say to Clara. The children were very hot and weary of -wonders. - -"Well," said Clara, "I suppose we'd better be moving on now." She had -somewhat the air of a draught-animal about to resume the immense labour -of dragging a train. "It's very queer about George. He was to have -come with us for tea." - -"Oh! Was he?" - -"Of course he was," Clara replied sharply. "It was most distinctly -arranged." - -At this moment Tertius Ingpen and Hilda appeared together at the other -end of the corridor. Hilda's unsmiling face seemed enigmatic. Ingpen -was talking with vivacity. - -Edwin thought apprehensively: - -"What's up now? What's she doing here, and not George?" - -And when the sisters-in-law, so strangely contrasting, shook hands, he -thought: - -"Is it possible that Albert looks on his wife as something -unpredictable? Do those two also have moods, and altercations and -antagonisms? Are they always preoccupied about what they are thinking -of each other? No! It's impossible. Their life must be simply -fiendishly monotonous." And Clara's inferiority before the erect, -flashing individuality of Hilda appeared to him despicable. Hilda bent -and kissed Rupert, Lucy, Amy and young Clara, as it were with passion. -She was marvellous as she bent over Rupert. She scarcely looked at -Edwin. Ingpen stood aside. - -"I'm very sorry," said Hilda perfunctorily. "I had to send George on an -errand to Hanbridge at the last moment." - -Nothing more! No genuine sign of regret! Edwin blamed her severely. -"Send George on an errand to Hanbridge!" That was Hilda all over! Why -the devil should she go out of her way to make unpleasantness with -Clara? She knew quite well what kind of a woman Clara was, and that the -whole of Clara's existence was made up of domestic trifles, each of -which was enormous for her. - -"Will he be down to tea?" asked Clara. - -"I doubt it." - -"Well ... another day, then." - -Clara, gathering her offspring, took leave at a door in the corridor -which gave on to the yard. Mindful to the last of Mr. Ingpen's presence -(which Hilda apparently now ignored), she smiled sweetly as she went. -But behind the smile, Edwin with regret, and Hilda with satisfaction, -could perceive her everlasting grudge against their superior splendour. -Even had they sunk to indigence Clara could never have forgiven Edwin -for having towards the end of their father's life prevented Albert from -wheedling a thousand pounds out of old Darius, nor Hilda for her -occasional pricking, unanswerable sarcasms.... Still, Rupert, -descending two titanic steps into the yard, clung to his mother as to an -angel. - -"And _what_ errand to Hanbridge?" Edwin asked himself mistrustfully. - - - - II - - -Scarcely a minute later, when Edwin, with Hilda and Ingpen, was back at -the door of the machine-room, the office boy could be seen voyaging -between roaring machines across the room towards his employer. The -office boy made a sign of appeal, and Edwin answered with a curt sign -that the office boy was to wait. - -"What's that ye say?" Edwin yelled in Ingpen's ear. - -Ingpen laughed, and made a trumpet with his hands: - -"I was only wondering what your weekly running expenses are." - -Even Ingpen was surprised and impressed by the scene, and Edwin was -pleased now, after the flatness of Clara's inspection, that he had -specially arranged for two of the machines to be running which strictly -need not have been running that afternoon. He had planned a spectacular -effect, and it had found a good public. - -"Ah!" He hesitated, in reply to Ingpen. Then he saw Hilda's face, and -his face showed confusion and he smiled awkwardly. - -Hilda had caught Ingpen's question. She said nothing. Her expressive, -sarcastic, unappeasable features seemed to say: "Running expenses! -Don't mention them. Can't you see they must be enormous? How can he -possibly make this place pay? It's a gigantic folly--and what will be -the end of it?" - -After all, her secret attitude towards the new enterprise was unchanged. -Arguments, facts, figures, persuasions, brutalities had been equally and -totally ineffective. And Edwin thought: - -"She is the bitterest enemy I have." - -Said Ingpen: - -"I like that girl up there on the top of that machine. And doesn't she -just know where she is! What a movement of the arms, eh?" - -Edwin nodded, appreciative, and then beckoned to the office boy. - -"What is it?" - -"Please, Sir, Mrs. 'Amps in the office to see you." - -"All right," he bawled, casually. But in reality he was taken aback. -"It's Auntie Hamps now!" he said to the other two. "We shall soon have -all Bursley here this afternoon." - -Hilda raised her eyebrows. - -"D'you know 'Auntie Hamps'?" she grimly asked Ingpen. Her voice, though -she scarcely raised it, was plainer than the men's when they shouted. -As Ingpen shook his head, she added: "You ought to." - -Edwin did not altogether care for this public ridicule of a member of -the family. Auntie Hamps, though possibly a monster, had her qualities. -Hilda, assuming the lead, beckoned with a lift of the head. And Edwin -did not care for that either, on his works. Ingpen followed Hilda as -though to a menagerie. - -Auntie Hamps, in her black attire, which by virtue of its changeless -style amounted to a historic uniform, was magnificent in the private -office. The three found her standing in wait, tingling with vitality -and importance and eagerness. She watched carefully that Edwin shut the -door, and kept her eye not only on the door but also on the open window. -She received the presentation of Mr. Tertius Ingpen with grandeur and -with high cordiality, and she could appreciate even better than Clara -the polished fealty of his greeting. - -"Sit down, Auntie." - -"No, I won't sit down. I thought Clara was here. I told her I might -come if I could spare a moment. I must say, Edwin"--she looked around -the small office, and seemed to be looking round the whole works in a -superb glance--"you make me proud of you. You make me proud to be your -Auntie." - -"Well," said Edwin, "you can be proud sitting down." - -She smiled. "No, I won't sit down. I only just popped in to catch -Clara. I was going to tea with her and the chicks." Then she lowered -her voice: "I suppose you've heard about Mr. John Orgreave?" Her tone -proved, however, that she supposed nothing of the kind. - -"No. What about Johnnie?" - -"He's run away with Mrs. Chris Hamson." - -Her triumph was complete. It was perhaps one of her last triumphs, but -it counted among the greatest of her career as a watchdog of society. - -The thing was a major event, and the report was convincing. Useless to -protest "Never!" "Surely not!" "It can't be true!" It carried truth -on its face. Useless to demand sternly: "Who told you?" The news had -reached Auntie Hamps through a curious channel--the stationmaster at -Latchett. Heaven alone could say how Auntie Hamps came to have -relations with the stationmaster at Latchett. But you might be sure -that, if an elopement was to take place from Latchett station, Auntie -Hamps would by an instinctive prescience have had relations with the -station-master for twenty years previously. Latchett was the next -station, without the least importance, to Shawport on the line to Crewe. -Johnnie Orgreave had got into the train at Shawport, and Mrs. Chris had -joined it at Latchett, her house being near by. Once on the vast -platforms of Crewe, the guilty couple would be safe from curiosity, lost -in England, like needles in a haystack. - -The Orgreave-Hamson flirtation had been afoot for over two years, but -had only been seriously talked about for less than a year. Mrs. Chris -did not "move" much in town circles. She was older than Johnnie, but -she was one of your blonde, slim, unfruitful women, who under the shade -of a suitable hat-brim are ageless. Mr. Chris was a heavy man, "glumpy" -as they say down there, a moneymaker in pots, and great on the colonial -markets. He made journeys to America and to Australia. His Australian -journey occupied usually about four months. He was now on his way back -from Sydney, and nearly home. Mrs. Chris had not long since inherited a -moderate fortune. It must have been the fortune, rendering them -independent, that had decided the tragic immoralists to abandon all for -love. The time of the abandonment was fixed for them by circumstance, -for it had to occur before the husband's return. - -Imagine the Orgreave business left in the hands of an incompetent -irresponsible like Jimmie Orgreave! And then, what of that martyr, -Janet? Janet and Johnnie had been keeping house together--a tiny house. -And Janet had had to "have an operation." Women, talking together, said -exactly what the operation was, but the knowledge was not common. The -phrase "have an operation" was enough in its dread. As a fact the -operation, for calculus, was not very serious; it had perfectly -succeeded, and Janet, whom Hilda had tenderly visited, was to emerge -from the nursing home at Knype Vale within three days. Could not -Johnnie and his Mrs. Chris have waited until she was re-established? No, -for the husband was unpreventibly approaching, and romantic love must -not be baulked. Nothing could or should withstand romantic love. Janet -had not even been duly warned; Hilda had seen her that very morning, and -assuredly she knew nothing then. Perhaps Johnnie would write to her -softly from some gay seaside resort where he and his leman were hiding -their strong passion. The episode was shocking; it was ruinous. The -pair could never return. Even Johnnie alone would never dare to return. - -"He was a friend of yours, was he not?" asked Auntie Hamps in bland -sorrow of Tertius Ingpen. - -He was a friend, and a close friend, of all three of them. And not only -had he outraged their feelings--he had shamed them, irretrievably -lowered their prestige. They could not look Auntie Hamps in the face. -But Auntie Hamps could look them in the face. And her glance, charged -with grief and with satisfaction, said: "How are the mighty fallen, with -their jaunty parade of irreligion, and their musical evenings on -Sundays, with the windows open while folks are coming home from chapel!" -And there could be no retort. - -"Another good man ruined by women!" observed Tertius Ingpen, with a -sigh, stroking his beard. - -Hilda sprang up; and all her passionate sympathy for Janet, and her -disappointment and disgust with Johnnie, the victim of desire, and her -dissatisfaction with her husband and her hatred of Auntie Hamps, blazed -forth and devastated the unwise Ingpen as she scathingly replied: - -"Mr. Ingpen, that is a caddish thing to say!" - -She despised convention; she was frankly and atrociously rude; and she -did not care. Edwin blushed. Tertius Ingpen blushed. - -"I'm sorry," said Ingpen, keeping his temper. "I think I ought to have -left a little earlier. Good-bye, Ed. Mrs. Hamps--" He bowed with -extreme urbanity to the ladies, and departed. - -Shortly afterwards Auntie Hamps also departed, saying that she must not -be late for tea at dear Clara's. She was secretly panting to disclose -the whole situation to dear Clara. What a scene had Clara missed by -leaving the works too soon! - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - DARTMOOR - - - I - - -"What was that telegram you had this afternoon, Hilda?" - -The question was on Edwin's tongue as he walked up Acre Lane from the -works by his wife's side. But it did not achieve utterance. A year had -passed since he last walked up Acre Lane with Hilda; and now of course -he recalled the anger of that previous promenade. In the interval he -had acquired to some extent the habit of containing his curiosity and -his criticism. In the interval he had triumphed, but Hilda also had -consolidated her position, so that despite the increase of his prestige -she was still his equal; she seemed to take strength from him in order -to maintain the struggle against him. - -During the final half-hour at the works the great, the enormous problem -in his mind had been--not whether such and such a plan of action for -Janet's welfare in a very grave crisis would be advisable, but whether -he should demand an explanation from Hilda of certain disquieting -phenomena in her boudoir. In the excitement of his indecision Janet's -tragic case scarcely affected his sensibility. For about twelve months -Hilda had, he knew, been intermittently carrying on a correspondence as -to which she had said no word to him; she did not precisely conceal it, -but she failed to display it. Lately, so far as his observation went, -it had ceased. And then to-day he had caught sight of an orange -telegraph-envelope in her wastepaper basket. Alone in the boudoir, and -glancing back cautiously and guiltily at the door, he had picked up the -little ball of paper and smoothed it out, and read the words: "Mrs. -Edwin Clayhanger." In those days the wives of even prominent business -men did not customarily receive such a rain of telegrams that the -delivery of a telegram would pass unmentioned and be forgotten. On the -contrary, the delivery of a telegram was an event in a woman's life. -The telegram which he had detected might have been innocently -negligible, in forty different ways. It might, for example, have been -from Janet, or about a rehearsal of the Choral Society, or from a -tradesman at Oldcastle, or about rooms at the seaside. But supposing -that it was not innocently negligible? Supposing that she was keeping a -secret? ... What secret? What conceivable secret? He could conceive no -secret. Yes, he could conceive a secret. He had conceived and did -conceive a secret, and his private thoughts elaborated it.... He had -said to himself at the works: "I may ask her as we go home. I shall -see." But, out in the street, with the disturbing sense of her -existence over his shoulder, he knew that he should not ask her. Partly -timidity and partly pride kept him from asking. He knew that, as a wise -husband, he ought to ask. He knew that commonsense was not her strongest -quality, and that by diffidence he might be inviting unguessed future -trouble; but he would not ask. In the great, passionate war of marriage -they would draw thus apart, defensive and watchful, rushing together at -intervals either to fight or to kiss. The heat of their kisses had not -cooled; but to him at any rate the kisses often seemed intensely -illogical; for, though he regarded himself as an improving expert in the -science of life, he had not yet begun to perceive that those kisses were -the only true logic of their joint career. - -He was conscious of grievances against her as they walked up Acre Lane, -but instead of being angrily resentful, he was content judicially to -register the grievances as further corroboration of his estimate of her -character. They were walking up Acre Lane solely because Hilda was -Hilda. A year ago they had walked up Acre Lane in order that Edwin -might call at the shop. But Acre Lane was by no means on the shortest -way from Shawport to Bleakridge. Hilda, however, on emerging from the -works, full of trouble concerning Janet, had suddenly had the beautiful -idea of buying some fish for tea. In earlier days he would have said: -"How accidental you are! What would have happened to our tea if you -hadn't been down here, or if you hadn't by chance thought of fish?" He -would have tried to show her that her activities were not based in the -principles of reason, and that even the composition of meals ought not -to depend upon the hazard of an impulse. Now, wiser, he said not a -word. He resigned himself in silence to an extra three-quarters of a -mile of walking. In such matters, where her deep instinctiveness came -into play, she had established over him a definite ascendancy. - -Then another grievance was that she had sent George to Hanbridge, -knowing that George, according to a solemn family engagement, ought to -have been at the works. She was conscienceless. A third grievance, -naturally, was her behaviour to Ingpen. And a fourth came back again to -George. Why had she sent George to Hanbridge at all? Was it not to -despatch a telegram which she was afraid to submit to the -inquisitiveness of the Post Office at Bursley? A daring supposition, -but plausible; and if correct, of what duplicity was she not guilty! -The mad, shameful episode of Johnnie Orgreave, the awful dilemma of -Janet--colossal affairs though they were--interested him less and less -as he grew more and more preoccupied with his relations to Hilda. And -he thought, not caring: - -"Something terrific will occur between us, one of these days." - -And then his bravado would turn to panic. - - - - II - - -They passed along Wedgwood Street, and Hilda preceded him into the chief -poulterer-and-fishmonger's. Here was another slight grievance of -Edwin's; for the chief poulterer-and-fishmonger's happened now to be the -Clayhanger shop at the corner of Wedgwood Street and Duck Bank. -Positively there had been competitors for the old location! Why should -Hilda go there and drag him there? Could she not comprehend that he had -a certain fine delicacy about entering? ... The place where the former -sign had been was plainly visible on the brickwork above the shop-front. -Rabbits, fowl, and a few brace of grouse hung in the right-hand window, -from which most of the glass had been removed; and in the left, upon -newly-embedded slabs of Sicilian marble, lay amid ice the curved forms -of many fish, and behind them was the fat white-sleeved figure of the -chief poulterer-and-fishmonger's wife with her great, wet hands. He was -sad. He seriously thought yet again: "Things are not what they were in -this town, somehow." For this place had once been a printer's; and he -had a conviction that printing was an aristocrat among trades. Indeed, -could printing and fishmongering be compared? - -The saleswoman greeted them with deference, calling Edwin "sir," and yet -with a certain complacent familiarity, as an occupant to ex-occupants. -Edwin casually gave the short shake of the head which in the district -may signify "Good-day," and turned, humming, to look at the hanging -game. It seemed to him that he could only keep his dignity as a man of -the world by looking at the grouse with a connoisseur's eye. Why didn't -Hilda buy grouse? The shop was a poor little interior. It smelt ill. -He wondered what the upper rooms were like, and what had happened to the -decrepit building at the end of the yard. The saleswoman slapped the -fish about on the marble, and running water could be heard. - -"Edwin," said Hilda, with enchanting sweetness and simplicity, "would -you like hake or turbot, dear?" - -Impossible to divine from her voice that the ruin of their two favourite -Orgreaves was complete, that she was conducting a secret correspondence, -and that she had knowingly and deliberately offended her husband! - -Both women waited, moveless, for the decision, as for an august decree. - -When the transaction was finished, the saleswoman handed over the parcel -into Hilda's gloved hands; it was a rough-and-ready parcel, not at all -like the neat stiff paper-bag of the modern age. - -"Very hot, isn't it, ma'am?" said the saleswoman. - -And Hilda, utterly distinguished in gesture and tone, replied with calm, -impartial urbanity: - -"Very. Good afternoon." - -"I'd better take that thing," said Edwin outside, in spite of himself. - -She gave up the parcel to him. - -"Tell cook to fry it," said Hilda. "She always fries better than she -boils." - -He repeated: - -"'Tell cook to fry it.' What's up now?" His tone challenged. - -"I must go over and see Janet at once. I shall take the next car." - -He lifted the end of his nose in disgust. There was no end to the -girl's caprices. - -"Why at once?" the superior male demanded. Disdain and resentment were -in his voice. Hundreds of times, when alone, he had decided that he -would never use that voice--first, because it was unworthy of a -philosopher, second, because it never achieved any good result, and -third, because it often did harm. Yet he would use it. The voice had -an existence and a volition of its own within his being; he marvelled -that the essential mechanism of life should be so clumsy and -inefficient. He heard the voice come out, and yet was not displeased, -was indeed rather pleasantly excited. A new grievance had been created -for him; he might have ignored it, just as he might ignore a solitary -cigarette lying in his cigarette case. Both cigarettes and grievances -were bad for him. But he could not ignore them. The last cigarette in -the case magnetised him. Useless to argue with himself that he had -already smoked more than enough,--the cigarette had to emerge from the -case and be burnt; and the grievance too was irresistible. In an -instant he had it between his teeth and was darkly enjoying it. Of -course Hilda's passionate pity for Janet was a fine thing. Granted! -But therein was no reason why she should let it run away with her. The -worst of these capricious, impulsive creatures was that they could never -do anything fine without an enormous fuss and upset. What possible -difference would it make whether Hilda went to break the news of -disaster to Janet at once or in an hour's time? The mere desire to -protect and assuage could not properly furnish an excuse for -unnecessarily dislocating a household and depriving oneself of food. On -the contrary, it was wiser and more truly kind to take one's meals -regularly in a crisis. But Hilda would never appreciate that profound -truth--never, never! - -Moreover, it was certain that Johnnie had written to Janet. - -"I feel I must go at once," said Hilda. - -He spoke with more marked scorn: - -"And what about your tea?" - -"Oh, it doesn't matter about my tea." - -"Of course it matters about your tea. If you have your tea quietly, -you'll find the end of the world won't have come, and you can go and see -Janet just the same, and the whole house won't have been turned upside -down." - -She put her lips together and smiled mysteriously, saying nothing. The -racket of the Hanbridge and Knype steam-car could be heard behind them. -She did not turn her head. The car overtook them, and then stopped a -few yards in front. But she did not hail the conductor. The car went -onwards. - -He had won. His argument had been so convincing that she could not help -being convinced. It was too powerful for even her obstinacy, which as a -rule successfully defied any argument whatever. - -Did he smile and forgive? Did he extend to her the blessing of his -benevolence? No. He could not have brought himself to such a point. -After all, she had done nothing to earn approval; she had simply -refrained from foolishness. She had had to be reminded of -considerations which ought ever to have been present in her brain. -Doubtless she thought that he was hard, that he was incapable of her -divine pity for Janet. But that was only because she could not imagine -a combination of emotional generosity and calm commonsense; and she -never would be able to imagine it. Hence she would always be unjust to -him. - -When they arrived home, she was still smiling mysteriously to herself. -She did not take her hat off--sign of disturbance! He moved with -careful tranquillity through the ritual that preceded tea. He could -feel her in the house, ordering it, softening it, civilising it. He -could smell the fish. He could detect the subservience of Ada to her -mistress's serious mood. He went into the dining-room. Ada followed him -with a tray of hot things. Hilda followed Ada. Then George entered, -cleaner than ordinary. Edwin savoured deeply the functioning of his -home. And his wife had yielded. Her instinct had compelled her not to -neglect him; his sagacity had mastered her. In her heart she must -admire his sagacity, whatever she said or looked, and her unreasoning -passion for him was still the paramount force in her vitality. - -"Now, are you two all right?" said Hilda, when she had poured out the -tea, and Edwin was carving the fish. - -Edwin glanced up. - -"I don't want any tea," she said. "I couldn't touch it." - -She bent and kissed George, took her gloves from the sideboard, and left -the house, the mysterious smile still on her face. - - - - III - - -Edwin controlled his vexation at this dramatic move. It was only slight, -and he had to play the serene omniscient to George. Further, the -attractive food helped to make him bland. - -"Didn't you know your mother had to go out?" said Edwin, with astounding -guile. - -"Yes, she told me upstairs," George murmured, "while she was washing me. -She said she had to go and see Auntie Janet again." - -The reply was a blow to Edwin. She had said nothing to him, but she had -told the boy. Still, his complacency was not overset. Boy and -stepfather began to talk, with the mingled freedom and constraint -practised by males accustomed to the presence of a woman, when the woman -is absent. Each was aware of the stress of a novel, mysterious, and -grave situation. Each also thought of the woman, and each knew that the -other was thinking of the woman. Each, over a serious apprehension, -seemed to be lightly saying: "It's rather fun to be without her for a -bit. But we must be able to rely on her return." Nothing stood between -them and domestic discomfort. Possible stupidity in the kitchen had no -check. As regards the mere household machine, they had a ridiculous and -amusing sense of distant danger. - -Edwin had to get up in order to pour out more tea. He reckoned that he -could both make tea and pour it out with more exactitude than his wife, -who often forgot to put the milk in first. But he could not pour it out -with the same grace. His brain, not his heart, poured the tea out. He -left the tray in disorder. The symmetry of the table was soon wrecked. - -"Glad you're going back to school, I suppose?" said Edwin satirically. - -George nodded. He was drinking, and he glanced at Edwin over the rim of -the cup. He had grown much in twelve months, and was more than twelve -months older. Edwin was puzzled by the almost sudden developments of -his intelligence. Sometimes the boy was just like a young man; his -voice had become a little uncertain. He still showed the greatest -contempt for his fingernails, but he had truly discovered the -toothbrush, and was preaching it at school among a population that -scoffed yet was impressed. - -"Yes, I'm glad," he answered. - -"Oh! You're glad, are you?" - -"Well, I'm glad in a way. A boy does have to go to school, doesn't he, -uncle? And the sooner it's over the better. I tell you what I should -like--I should like to go to school night and day and have no holidays -till it was all done. I sh'd think you could save at least three years -with that." - -"A bit hard on the masters, wouldn't it be?" - -"I never thought of that. Of course it would never be over for them. I -expect they'd gradually die." - -"Then you don't like school?" - -George shook his head. - -"Did you like school, uncle?" - -Edwin shook his head. They both laughed. - -"Uncle, can I leave school when I'm sixteen?" - -"I've told you once." - -"Yes, I know. But did you mean it? People change so." - -"I told you you could leave school when you're sixteen if you pass the -London Matric." - -"But what good's the London Matric to an architect? Mr. Orgreave says it -isn't any good, anyway." - -"When did he tell you that?" - -"Yesterday." - -"But not so long since you were all for being a stock-breeder!" - -"Ah! I was only pretending to myself!" George smiled. - -"Well, fetch me my cigarettes off the mantelpiece in the drawing-room." - -The boy ran off, eager to serve, and Edwin's glance followed him with -affection. George's desire to be an architect had consistently -strengthened, save during a brief period when the Show of the North -Staffordshire Agricultural Society, held with much splendour at -Hanbridge, had put another idea into his noddle--an idea that fed itself -richly on glorious bulls and other prize cattle for about a week, and -then expired. Indeed, already it had been in a kind of way arranged -that the youth should ultimately be articled to Johnnie Orgreave. Among -many consequences of Johnnie's defiance to society would probably be the -quashing of that arrangement. And there was Johnnie, on the eve of his -elopement, chatting to George about the futility of the London -Matriculation! Edwin wondered how George would gradually learn what had -happened to his friend and inspirer, John Orgreave. - -He arrived with the cigarettes, and offered them, and lit the match, and -offered that. - -"And what have you been doing with yourself all afternoon?" Edwin -enquired, between puffs of smoke. - -"Oh, nothing much!" - -"I thought you were coming to the works and then going down to Auntie -Clara's for tea." - -"So I was. But mother sent me to Hanbridge." - -"Oh," murmured Edwin casually. "So your mother packed you off to -Hanbridge, did she?" - -"I had to go to the Post Office," George continued. "I think it was a -telegram, but it was in an envelope, and some money." - -"_In_deed!" said Edwin, with a very indifferent air. - -He was, however, so affected that he jumped up abruptly from the table, -and went into the darkening, chill garden, ignoring George. George, -accustomed to these sudden accessions of interest and these sudden -forgettings, went unperturbed his ways. - -About half past eight Hilda returned. Edwin was closing the curtains in -the drawing-room. The gas had been lighted. - -"Johnnie has evidently written to Alicia," she burst out somewhat -breathless. "Because Alicia's telegraphed to Janet that she must -positively go straight down there and stay with them when she leaves the -Home." - -"What, on Dartmoor?" Edwin muttered, in a strange voice. The very word -"Dartmoor" made him shake. - -"It isn't actually on the moor," said Hilda. "And so I shall take her -down myself. I've told her all about things. She wasn't a bit -surprised. They're a strange lot." - -She tried to speak quite naturally, but he knew that she was not -succeeding. Their eyes would not meet. Edwin thought: - -"How far away we are from this morning!" Hazard and fate, like -converging armies, seemed to be closing upon him. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE DEPARTURE - - - I - - -It was a wet morning. Hilda, already in full street attire, save for -her gloves, and with a half empty cup of tea by her side, sat at the -desk in the boudoir. She unlocked the large central drawer immediately -below the flap of the desk, with a peculiar, quick, ruthless gesture, -which gesture produced a very short snappy click that summed up all the -tension spreading from Hilda's mind throughout the house and even into -the town. It had been decided that in order to call for Janet at the -Nursing Home and catch the Crewe train at Knype for the Bristol and -Southwest of England connexion, Hilda must leave the house at five -minutes to nine. - -This great fact was paramount in the minds of various people besides -Hilda. Ada upstairs stood bent and flushed over a huge portmanteau into -which she was putting the last things, while George hindered her by -simultaneously tying to the leather handle a wet label finely directed -by himself in architectural characters. The cook in the kitchen was -preparing the master's nine o'clock breakfast with new solicitudes -caused by a serious sense of responsibility; for Hilda, having informed -her in moving tones that the master's welfare in the mistress's absence -would depend finally on herself, had solemnly entrusted that welfare to -her--had almost passed it to her from hand to hand, with precautions, -like a jewel in a casket. Ada, it may be said, had immediately felt the -weight of the cook's increased importance. Edwin and the clerks at the -works knew that Edwin had to be home for breakfast at a quarter to nine -instead of nine, and that he must not be late, as Mrs. Clayhanger had a -train to catch, and accordingly the morning's routine of the office was -modified. And, finally, a short old man in a rainy stable-yard in Acre -Parade, between Acre Lane and Oldcastle Street, struggling to force a -collar over the head of a cab-horse that towered above his own head, was -already blasphemously excited by those pessimistic apprehensions about -the flight of time which forty years of train-catching had never -sufficed to allay in him. As for Janet, she alone in her weakness and -her submissiveness was calm; the nurse and Hilda understood one another, -and she was "leaving it all" to them. - -Hilda opened the drawer, half lifting the flap of the desk to disclose -its contents. It was full of odd papers, letters, bills, -blotting-paper, door-knobs, finger-plates, envelopes, and a small book -or two. A prejudiced observer, such as Edwin, might have said that the -drawer was extremely untidy. But to Hilda, who had herself put in each -item separately, and each for a separate reason, the drawer was not -untidy, for her intelligence knew the plan of it, and every item as it -caught her eye suggested a justifying reason, and a good one. -Nevertheless, she formed an intention to "tidy out" the drawer (the only -drawer in the desk with a safe lock), upon her return home. She felt at -the back of the drawer, drew forth the drawer a little further, and felt -again, vainly. A doubt of her own essential orderliness crossed her -mind. "Surely I can't have put those letters anywhere else? Surely -I've not mislaid them?" Then she closed the flap of the desk, and -pulled the drawer right out, letting it rest on her knees. Yes, the -packet was there, hidden, and so was another packet of letters--in the -handwriting of Edwin. She was reassured. She knew she was tidy, had -always been tidy. And Edwin's innuendos to the contrary were -inexcusable. Jerking the drawer irregularly back by force into its -place, she locked it, reopened the desk, laid the packet on the -writing-pad, and took a telegram from her purse to add to the letters in -the packet. - -The letters were all in the same loose, sloping hand, and on the same -tinted notepaper. The signature was plain on one of them, "Charlotte M. -Cannon," and then after it, in brackets "(Canonges),"--the latter being -the real name of George Cannon's French father, and George Cannon's only -legal name. The topmost letter began: "Dear Madam, I think it is my duty -to inform you that my husband still declares his innocence of the crime -for which he is now in prison. He requests that you shall be informed -of this. I ought perhaps to tell you that, since the change in my -religious convictions, my feelings--" The first page ended there. -Hilda turned the letters over, preoccupied, gazing at them and -deciphering chance phrases here and there. The first letter was dated -about a year earlier; it constituted the beginning of the resuscitation -of just that part of her life which she had thought to be definitely -interred in memory. - -Hilda had only once--and on a legal occasion--met Mrs. Canonges (as with -strict correctness she called herself in brackets)--a surprisingly old -lady, with quite white hair, and she had thought: "What a shame for that -erotic old woman to have bought and married a man so much younger than -herself! No wonder he ran away from her!" She had been positively -shocked by the spectacle of the well-dressed, well-behaved, -quiet-voiced, prim, decrepit creature with her aristocratic voice. And -her knowledge of the possibilities of human nature was thenceforth -enlarged. And when George Cannon (known to the law only as Canonges) -had received two years' hard labour for going through a ceremony of -marriage with herself, she had esteemed, despite all her resentment -against him, that his chief sin lay in his real first marriage, not in -his false second one, and that for that sin the old woman was the more -deserving of punishment. And when the old woman had with strange -naïvete written to say that she had become a convert to Roman -Catholicism and that her marriage and her imprisoned bigamous husband -were henceforth to her sacred, Hilda had reflected sardonically: "Of -course it is always that sort of woman that turns to religion, when -she's too old for anything else!" And when the news came that her -deceiver had got ten years' penal servitude (and might have got penal -servitude for life) for uttering a forged Bank-of-England note, Hilda -had reflected in the same strain: "Of course, a man who would behave as -George behaved to me would be just the man to go about forging bank -notes! I am not in the least astonished. What an inconceivable -simpleton I was!" - -A very long time had elapsed before the letter arrived bearing the -rumour of Cannon's innocence. It had not immediately produced much -effect on her mind. She had said not a word to Edwin. The idea of -reviving the shames of that early episode in conversation with Edwin was -extremely repugnant to her. She would not do it. She had not the right -to do it. All her proud independence forbade her to do it. The episode -did not concern Edwin. The effect on her of the rumour came gradually. -It was increased when Mrs. Cannon wrote of evidence, a petition to the -Home Secretary, and employing a lawyer. Mrs. Cannon's attitude seemed -to say to Hilda: "You and I have shared this man, we alone in all the -world." Mrs. Cannon seemed to imagine that Hilda would be interested. -She was right. Hilda was interested. Her implacability relented. Her -vindictiveness forgave. She pondered with almost intolerable compassion -upon the vision of George Cannon suffering unjustly month after long -month interminably the horrors of a convict's existence. She read with -morbidity reports of Assizes, and picked up from papers and books and -from Mrs. Cannon pieces of information about prisons. When he was -transferred to Parkhurst in the Isle of Wight on account of ill-health, -she was glad, because she knew that Parkhurst was less awful than -Portland, and when from Parkhurst he was sent to Dartmoor she tried to -hope that the bracing air would do him good. She no longer thought of -him as a criminal at all, but simply as one victim of his passion for -herself; she, Hilda, had been the other victim. She raged in secret -against the British Judicature, its delays, its stoniness, its -stupidity. And when the principal witness in support of Cannon's -petition died, she raged against fate. The movement for Cannon's -release slackened for months. Of late it had been resumed, and with -hopefulness. One of Cannon's companions had emerged from confinement -(due to an unconnected crime), and was ready to swear affidavits. -Lastly, Mrs. Cannon had written stating that she was almost beggared, -and suggesting that Hilda should lend her ten pounds towards the -expenses of the affair. Hilda had not ten pounds. That very day Hilda, -seeing Janet in the Nursing Home, had demanded: "I say Jan, I suppose -you haven't got ten pounds you can let me have for about a day or so?" -And had laughed self-consciously. Janet, flushing with eager pleasure, -had replied: "Of course! I've still got that ten-pound note the poor -old dad gave me. I've always kept it in case the worst should happen." -Janet was far too affectionate to display curiosity. Hilda had posted -the bank-note late at night. The next day had come a telegram from Mrs. -Cannon: "Telegraph if you are sending money." Not for a great deal -would Hilda have despatched through the hands of the old postmaster at -Bursley--who had once been postmaster at Turnhill and known her -parents--a telegram such as hers addressed to anybody named "Cannon." -The fear of chatter and scandal was irrational, but it was a very -genuine fear. She had sent her faithful George with the telegram to -Hanbridge--it was just as easy. - -Hilda now, after hesitation, put the packet of letters in her handbag, -to take with her. It was a precaution of secrecy which she admitted to -be unnecessary, for she was quite certain that Edwin never looked into -her drawers; much less would he try to open a locked drawer; his -incurious confidence in her was in some respects almost touching. -Certainly nobody else would invade the drawer. Still, she hid the -letters in her handbag. Then, in her fashion, she scribbled a -bold-charactered note to Mrs. Cannon, giving a temporary address, and -this also she put in the handbag. - -Her attitude to Mrs. Cannon, like her attitude to the bigamist, had -slowly changed, and she thought of the old woman now with respect and -sympathetic sorrow. Mrs. Cannon, before she knew that Hilda was married -to Edwin, had addressed her first letter to Hilda, "Mrs. Cannon," when -she would have been justified in addressing it, "Miss Lessways." In the -days of her boarding-house it had been impossible, owing to business -reasons, for Hilda to drop the name to which she was not entitled and to -revert to her own. The authentic Mrs. Cannon, despite the violence of -her grievances, had respected Hilda's difficulty; the act showed kindly -forbearance and it had aroused Hilda's imaginative gratitude. Further, -Mrs. Cannon's pertinacity in the liberation proceedings, and her calm, -logical acceptance of all the frightful consequences of being the legal -wife of a convict, had little by little impressed Hilda, who had said to -herself: "There is something in this old woman." And Hilda nowadays -never thought of her as an old woman who had been perverse and shameless -in desire, but as a victim of passion like George Cannon. She said to -herself: "This old woman still loves George Cannon; her love was the -secret of her rancour against him, and it is also the secret of her -compassion." These constant reflections, by their magnanimity, and -their insistence upon the tremendous reality of love, did something to -ennoble the clandestine and demoralising life of the soul which for a -year Hilda had hidden from her husband and from everybody. - - - - II - - -It still wanted twenty minutes to nine o'clock. She was too soon. The -night before, Edwin had abraded her sore nerves by warning her not to be -late--in a tone that implied habitual lateness on her part. Hilda was -convinced that she was an exact woman. She might be late--a little -late--six times together, but as there was a sound explanation of and -excuse for each shortcoming, her essential exactitude remained always -unimpaired in her own mind. But Edwin would not see this. He told her -now and then that she belonged to that large class of people who have -the illusion that a clock stands still at the last moment while last -things are being done. She resented the observation, as she resented -many of Edwin's assumptions concerning her. Edwin seemed to forget that -she had been one of the first women-stenographers in England, that she -had been a journalist-secretary and accustomed to correct the -negligences of men of business, and finally that she had been in -business by herself for a number of years. Edwin would sweep all that -away, and treat her like one of your mere brainless butterflies. At any -rate, on the present occasion she was not late. And she took pride, -instead of shame, in her exaggerated earliness. She had the air of -having performed a remarkable feat. - -She left the boudoir to go upstairs and superintend Ada, though she had -told the impressed Ada that she should put full trust in her, and should -not superintend her. However, as she opened the door she heard the -sounds of Ada and George directing each other in the joint enterprise of -bringing a very large and unwieldy portmanteau out of the bedroom. The -hour for superintendence was therefore past. Hilda went into the -drawing-room, idly, nervously, to wait till the portmanteau should have -reached the hall. The French window was ajar, and a wet wind entered -from the garden. The garden was full of rain. Two workmen were in it, -employed by the new inhabitants of the home of the Orgreaves. Those -upstarts had decided that certain branches of the famous Orgreave elms -were dangerous and must be cut, and the workmen, shirt sleeved in the -rain, were staying one of the elms with a rope made fast to the swing in -the Clayhanger garden. Hilda was unreasonably but sincerely -antipathetic to her new neighbours. The white-ended stumps of great -elm-branches made her feel sick. Useless to insist to her on the -notorious treachery of elms! She had an affection for those elms, and, -to her, amputation was an outrage. The upstarts had committed other -sacrilege upon the house and grounds, not heeding that the abode had -been rendered holy by the sacraments of fate. Hilda stared and stared -at the rain. And the prospect of the long, jolting, acutely depressing -drive through the mud and the rain to Knype Vale, and of the -interminable train journey with a tragic convalescent, braced her. - -"Mother!" - -George stood behind her. - -"Well, have you got the luggage down?" She frowned, but George knew her -nervous frown and could rightly interpret it. - -He nodded. - -"Ought I to put 'Dartmoor' on the luggage-label?" - -She gave a negative sign. - -Why should he ask such a question? She had never breathed the name of -Dartmoor. Why should he mention it? Edwin also had mentioned Dartmoor. -"What, on Dartmoor?" Edwin had said. Did Edwin suspect her -correspondence? No. Had he suspected he would have spoken. She knew -him. And even if Edwin had suspected, George could not conceivably have -had suspicions, of any sort.... There he stood, the son of a convict, -with no name of his own. He existed--because she and the convict had -been unable to keep apart; his ignorance of the past was appalling to -think of, the dangers incident to it dreadful; his easy confidence -before the world affected her almost intolerably. She felt that she -could never atone to him for having borne him. - -A faint noise at the front-door reached the drawing-room. - -"Here's Nunks," exclaimed George, and ran off eagerly. - -This was his new name for his stepfather. - -Hilda returned quickly to the boudoir. As she disappeared therein, she -heard George descanting to Edwin on the beauties of his luggage-label, -and Edwin rubbing his feet on the mat and removing his mackintosh. - -She came back to the door of the boudoir. - -"Edwin." - -"Hello!" - -"One moment." - -He came into the boudoir, wiping the rain off his face. - -"Shut the door, will you?" - -Her earnest, self-conscious tone stirred into activity the dormant -secret antagonisms that seemed ever to lie between them. She saw them -animating his eyes, stiffening his pose. - -Pointing to the cup and saucer on the desk, Edwin said, critically: - -"That all you've had?" - -"Can you let me have ten pounds?" she asked bluntly, ignoring his -implication that in the matter of nourishment she had not behaved -sensibly. - -"Ten pounds? More?" He was on the defensive, as it were crouching -warily behind a screen of his suspicions. - -She nodded, awkwardly. She wanted to be graceful, persuasive, -enveloping, but she could not. It was to repay Janet that she had need -of the money. She ought to have obtained it before, but she had -postponed the demand, and she had been wrong. Janet would not require -the money, she would have no immediate use for it, but Hilda could not -bear to be in debt to her; to leave the sum outstanding would seem so -strange, so sinister, so equivocal; it would mar all their intercourse. - -"But look here, child," said Edwin, protesting, "I've given you about -forty times as much as you can possibly want already." - -He had never squarely refused any demand of hers for money; he had -almost always acceded instantly and without enquiry to her demands. -Obviously he felt sympathy with the woman who by eternal custom is -forced to ask, and had a horror of behaving as the majority of husbands -notoriously behaved in such circumstances; obviously he was anxious not -to avail himself of the husband's overwhelming economic advantage. -Nevertheless the fact that he earned and she didn't was ever -mysteriously present in his relatively admirable attitude. And -sometimes--perhaps not without grounds, she admitted--he would hesitate -before a request, and in him a hesitation was as humiliating as a -refusal would have been from another man. And Hilda resented, not so -much his attitude, as the whole social convention upon which it was -unassailably based. He earned--she knew. She would not deny that he -was the unique source and that without him there would be naught. But -still she did not think that she ought to have to ask. On the other -hand she had no alternative plan to offer. Her criticism of the -convention was destructive, not constructive. And all Edwin's careful -regard for a woman's susceptibilities seemed only to intensify her -deep-hidden revolt. It was a mere chance that he was thus chivalrous. -And whether he was chivalrous or not, she was in his power; and she -chafed. - -"I should be glad if you could let me have it," she said, grimly. - -The appeal, besides being unpersuasive in manner, was too general; it -did not particularize. There was no frankness between them. She saw -his suspicions multiplying. What did he suspect? What could he -suspect? ... Ah! And why was she herself so timorous, so strangely -excited, about going even to the edge of Dartmoor? And why did she feel -guilty, why was her glance so constrained? - -"Well, I can't," he answered. "Not now; but if anything unexpected -turns up, I can send you a cheque." - -She was beaten. - -The cab stopped at the front-door, well in advance of time. - -"It's for Janet," she muttered to him, desperately. - -Edwin's face changed. - -"Why in thunder didn't you say so to start with?" he exclaimed. "I'll -see what I can do. Of course I've got a fiver in my pocket-book." - -There were a number of men in the town who made a point of always having -a reserve five-pound note and a telegraph-form upon their persons. It -was the dandyism of well-off prudence. - -He sprang out of the room. The door swung to behind him. - -In a very few moments he returned. - -"Here you are!" he said, taking the note from his pocket-book and adding -it to a collection of gold and silver. - -Hilda was looking out of the window at the tail of the cab. She did not -move. - -"I don't want it, thanks," she replied coldly. And she thought: "What a -fool I am!" - -"Oh!" he murmured, with constraint. - -"You'd do it for her!" said Hilda, chill and clear, "But you wouldn't do -it for me." And she thought: "Why do I say such a thing?" - -He slapped all the money crossly down on the desk and left the room. -She could hear him instructing Ada and the cabman in the manipulation of -the great portmanteau. - -"Now, mother!" cried George. - -She gazed at the money, and, picking it up, shovelled it into her purse. -It was irresistible. - -In the hall she kissed George, and nodded with a plaintive smile at Ada. -Edwin was in the porch. He held back; she held back. She knew from his -face that he would not offer to kiss her. The strange power that had -compelled her to alienate him refused to allow her to relent. She -passed down the steps out into the rain. They nodded, the theory for -George and Ada being that they had made their farewells in the boudoir. -But George and Ada none the less had their notions. It appeared to -Hilda that instead of going for a holiday with her closest friend, she -was going to some recondite disaster that involved the end of marriage. -And the fact that she and Edwin had not kissed outweighed all other -facts in the universe. Yet what was a kiss? Until the cab laboriously -started she hoped for a miracle. It did not happen. If only on the -previous night she had not absolutely insisted that nobody from the -house should accompany her to Knype! ... The porch slipped from her -vision. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - TAVY MANSION - - - I - - -Hilda and Harry Hesketh stood together in the soft warm Devonshire -sunshine bending above the foot-high wire-netting that separated the -small ornamental pond from the lawn. By their side was a St. Bernard -dog with his great baptising tongue hanging out. Two swans, glittering -in the strong light, swam slowly to and fro; one had a black claw tucked -up on his back among downy white feathers; the other hissed at the dog, -who in his vast and shaggy good-nature simply could not understand this -malevolence on the part of a fellow-creature. Round about the elegant -haughtiness of the swans clustered a number of iridescent Muscovy ducks, -and a few white Aylesburys with gamboge beaks that intermittently -quacked, all restless and expectant of blessings to fall over the -wire-netting that eternally separated them from the heavenly -hunting-ground of the lawn. Across the pond, looking into a moored -dinghy, an enormous drake with a vermilion top-knot reposed on the -balustrade of the landing-steps. The water reflected everything in a -rippled medley--blue sky, rounded woolly clouds, birds, shrubs, flowers, -grasses, and browny-olive depths of the plantation beyond the pond, -where tiny children in white were tumbling and shrieking with a nurse in -white. - -Harry was extraordinarily hospitable, kind, and agreeable to his guest. -Scarcely thirty, tall and slim, he carried himself with distinction. -His flannels were spotless; his white shirt was spotless; his tennis -shoes were spotless; but his blazer, cap and necktie (which all had the -same multicoloured pattern of stripes) were shabby, soiled, and without -shape; nevertheless their dilapidation seemed only to adorn his -dandyism, for they possessed a mysterious sacred quality. He had a -beautiful moustache, nice eyes, hands excitingly dark with hair, and no -affectations whatever. Although he had inherited Tavy Mansion and a -fortune from an aunt who had left Oldcastle and the smoke to marry a -Devonshire landowner, he was boyish, modest, and ingenuous. Nobody -could have guessed from his manner that he had children, nurses, -servants, gardeners, grooms, horses, carriages, a rent-roll, and a safe -margin at every year's end. He spoke of the Five Towns with a mild -affection. Hilda thought, looking at him: "He has everything, simply -everything! And yet he's quite unspoilt!" In spite of the fact that in -previous years he had seen Hilda only a few times--and that quite -casually at the Orgreaves'--he had assumed and established intimacy at -the very moment of meeting her and Janet at Tavistock station the night -before, and their friendship might now have been twenty years old -instead of twenty hours. Very obviously he belonged to a class superior -to Hilda's, but he was apparently quite unconscious of what was still -the most deeply-rooted and influential institution of English life. His -confiding confidential tone flattered her. - -"How do you think Alicia's looking?" he asked. - -"Magnificent," said Hilda, throwing a last piece of bread into the -water. - -"So do I," said he. "But she's ruined for tennis, you know. This baby -business is spiffing, only it puts you right off your game. As a rule -she manages to be hors de combat bang in the middle of the season. She -has been able to play a bit this year, but she's not keen--that's what's -up with her ladyship--she's not keen now." - -"Well," said Hilda. "Even you can't have everything." - -"Why 'even' me?" He laughed. - -She merely gazed at him with a mysterious smile. She perceived that he -was admiring her--probably for her enigmatic quality, so different from -Alicia's--and she felt a pleasing self-content. - -"Edwin do much tennis nowadays?" - -"Edwin?" She repeated the name in astonishment, as though it were the -name of somebody who could not possibly be connected with tennis. "Not -he! He's not touched a racket all this season. He's quite otherwise -employed." - -"I hear he's a fearful pot in the Five Towns, anyway," said Harry -seriously. "Making money hand over fist." - -Hilda raised her eyebrows and shook her head deprecatingly. But the -marked respectfulness of Harry's reference to Edwin was agreeable. She -thought: "I do believe I'm becoming a snob!" - -"It's hard work making money, even in our small way, in Bursley," she -said--and seemed to indicate the expensive spaciousness of the gardens. - -"I should like to see old Edwin again." - -"I never knew you were friends." - -"Well, I used to see him pretty often at Lane End House, after Alicia -and I were engaged. In fact once he jolly nearly beat me in a set." - -"Edwin did?" she exclaimed. - -"The same.... He had a way of saying things that a feller somehow -thought about afterwards." - -"Oh! So you noticed that!" - -"Does he still?" - -"I--I don't know. But he used to." - -"You ought to have brought him. In fact I quite thought he was coming. -Anyhow, I told Alicia to invite him, too, as soon as we knew you were -bringing old Jan down." - -"She did mention it, Alicia did. But, oh! He wouldn't hear of it. -Works! Works! No holiday all summer." - -"I'll tell you a scheme," said Harry roguishly. "Refuse to rejoin the -domestic hearth until he comes and fetches you." - -She gave a little laugh. "Oh, he won't come to fetch me." - -"Well," said Harry shortly and decisively, "we shall see what can be -done. I may tell you we're rather great at getting people down here.... -I wonder where those girls are?" He turned round and Hilda turned -round. - -The red Georgian house with its windows in octagonal panes, its large -pediment hiding the centre of the roof, and its white paint, showed -brilliantly across the hoop-studded green, between some cypresses and an -ilex; on either side were smooth walls of green--trimmed shrubs forming -long alleys whose floors were also green; and here and there a round or -oval flowerbed, and, at the edges of the garden, curved borders of -flowers. Everything was still, save the ship-like birds on the pond, -the distant children in the plantation, and the slow-moving, small -clouds overhead. The sun's warmth was like an endearment. - -Janet and Alicia, their arms round each other's shoulders, sauntered -into view from behind the cypresses. On the more sheltered lawn nearest -the house they were engaged in a quiet but tremendous palaver; nobody -but themselves knew what they were talking about; it might have been the -affair of Johnnie and Mrs. Chris Hamson, as to which not a word had been -publicly said at Tavy Mansion since Janet and Hilda's arrival. Janet -still wore black, and now she carried a red sunshade belonging to -Alicia. Alicia was in white, not very clean white, and rather tousled. -She was only twenty-five. She had grown big and jolly and downright -(even to a certain shamelessness) and careless of herself. Her body had -the curves, and her face the emaciation, of the young mother. She used -abrupt, gawky, kind-hearted gestures. Her rough affectionateness -embraced not merely her children, but all young living things, and many -old. For her children she had a passion. And she would say openly, as -it were, defiantly, that she meant to be the mother of more -children--lots more. - -"Hey, lass!" cried out Harry, using the broad Staffordshire accent for -the amusement of Hilda. - -The sisters stopped and untwined their arms. - -"Hey, lad!" Alicia loudly responded. But instead of looking at her -husband she was looking through him at the babies in the plantation -behind the pond. - -Janet smiled, in her everlasting resignation. Hilda, smiling at her in -return from the distance, recalled the tone in which Harry had said 'old -Jan'--a tone at once affectionate and half-contemptuous. She was old -Jan, now; destined to be a burden upon somebody and of very little use -to anybody; no longer necessary. If she disappeared, life would -immediately close over her, and not a relative, not a friend, would be -inconvenienced. Some among them would remark: "Perhaps it's for the -best." And Janet knew it. In the years immediately preceding the death -of Mr. and Mrs. Orgreave, she had hardened a little from her earlier -soft, benevolent self--hardened to everybody save her father and mother, -whom she protected--and now she was utterly tender again, and her gentle -acquiescences seemed to say: "I am defenceless, and to-morrow I shall be -old." - -"I'm going to telegraph to Edwin Clayhanger to come down for the -week-end," shouted Harry. - -And Alicia shouted in reply: - -"Oh! Spiffing!" - -Hilda said nervously: - -"You aren't, really?" - -She had no intention of agreeing to the pleasant project. A breach -definitely existed between Edwin and herself, and the idea of either -maintaining it or ending it on foreign ground was inconceivable. Such -things could only be done at home. She had telegraphed a safe arrival, -but she had not yet written to him nor decided in what tone she should -write. - -Two gardeners, one pushing a wheeled water-can, appeared from an alley -and began silently and assiduously to water a shaded flower-bed. Alicia -and Harry continued to shout enthusiastically to each other in a manner -sufficiently disturbing, but the gardeners gave no sign that anybody -except themselves lived in the garden. Alicia, followed by Janet, was -slowly advancing towards the croquet lawn, when a parlourmaid tripping -from the house overtook her, and with modest deference murmured -something to the bawling, jolly mistress. Alicia, still followed by -Janet, turned and went into the house, while the parlourmaid with bent -head waited discreetly to bring up the rear. - -A sudden and terrific envy possessed Hilda as she contrasted the -circumstances of these people with her own. These people lived in -lovely and cleanly surroundings without a care beyond the apprehension -of nursery ailments. They had joyous and kindly dispositions. They -were well-bred, and they were attended by servants who, professionally, -were even better bred than themselves, and who were rendered happy by -smooth words and good pay. They lived at peace with everyone. Full of -health, they ate well and slept well. They suffered no strain. They -had absolutely no problems, and they did not seek problems. Nor had -they any duties, save agreeable ones to each other. Their world was -ideal. If you had asked them how their world could be improved for -them, they would not have found an easy reply. They could only have -demanded less taxes and more fine days.... Whereas Hilda and hers were -forced to live among a brutal populace, amid the most horrible -surroundings of smoke, dirt, and squalor. In Devonshire the Five Towns -was unthinkable; the whiteness of the window-curtains at Tavy Mansion -almost broke the heart of the housewife in Hilda. And compare--not -Hilda's handkerchief-garden, but even the old garden of the Orgreaves, -with this elysium, where nothing offended the eye and the soot nowhere -lay on the trees, blackening the shiny leaves and stunting the branches. -And compare the too mean planning and space-saving of the house in -Trafalgar Road with the lavish generosity of space inside Tavy -Mansion!... - -Edwin in the Bursley sense was a successful man, and had consequence in -the town, but the most that he had accomplished or could accomplish -would not amount to the beginning of appreciable success according to -higher standards. Nobody in Bursley really knew the meaning of the word -success. And even such local success as Edwin had had--at what peril -and with what worry was it won! These Heskeths were safe forever. Ah! -She envied them, and she intensely depreciated everything that was hers. -She stood in the Tavy Mansion garden--it seemed to her--like an -impostor. Her husband was merely struggling upwards. And moreover she -had quarrelled with him, darkly and obscurely; and who could guess what -would be the end of marriage? Harry and Alicia never quarrelled; they -might have tiffs--nothing worse than that; they had no grounds for -quarrelling.... And supposing Harry and Alicia guessed the link -connecting her with Dartmoor prison! ... No, it could not be supposed. -Her envy melted into secret deep dejection amid the beautiful and -prosperous scene. - -"Evidently some one's called," said Harry, of his wife's disappearance. -"I hope she's nice." - -"Who?" - -"Whoever's called. Shall we knock the balls about a bit?" - -They began a mild game of croquet. But after a few minutes Hilda burst -out sharply: - -"You aren't playing your best, Mr. Hesketh. I wish you would." - -He was startled by her eyes and her tone. - -"Honest Injun! I am," he fibbed in answer. "But I'll try to do better. -You must remember croquet isn't my game. Alicia floors me at it five -times out of six." - -Then the parlourmaid and another maid came out to lay tea on two tables -under the ilex. - -"Bowley," said Harry over his shoulder. "Bring me a telegraph-form next -time you come out, will you?" - -"Yes, sir," said the parlourmaid. - -Hilda protested: - -"No, Mr. Hesketh! Really! I assure you--" - -The telegraph-form came with the tea. Harry knocked a ball against a -coloured stick, and both he and Hilda sat down with relief. - -"Who's called, Bowley?" - -"Mrs. Rotherwas, sir." - -Harry counted the cups. - -"Isn't she staying for tea?" - -"No, sir. I think not, sir." - -Hilda, humming, rose and walked about. At the same moment Alicia, -Janet, and a tall young woman in black and yellow emerged from the -house. Hilda moved behind a tree. She could hear good-byes. The group -vanished round the side of the house, and then came the sound of hoofs -and of wheels crunching. An instant later Alicia arrived at the ilex, -bounding and jolly; Janet moved more sedately. The St. Bernard, who had -been reposing near the pond, now smelt the tea and hot cakes and joined -the party. The wagging of his powerful tail knocked over a -wicker-chair, and Alicia gave a squeal. Then Alicia, putting her hands -to her mouth, shouted across the lawn and the pond: - -"Nursey! Nursey! Take them in!" - -And a faint reply came. - -"What was the Rotherwas dame after?" asked Harry, sharpening a pencil, -when Alicia had ascertained the desires of her guests as to milk and -sugar. - -"She was after you, of course," said Alicia. "Tennis party on Monday. -She wants you to balance young Truscott. I just told her so. We shall -all go. You'll go, Hilda. She'll be delighted. I should have brought -her along only she was in such a hurry." - -Hilda enquired: - -"Who is Mrs. Rotherwas?" - -"Her husband's a big coal-owner at Cardiff. But she's a niece or -something of the governor of Dartmoor prison, and she's apparently -helping to keep house for dear uncle just now. They'll take us over the -prison before tennis. It's awfully interesting. Harry and I have been -once." - -"Oh!" murmured Hilda, staggered. - -"Now about this 'ere woire," said Harry. "What price this?" He handed -over the message which he had just composed. It was rather long, and on -the form was left space for only two more words. - -Hilda could not decipher it. She saw the characters with her eyes, but -she was incapable of interpreting them. All the time she thought: - -"I shall go to that prison. I can't help it. I shan't be able to keep -from going. I shall go to that prison. I must go. Who could have -imagined this? I am bound to go, and I shall go." - -But instead of objecting totally to the despatch of the telegram, she -said in a strange voice: - -"It's very nice of you." - -"You fill up the rest of the form," said Harry, offering the pencil. - -"What must I put?" - -"Well, you'd better put 'Countersigned, Hilda.' That'll fix it." - -"Will you write it?" she muttered. - -He wrote the words. - -"Let poor mummy see!" Alicia complained, seizing the telegraph-form. - -Harry called out: - -"Leeks!" - -A shirt-sleeved gardener half hidden by foliage across the garden looked -up sharply, saw Harry's beckoning finger, and approached running. - -"Have that sent off for me, will you? Tell Jos to take it," said Harry, -and gave Leeks the form and a florin. - -"Why, Hilda, you aren't eating anything!" protested Alicia. - -"I only want tea," said Hilda casually, wondering whether they had -noticed anything wrong in her face. - - - - II - - -Edwin, looking curiously out of the carriage-window as the train from -Plymouth entered Tavistock station early on the Monday, was surprised to -perceive Harry Hesketh on the platform. While, in the heavenly air of -the September morning, the train was curving through Bickleigh Vale and -the Valley of the Plym and through the steeper valley of the Meavy up -towards the first fastnesses of the Moor, he had felt his body to be -almost miraculously well and his soul almost triumphant. But when he -saw Harry--the remembered figure, but a little stouter and coarser--he -saw a being easily more triumphant than himself. - -Harry had great reason for triumph, for he had proved himself to possess -a genius for deductive psychological reasoning and for prophecy. Edwin -had been characteristically vague about the visit. First he had -telegraphed that he could not come, business preventing. Then he had -telegraphed that he would come, but only on Sunday, and he had given no -particulars of trains. They had all assured one another that this was -just like Edwin. "The man's mad!" said Harry with genial benevolence, -and had set himself to one of his favourite studies--Bradshaw. He -always handled Bradshaw like a master, accomplishing feats of -interpretation that amazed his wife. He had announced, after careful -connotations, that Edwin was perhaps after all not such a chump, but -that he was in fact a chump, in that, having chosen the Bristol-Plymouth -route, he had erred about the Sunday night train from Plymouth to -Tavistock. How did he know that Edwin would choose the Bristol-Plymouth -route? Well, his knowledge was derived from divination, based upon vast -experience of human nature. Edwin would "get stuck" at Plymouth. He -would sleep at Plymouth--staying at the Royal (he hoped)--and would come -on by the 8.1 a.m. on Monday, arriving at 8.59 a.m., where he would be -met by Harry in the dog-cart drawn by Joan. The telegraph was of course -closed after 10 a.m. on Sunday, but if it had been open and he had been -receiving hourly despatches about Edwin's tortuous progress through -England, Harry could not have been more sure of his position. And on -the Monday Harry had risen up in the very apogee of health, and had -driven Joan to the station. "Mark my words!" he had said. "I shall -bring him back with me for breakfast." He had offered to take Hilda to -the station to witness his triumph; but Hilda had not accepted. - -And there Edwin was! Everything had happened according to Harry's -prediction, except that, from an unfortunate modesty, Edwin had gone to -the wrong hotel at Plymouth. - -They shook hands in a glow of mutual pleasure. - -"How on earth did you know?" Edwin began. - -The careful-casual answer rounded off Harry's triumph. And Edwin -thought: "Why, he's just like a grown-up boy!" But he was -distinguished; his club-necktie in all its decay was still impressive; -and his expansive sincere goodwill was utterly delightful. Also the -station, neat, clean, solid--the negation of all gimcrackery--had an -aspect of goodwill to man; its advertisements did not flare; and it -seemed to be the expression of a sound and self-respecting race. The -silvern middle-aged guard greeted Harry with deferential heartiness and -saluted Edwin with even more warmth than he had used at Plymouth. On -the Sunday Edwin had noticed that in the western country guards were not -guards (as in other parts of England), but rather the cordial hosts of -their trains. As soon as the doors had banged in a fusillade and the -engine whistled, a young porter came and, having exchanged civilities -with Harry, picked up Edwin's bag. This porter's face and demeanour -showed perfect content. His slight yet eager smile and his quick -movements seemed to be saying: "It is natural and proper that I should -salute you and carry your bag while you walk free. You are gentlemen by -divine right, and by the same right I am a railway porter and happy." -To watch the man at his job gave positive pleasure, and it was -extraordinarily reassuring--reassuring about everything. Outside the -station, the groom stood at Joan's head, and a wonderful fox-terrier sat -alert under the dog-cart. Instantly the dog sprang out and began to -superintend the preparations for departure, rushing to and fro and -insisting all the time that delay would be monstrous, if not fatal. The -dog's excellence as a specimen of breeding was so superlative as to -accuse its breeder and owner of a lack of perspective in life. It was -as if the entire resources of civilization had been employed towards the -perfecting of the points of that dog. - -"Balanced the cart, I suppose, Jos?" asked Harry, kindly. - -"Yes, sir," was all that Jos articulated, but his bright face said: -"Sir, your assumption that I have already balanced the cart for three -and a bag is benevolent and justified. You trust me. I trust you, sir. -All is well." - -The bag was stowed and the porter got threepence and was so happy in his -situation that apparently he could not bring himself to leave the scene. -Harry climbed up on the right, Edwin on the left. The dog gave one -short bark and flew madly forward. Jos loosed Joan's head, and at the -same moment Harry gave a click, and the machine started. It did not -wait for young Jos. Jos caught the back step as the machine swung by, -and levered himself dangerously to the groom's place. And when he had -done it he grinned, announcing to beholders that his mission in life was -to do just that, and that it was a grand life and he a lucky and -enviable fellow. - -Harry drove across the Tavy, and through the small grey and brown town, -so picturesque, so clean, so solid, so respectable, so content in its -historicity. A policeman saluted amiably and firmly, as if saying: "I -am protecting all this,--what a treasure!" Then they passed the Town -Hall. - -"Town Hall," said Harry. - -"Oh!" - -"The Dook's," said Harry. - -He put on a certain facetiousness, but there nevertheless escaped from -him the conviction that the ownership of a town hall by a Duke was a -wondrous rare phenomenon and fine, showing the strength of grand English -institutions and traditions, and meet for honest English pride. (And -you could say what you liked about progress!) And Edwin had just the -same feeling. In another minute they were out of the town. The -countryside, though bleak, with its spare hedges and granite walls, was -exquisitely beautiful in the morning light; and it was tidy, tended, -mature; it was as though it had nothing to learn from the future. -Beyond rose the slopes of the moor, tonic and grim. An impression of -health, moral and physical, everywhere disengaged itself. The wayfarer, -sturdy and benign, invigorated by his mere greeting. The trot of the -horse on the smooth winding road, the bounding of the dog, the -resilience of the cart-springs, the sharp tang of the air on the cheek, -all helped to perfect Edwin's sense of pleasure in being alive. He -could not deny that he had stood in need of a change. He had been -worrying, perhaps through overwork. Overwork was a mistake. He now saw -that there was no reason why he should not be happy always, even with -Hilda. He had received a short but nice and almost apologetic letter -from Hilda. As for his apprehensions, what on earth did it matter about -Dartmoor being so near? Nothing! This district was marvellously -reassuring. He thought: "There simply is no social question down here!" - -"Had your breakfast?" asked Harry. - -"Yes, thanks." - -"Well, you just haven't, then!" said Harry. "We shall be in the nick of -time for it." - -"When do you have breakfast?" - -"Nine thirty." - -"Bit late, isn't it?" - -"Oh no! It suits us.... I say!" Harry stared straight between the -horse's ears. - -"What?" - -Harry murmured: - -"No more news about Johnnie, I suppose?" - -(Edwin glanced half round at the groom behind. Harry with a gesture -indicated that the groom was negligible.) - -"Not that I've heard. Bit stiff, isn't it?" Edwin answered. - -"Bit stiff? I should rather say it was. Especially after Jimmie's -performance. Rather hard lines on Alicia, don't you think?" - -"On all of 'em," said Edwin, not seeing why Johnnie's escapade should -press more on Alicia than, for example, on Janet. - -"Yes, of course," Harry agreed, evidently seeing and accepting the -point. "The less said the better!" - -"I'm with you," said Edwin. - -Harry resumed his jolly tone: - -"Well, you'd better peck a bit. We've planned a hard day for you." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes. Early lunch, and then we're going to drive over to Princetown. -Tennis with the Governor of the prison. He'll show us all over the -prison. It's worth seeing." - -Impulsively Edwin exclaimed: - -"All of you? Is Hilda going?" - -"Certainly. Why not?" He raised the whip and pointed: "Behold our -noble towers." - -Edwin, feeling really sick, thought: - -"Hilda's mad. She's quite mad..... Morbid isn't the word!" - -He was confounded. - - - - III - - -At Tavy Mansion Edwin and Harry were told by a maid that Mrs. Hesketh -and Miss Orgreave were in the nursery and would be down in a moment, but -that Mrs. Clayhanger had a headache and was remaining in bed for -breakfast. The master of the house himself took Edwin to the door of -his wife's bedroom. Edwin's spirits had risen in an instant, as he -perceived the cleverness of Hilda's headache. There could be no doubt -that women were clever, though perhaps unscrupulously and crudely -clever, in a way beyond the skill of men. By the simple device of -suffering from a headache Hilda had avoided the ordeal of meeting a -somewhat estranged husband in public; she was also preparing an excuse -for not going to Princetown and the prison. Certainly it was better, in -the Dartmoor affair, to escape at the last moment than to have declined -the project from the start. - -As he opened the bedroom-door, apprehensions and bright hope were -mingled in him. He had a weighty grievance against Hilda, whose -behaviour at parting had been, he considered, inexcusable; but the warm -tone of her curt private telegram to him and of her almost equally curt -letter, re-stating her passionate love, was really equivalent to an -apology, which he accepted with eagerness. Moreover he had done a lot -in coming to Devonshire, and for this great act he lauded himself and he -expected some gratitude. Nevertheless, despite the pacificism of his -feelings, he could not smile when entering the room. No, he could not! - -Hilda was lying in the middle of a very wide bed, and her dark hair was -spread abroad upon the pillow. On the pedestal was a tea-tray. Squatted -comfortably at Hilda's side, with her left arm as a support, was a baby -about a year old, dressed for the day. This was Cecil, born the day -after his grandparents' funeral. Cecil, with mouth open and -outstretched pink hands, of which the fingers were spread like the rays -of half a starfish, from wide eyes gazed at Edwin with a peculiar -expression of bland irony. Hilda smiled lovingly; she smiled without -reserve. And as soon as she smiled, Edwin could smile, and his heart -was suddenly quite light. - -Hilda thought: - -"That wistful look in his eyes has never changed, and it never will. -Imagine him travelling on Sunday, when the silly old thing might just as -well have come on Saturday, if he'd had anybody to decide him! He's -been travelling for twenty-four hours or more, and now he's here! What -a shame for me to have dragged him down here in spite of himself! But -he would do it for me! He has done it.... I had to have him, for this -afternoon! ... After all he must be very good at business. Everyone -respects him, even here. We may end by being really rich. Have I ever -really appreciated him? ... And now of course he's going to be annoyed -again. Poor boy!" - -"Hello! Who's this?" cried Edwin. - -"This is Cecil. His mummy's left him, here with his Auntie Hilda," said -Hilda. - -"Another clever dodge of hers!" thought Edwin. He liked the baby being -there. - -He approached the bed, and, staring nervously about, saw that his bag -had already mysteriously reached the bedroom. - -"Well, my poor boy! What a journey!" Hilda murmured compassionately. -She could not help showing that she was his mother in wisdom and sense. - -"Oh no!" he amiably dismissed this view. - -He was standing over her by the bedside. She looked straight up at him -timid and expectant. He bent and kissed her. Under his kiss she -shifted slightly in the bed, and her arms clung round his neck, and by -her arms she lifted herself a little towards him. - -She shut her eyes. She would not loose him. She seemed again to be -drawing the life out of him. At last she let him go, and gave a great -sigh. All the past which did not agree with that kiss and that sigh of -content was annihilated, and an immense reassurance filled Edwin's mind. - -"So you've got a headache?" - -She gave a succession of little nods, smiling happily. - -"I'm so glad you've come, dearest," she said, after a pause. She was -just like a young girl, like a child, in her relieved satisfaction. -"What about George?" - -"Well, as it was left to me to decide, I thought I'd better ask Maggie -to come and stay in the house. Much better than packing him off to -Auntie Hamps's." - -"And she came?" - -"Oh yes!" said Edwin, indifferently, as if to say: "Of course she came." - -"Then you did get my letter in time?" - -"I shouldn't have got it in time if I'd left Saturday morning as you -wanted. Oh! And here's a letter for _you_." - -He pulled a letter from his pocket. The envelope was of the peculiar -tinted paper with which he had already been familiarised. Hilda became -self-conscious as she took the letter and opened it. Edwin too was -self-conscious. To lighten the situation, he put his little finger in -the baby's mouth. Cecil much appreciated this form of humour, and as -soon as the finger was withdrawn from his toothless gums, he made a -bubbling whirring noise, and waved his arms to indicate that the game -must continue. Hilda, frowning, read the letter. Edwin sat down, -ledging himself cautiously on the brink of the bed, and leaned back a -little so as to be able to get at the baby and tickle it among its -frills. From the distance, beyond walls, he could hear the powerful -happy cries of older babies, beings fully aware of themselves, who knew -their own sentiments and could express them. And he glanced round the -long low room with its two small open windows showing sunlit yellow -cornfields and high trees, and its monumental furniture, and the -disorder of Hilda's clothes and implements humanising it and -individualising it and making it her abode, her lair. And he glanced -prudently at Hilda over the letter-paper. She had no headache; it was -obvious that she had no headache. Yet in the most innocent touching way -she had nodded an affirmative to his question about the headache. He -could not possibly have said to her: "Look here, you know you haven't -got a headache." She would not have tolerated the truth. The truth -would have made her transform herself instantly into a martyr, and him -into a brute. She would have stuck to it, even if the seat of eternal -judgment had suddenly been installed at the brassy foot of the bed, that -she had a headache. - -It was with this mentality (he reflected, assuming that his own -mentality never loved anything as well as truth) that he had to live -till one of them expired. He reminded himself wisely that the woman's -code is different from the man's. But the honesty of his intelligence -rejected such an explanation, such an excuse. It was not that the woman -had a different code,--she had no code except the code of the utter -opportunist. To live with her was like living with a marvellous wild -animal, full of grace, of cunning, of magnificent passionate gestures, -of terrific affection, and of cruelty. She was at once indispensable and -intolerable. He felt that to match her he had need of all his force, -all his prescience, all his duplicity. The mystery that had lain -between him and Hilda for a year was in the letter within two feet of -his nose. He could watch her as she read, study her face; he knew that -he was the wiser of the two; she was at a disadvantage; as regards the -letter, she was fighting on ground chosen by him; and yet he could not -in the least foresee the next ten minutes,--whether she would advance, -retreat, feint, or surrender. - -"Did you bring your dress-clothes?" she murmured, while she was reading. -She had instructed him in her letter on this point. - -"Of course," he said, manfully, striving to imply the immense untruth -that he never stirred from home without his dress-clothes. - -She continued to read, frowning, and drawing her heavy eyebrows still -closer together. Then she said: - -"Here!" - -And passed him the letter. He could see now that she was becoming -excited. - -The letter was from the legitimate Mrs. George Cannon, and it said that, -though nothing official was announced or even breathed, her solicitor -had gathered from a permanent and important underling of the Home Office -that George Cannon's innocence was supposed to be established, and that -the Queen's pardon would, at some time or other, be issued. It was an -affecting letter. Edwin, totally ignorant of all that had preceded it, -did not immediately understand its significance. At first he did not -even grasp what it was about. When he did begin to comprehend he had -the sensation of being deprived momentarily of his bearings. He had -expected everything but this. That is to say, he had absolutely not -known what to expect. The shock was severe. - -"_What_ is it? _What_ is it?" he questioned, as if impatient. - -Hilda replied: - -"It's about George Cannon. It seems he was quite innocent in that -bank-note affair. It's his wife who's been writing to me about it. I -don't know why she should. But she did, and of course I had to reply." - -"You never said anything to me about it." - -"I didn't want to worry you, dearest. I knew you'd quite enough on your -mind with the works. Besides, I'd no right to worry you with a thing -like _that_. But of course I can show you all her letters,--I've kept -them." - -Unanswerable! Unanswerable! Insincere, concocted, but unanswerable! -The implications in her spoken defence were of the simplest and deepest -ingenuity, and withal they hurt him. For example, the implication that -the strain of the new works was breaking him! As if he could not -support it, and had not supported it, easily! As if the new works meant -that he could not fulfil all his duties as a helpmeet! And then the -devilishly adroit plea that her concealment was morally necessary since -he ought not to be troubled with any result of her pre-conjugal life! -And finally the implication that he would be jealous of the -correspondence and might exact the production of it! ... He now -callously ignored Cecil's signals for attention.... He knew that he -would receive no further enlightenment as to the long secrecy of the -past twelve months. His fears and apprehensions and infelicity were to -be dismissed with those few words. They would never be paid for, -redeemed, atoned. The grand scenic explanation and submission which was -his right would never come. Sentimentally, he was cheated, and had no -redress. And, as a climax, he had to assume, to pretend, that justice -still prevailed on earth. - -"Isn't it awful!" Hilda muttered. "Him in prison all this time!" - -He saw that her eyes were wet, and her emotion increasing. - -He nodded in sympathy. - -He thought: - -"She'll want some handling,--I can see that!" - -He too, as well as she, imaginatively comprehended the dreadful tragedy -of George Cannon's false imprisonment. He had heart enough to be very -glad that the innocent man (innocent at any rate of that one thing) was -to be released. But at the same time he could not stifle a base -foreboding and regret. Looking at his wife, he feared the moment when -George Cannon, with all the enormous prestige of a victim in a woman's -eyes, should be at large. Yes, the lover in him would have preferred -George Cannon to be incarcerated forever. Had he not heard, had he not -read, had he not seen on the stage, that a woman never forgets the first -man? Nonsense, all that! Invented theatrical psychology! And yet--if -it was true! ... Look at her eyes! - -"I suppose he _is_ innocent?" he said gruffly, for he mistrusted, or -affected to mistrust, the doings of these two women together,--Cannon's -wife and Cannon's victim. Might they not somehow have been hoodwinked? -He knew nothing, no useful detail, naught that was convincing--and he -never would know! Was it not astounding that the bigamist should have -both these women on his side, either working for him, or weeping over -his woes? - -"He must be innocent," Hilda answered, thoughtfully, in a breaking -voice. - -"Where is he now,--up yon?" - -He indicated the unvisited heights of Dartmoor. - -"I believe so." - -"I thought they always shifted 'em back to London before they released -'em." - -"I expect they will do. They may have moved him already." - -His mood grew soft, indulgent. He conceded that her emotion was -natural. She had been bound up with the man. Cannon's admitted guilt -on the one count, together with all that she had suffered through it, -only intensified the poignancy of his innocence on the other count. -Contrary to the general assumption, you must be sorrier for an -unfortunate rascal than for an unfortunate good man. He could feel all -that. He, Edwin, was to be pitied; but nobody save himself would -perceive that he was to be pitied. His rôle would be difficult, but all -his pride and self-reliance commanded him to play it well, using every -resource of his masculine skill, and so prove that he was that which he -believed himself to be. The future would be all right, because he would -be equal to the emergency. Why should it not be all right? His heart -in kindliness and tenderness drew nearer to Hilda's, and he saw, or -fancied he saw, that all their guerilla had been leading up to this, had -perhaps been caused by this, and would be nobly ended by it. - -Just then a mysterious noise penetrated the room, growing and growing -until it became a huge deafening din, and slowly died away. - -"I expect that's breakfast," said Edwin in a casual tone. - -The organism of the English household was functioning. Even in the -withdrawn calm of the bedroom they could feel it irresistibly -functioning. The gong had a physical effect on Cecil; all his -disappointment and his sense of being neglected were gathered up in his -throat and exploded in a yell. Hilda took him in her right arm and -soothed him and called him silly names. - -Edwin rose from the bed, and as he did so, Hilda retained him with her -left hand, and pulled him very gently towards her, inviting a kiss. He -kissed her. She held to him. He could see at a distance of two inches -all the dark swimming colour of her wet eyes half veiled by the long -lashes. And he could feel the soft limbs of the snuffling baby -somewhere close to his head. - -"You'd better stick where you are," he advised her in a casual tone. - -Hilda thought: - -"Now the time's come. He'll be furious. But I can't help it." - -She said: - -"Oh no. I shall be quite all right soon. I'm going to get up in about -half an hour." - -"But then how shall you get out of going to Princetown?" - -"Oh! Edwin! I must go. I told them I should go." - -He was astounded. There was no end to her incalculability,--no end! -His resentment was violent. He stood right away from her. - -"'Told them you should go'!" he exclaimed. "What in the name of heaven -does that matter? Are you absolutely mad?" - -She stiffened. Her features hardened. In the midst of her terrible -relief as to the fate of George Cannon and of her equal terrible -excitement under the enigmatic and irresistible mesmerism of Dartmoor -prison, she was desperate, and resentment against Edwin kindled deep -within her. She felt the brute in him. She felt that he would never -really understand. She felt all her weakness and all his strength, but -she was determined. At bottom she knew well that her weakness was the -stronger. - -"I must go!" she repeated. - -"It's nothing but morbidness!" he said savagely. "Morbidness! ... Well, -I shan't have it. I shan't let you go. And that's flat." - -She kept silent. Frightfully disturbed, cursing women, forgetting -utterly in a moment his sublime resolves, Edwin descended to breakfast -in the large, strange house. Existence was monstrous. - -And before the middle of the morning Hilda came into the garden where -everyone else was idling. And Alicia and Janet fondly kissed her. She -said her headache had vanished. - -"Sure you feel equal to going this afternoon, dearest?" asked Janet. - -"Oh yes!" Hilda replied lightly. "It will do me good." - -Edwin was helpless. He thought, recalling with vexation his last firm -forbidding words to Hilda in the bedroom: - -"Nobody _could_ be equal to this emergency." - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - THE PRISON - - - I - - -Harry had two stout and fast cobs in a light wagonette. He drove -himself, and Hilda sat by his side. The driver's boast was that he -should accomplish the ten miles, with a rise of a thousand feet, in an -hour and a quarter. A hired carriage would have spent two hours over -the journey. - -It was when they had cleared the town, and were on the long straight -rise across the moor towards Longford, that the horses began to prove -the faith that was in them, eager, magnanimous, conceiving grandly the -splendour of their task in life, and irrepressibly performing it with -glory. The stones on the loose-surfaced road flew from under the -striding of their hoofs into the soft, dark ling on either hand. -Harry's whip hovered in affection over their twin backs, never touching -them, and Harry smiled mysteriously to himself. He did not wish to talk. -Nor did Hilda. The movement braced and intoxicated her, and rendered -thought impossible. She brimmed with emotion, like a vase with some -liquid unanalysable and perilous. She was not happy, she was not -unhappy; the sensation of her vitality and of the kindred vitality of -the earth and the air was overwhelming. She would have prolonged the -journey indefinitely, and yet she intensely desired the goal, whatever -terrors it might hold for her. At intervals she pulled up the -embroidered and monogrammed apron that slipped slowly down over her -skirt and over Harry's tennis-flannels, disclosing two rackets in a -press that lay between them. Perhaps Harry was thinking of certain -strokes at tennis. - -"Longford!" ejaculated Harry, turning his head slightly towards the body -of the vehicle, as they rattled by a hamlet. - -Soon afterwards the road mounted steeply,--five hundred feet in little -more than a mile, and the horses walked, but they walked in haste, -fiercely, clawing at the road with their forefeet and thrusting it -behind them. And some of the large tors emerged clearly into view--Cox -Tor, the Staple Tors, and Great Mis lifting its granite above them and -beyond. - -They were now in the midst of the moor, trotting fast again. Behind and -before them, and on either side, there was nothing but moor and sky. -The sky, a vast hemisphere of cloud and blue and sunshine, with a -complex and ever elusive geography of its own, discovered all the tints -of heath and granite. It was one of those days when every tint was -divided into ten thousand shades, and each is richer and more softly -beautiful than the others. On the shoulder of Great Mis rain fell, -while little Vixen Tor glittered with mica points in the sun. Nothing -could be seen over the whole moor save here and there a long-tailed -pony, or a tiny cottage set apart in solitude. And the yellowish road -stretched forward, wavily, narrowing, disappeared for a space, -reappeared still narrower, disappeared once more, reappeared like a thin -meandering line, and was lost on the final verge. It was an endless -road. Impossible that the perseverance of horses should cover it yard -by yard! But the horses strained onward, seeing naught but the macadam -under their noses. Harry checked them at a descent. - -"Walkham River!" he announced. - -They crossed a pebbly stream by a granite bridge. - -"Hut-circles!" said Harry laconically. - -They were climbing again. - -Edwin, in the body of the wagonette with Janet and Alicia, looked for -hut-circles and saw none; but he did not care. He was content with the -knowledge that prehistoric hut-circles were somewhere there. He had -never seen wild England before, and its primeval sanity awoke in him the -primeval man. The healthiness and simplicity and grandiose beauty of it -created the sublime illusion that civilisation was worthy to be -abandoned. The Five Towns seemed intolerable by their dirt and -ugliness, and by the tedious intricacy of their existence. -Lithography,--you had but to think of the word to perceive the -paltriness of the thing! Riches, properties, proprieties, all the -safeties,--futile! He could have lived alone with Hilda on the moor, -begetting children by her, watching with satisfaction the growing curves -of her fecundity--his work, and seeing her with her brood, all their -faces beaten by wind and rain and browned with sun. He had a -tremendous, a painful longing for such a life. His imagination played -round the idea of it with voluptuous and pure pleasure, and he wondered -that he had never thought of it before. He felt that he had never -before peered into the depths of existence. And though he knew that the -dream of such an arcadian career was absurd, yet he seemed to guess that -beneath the tiresome surfaces of life in the Five Towns the essence of -it might be mystically lived. And he thought that Hilda would be -capable of sharing it with him,--nay, he knew she would! - -His mood became gravely elated, even optimistic. He saw that he had -worried himself about nothing. If she wanted to visit the prison, let -her visit it! Why not? At any rate he should not visit it. He had an -aversion for morbidity almost as strong as his aversion for -sentimentality. But her morbidity could do no harm. She could not -possibly meet George Cannon. The chances were utterly against such an -encounter. Her morbidity would cure itself. He pitied her, cherished -her, and in thought enveloped her fondly with his sympathetic and -protective wisdom. - -"North Hessary," said Harry, pointing with his whip to a jutting tor on -the right hand. "We go round by the foot of it. There in a jiff!" - -Soon afterwards they swerved away from the main road, obeying a signpost -marked "Princetown." - -"Glorious, isn't it?" murmured Janet, after a long silence which had -succeeded the light chatter of herself and Alicia about children, -servants, tennis, laundries. - -He nodded, with a lively responsive smile, and glanced at Hilda's -mysterious back. Only once during the journey had she looked round. -Alicia with her coarse kind voice and laugh began to rally him, saying -he had dozed. - -A town, more granite than the moor itself, gradually revealed its roofs -in the heart of the moor. The horses, indefatigable, quickened their -speed. Villas, a school, a chapel, a heavy church-tower followed in -succession; there were pavements; a brake full of excursionists had -halted in front of a hotel; holiday-makers--simple folk who disliked to -live in flocks--wandered in ecstatic idleness. Concealed within the -warmth of the mountain air, there pricked a certain sharpness. All -about, beyond the little town, the tors raised their shaggy flanks -surmounted by colossal masses of stone that recalled the youth of the -planet. The feel of the world was stimulating like a tremendous tonic. -Then the wagonette passed a thick grove of trees, hiding a house, and in -a moment, like magic, appeared a huge gated archway of brick and stone, -and over it the incised words: - - - PARCERE SUBJECTIS - - -"Stop! Stop! Harry," cried Alicia shrilly. "What are you doing? -You'll have to go to the house first." - -"Shall I?" said Harry. "All right. Two thirty-five, be it noted." - -The vehicle came to a standstill, and instantly clouds of vapour rose -from the horses. - -"Virgil!" thought Edwin, gazing at the archway, which filled him with -sudden horror, like an obscenity misplaced. - - - - II - - -Less than ten minutes later, he and Hilda and Alicia, together with -three strange men, stood under the archway. Events had followed one -another quickly, to Edwin's undoing. When the wagonette drew up in the -grounds of the Governor's house, Harry Hesketh had politely indicated -that for his horses he preferred the stables of a certain inn down the -road to any stables that hospitality might offer; and he had driven off, -Mrs. Rotherwas urging him to return without any delay so that tennis -might begin. The Governor had been called from home, and in his absence -a high official of the prison was deputed to show the visitors through -the establishment. This official was the first of the three strange -men; the other two were visitors. Janet had said that she would not go -over the prison, because she meant to play tennis and wished not to tire -herself. Alicia said kindly that she at any rate would go with -Hilda,--though she had seen it all before, it was interesting enough to -see again. - -Edwin had thereupon said that he should remain with Janet. But -immediately Mrs. Rotherwas, whose reception of him had been full of the -most friendly charm, had shown surprise, if not pain. What,--come to -Princetown without inspecting the wonderful prison, when the chance was -there? Inconceivable! Edwin might in his blunt Five Towns way have -withstood Mrs. Rotherwas, but he could not withstand Hilda, who, -frowning, seemed almost ready to risk a public altercation in order to -secure his attendance. He had to yield. To make a scene, even a very -little one, in the garden full of light dresses and polite suave voices -would have been monstrous. He thought of all that he had ever heard of -the subjection of men to women. He thought of Johnnie and of Mrs. Chris -Hamson, who was known for her steely caprices. And he thought also of -Jimmie and of the undesirable Mrs. Jimmie, who, it was said, had -threatened to love Jimmie no more unless he took her once a week without -fail to the theatre, whatever the piece, and played cards with her and -two of her friends on all the other nights of the week. He thought of -men as a sex conquered by the unscrupulous and the implacable, and in -this mood, superimposed on his mood of disgust at the mere sight of the -archway, he followed the high official and his train. Mrs. Rotherwas's -last words were that they were not to be long. But the official said -privately to the group that they must at any rate approach the precincts -of the prison with all ceremony, and he led them proudly, with an air of -ownership, round to the main entrance where the wagonette had first -stopped. - -A turnkey on the other side of the immense gates, using a theatrical -gesture, jangled a great bouquet of keys; the portal opened, increasing -the pride of the official, and the next moment they were interned in the -outer courtyard. The moor and all that it meant lay unattainably beyond -that portal. As the group slowly crossed the enclosed space, with the -grim façades of yellow-brown buildings on each side and vistas of -further gates and buildings in front, the official and the two male -visitors began to talk together over the heads of Alicia and Hilda. The -women held close to each other, and the official kept upon them a -chivalrous eye; the two visitors were friends; Edwin was left out of the -social scheme, and lagged somewhat behind, like one who is not wanted -but who cannot be abandoned. He walked self-conscious, miserable, -resentful, and darkly angry. In one instant the three men had estimated -him, decided that he was not of their clan nor of any related clan, and -ignored him. Whereas the official and the two male visitors, who had -never met before, grew more and more friendly each minute. One said -that he did not know So-and-So of the Scots Greys, but he knew his -cousin Trevor of the Hussars, who had in fact married a niece of his -own. And then another question about somebody else was asked, and -immediately they were engaged in following clues, as explorers will -follow the intricate mouths of a great delta and so unite in the main -stream. They were happy. - -Edwin did not seriously mind that; but what he did mind was their -accent--in those days termed throughout the Midlands "lah-di-dah" (an -onomatopoeic description), which, falsifying every vowel sound in the -language, and several consonants, magically created around them an aura -of utter superiority to the rest of the world. He quite unreasonably -hated them, and he also envied them, because this accent was their -native tongue, and because their clothes were not cut like his, and -because they were entirely at their ease. Useless for the official to -throw him an urbane word now and then; neither his hate nor his -constraint would consent to be alleviated; the urbane words grew less -frequent. Also Edwin despised them because they were seemingly -insensible to the tremendous horror of the jail set there like an -outrage in the midst of primitive and sane Dartmoor. "Yes," their -attitude said. "This is a prison, one of the institutions necessary to -the well being of society, like a workhouse or an opera house,--an -interesting sight!" - -A second pair of iron gates were opened with the same elaborate -theatricality as the first, and while the operation was being done the -official, invigorated by the fawning of turnkeys, conversed with Alicia, -who during her short married life had acquired some shallow acquaintance -with the clans, and he even drew a reluctant phrase from Hilda. Then, -after another open space, came a third pair of iron gates, final and -terrific, and at length the party was under cover, and even the sky of -the moor was lost. Edwin, bored, disgusted, shamed, and stricken, -yielded himself proudly and submissively to the horror of the -experience. - - - - III - - -Hilda had only one thought--would she catch sight of the innocent -prisoner? The party was now deeply engaged in a system of corridors and -stairways. The official had said that as the tour of inspection was to -be short he would display to them chiefly the modern part of the prison. -So far not a prisoner had been seen, and scarcely a warder. The two -male visitors were scientifically interested in the question of escapes. -Did prisoners ever escape? - -"Never!" said the official, with satisfaction. - -"Impossible, I suppose. Even when they're working out on the moor? -Warders are pretty good shots, eh?" - -"Practically impossible," said the official. "But there is one way." -He looked up the stairway on whose landing they stood, and down the -stairway, and cautiously lowered his voice. "Of course what I tell you -is confidential. If one of our Dartmoor fogs came on suddenly, and kind -friends outside had hidden a stock of clothes and food in an arranged -spot, then theoretically--I say, theoretically--a man might get away. -But nobody ever has done." - -"I suppose you still have the silent system?" - -The official nodded. - -"Absolutely?" - -"Absolutely." - -"How awful it must be!" said Alicia, with a nervous laugh. - -The official shrugged his shoulders, and the other two males murmured -reassuring axioms about discipline. - -They emerged from the stairway into a colossal and resounding iron hall. -Round the emptiness of this interior ran galleries of perforated iron -protected from the abyss by iron balustrades. The group stood on the -second of the galleries from the stony floor, and there were two -galleries above them. Far away, opposite, a glint of sunshine had -feloniously slipped in, transpiercing the gloom, and it lighted a series -of doors. There was a row of these doors along every gallery. Each had -a peep-hole, a key-hole and a number. The longer Hilda regarded, the -more nightmarishly numerous seemed the doors. The place was like a huge -rabbit-hutch designed for the claustration of countless rabbits. Across -the whole width and length of the hall, and at the level of the lowest -gallery, was stretched a great net. - -"To provide against suicides?" suggested one of the men. - -"Yes," said the official. - -"A good idea." - -When the reverberation of the words had ceased, a little silence ensued. -The ear listened vainly for the slightest sound. In the silence the -implacability of granite walls and iron reticulations reigned over the -accursed vision, stultifying the soul. - -"Are these cells occupied?" asked Alicia timidly. - -"Not yet, Mrs. Hesketh. It's too soon. A few are." - -Hilda thought: - -"He may be here,--behind one of those doors." Her heart was liquid with -compassion and revolt. "No," she assured herself. "They must have -taken him away already. It's impossible he should be here. He's -innocent." - -"Perhaps you would like to see one of the cells?" the official -suggested. - -A warder appeared, and, with the inescapable jangle of keys, opened a -door. The party entered the cell, ladies first, then the official and -his new acquaintances; then Edwin, trailing. The cell was long and -narrow, fairly lofty, bluish-white colour, very dimly lighted by a tiny -grimed window high up in a wall of extreme thickness. The bed lay next -the long wall; except the bed, a stool, a shelf, and some utensils, -there was nothing to furnish the horrible nakedness of the cell. One of -the visitors picked up an old book from the shelf. It was a Greek -Testament. The party seemed astonished at this evidence of culture -among prisoners, of the height from which a criminal may have fallen. - -The official smiled. - -"They often ask for such things on purpose," said he. "They think it's -effective. They're very naïve, you know, at bottom." - -"This very cell may be his cell," thought Hilda. "He may have been here -all these months, years, knowing he was innocent. He may have thought -about me in this cell." She glanced cautiously at Edwin, but Edwin -would not catch her eye. - -They left. On the way to the workshops, they had a glimpse of the old -parts of the prison, used during the Napoleonic wars, incredibly dark, -frowsy, like catacombs. - -"We don't use this part--unless we're very full up," said the official, -and he contrasted it with the bright, spacious, healthy excellences of -the hall which they had just quitted, to prove that civilisation never -stood still. - -And then suddenly, at the end of a passage, a door opened and they were -in the tailors' shop, a large irregular apartment full of a strong -stench and of squatted and grotesque human beings. The human beings, -for the most part, were clothed in a peculiar brown stuff, covered with -broad arrows. The dress consisted of a short jacket, baggy -knickerbockers, black stockings, and coloured shoes. Their hair was cut -so short that they had the appearance of being bald, and their great -ears protruded at a startling angle from the sides of those smooth -heads. They were of every age, yet they all looked alike, ridiculous, -pantomimic, appalling. Some gazed with indifference at the visitors; -others seemed oblivious of the entry. They all stitched on their -haunches, in the stench, under the surveillance of eight armed warders -in blue. - -"How many?" asked the official mechanically. - -"Forty-nine, sir," said a warder. - -And Hilda searched their loathsome and vapid faces for the face of -George Cannon. He was not there. She trembled,--whether with relief or -with disappointment she knew not. She was agonised, but in her torture -she exulted that she had come. - -No comment had been made in the workshop, the official having hinted -that silence was usual on such occasions. But in a kind of -antechamber--one of those amorphous spaces, serving no purpose and -resembling nothing, which are sometimes to be found between definable -rooms and corridors in a vast building imperfectly planned--the party -halted in the midst of a discussion as to discipline. The male -visitors, except Edwin, showed marked intelligence and detachment; they -seemed to understand immediately how it was that forty-nine ruffians -could be trusted to squat on their thighs and stitch industriously and -use scissors and other weapons for hours without being chained to the -ground; they certainly knew something of the handling of men. The -official, triumphant, stated that every prisoner had the right of -personal appeal to the Governor every day. - -"They come with their stories of grievances," said he, tolerant and -derisive. - -"Which often aren't true?" - -"Which are never true," said the official quietly. "Never! They are -always lies--always! ... Shows the material we have to deal with!" He -gave a short laugh. - -"Really!" said one of the men, rather pleased and excited by this report -of universal lying. - -"I suppose," Edwin blurted out, "you can tell for certain when they -aren't speaking the truth?" - -Everybody looked at him surprised, as though the dumb had spoken. The -official's glance showed some suspicion of sarcasm and a tendency to -resent it. - -"We can," he answered shortly, commanding his features to a faint smile. -"And now I wonder what Mrs. Rotherwas will be saying if I don't restore -you to her." It was agreed that regard must be had for Mrs. Rotherwas's -hospitable arrangements, though the prison was really very interesting -and would repay study. - -They entered a wide corridor--one of two that met at right-angles in the -amorphous space--leading in the direction of the chief entrance. From -the end of this corridor a file of convicts was approaching in charge of -two warders with guns. The official offered no remark, but held on. -Hilda, falling back near to Edwin in the procession, was divided between -a dreadful fear and a hope equally dreadful. Except in the tailors' -shop, these were the only prisoners they had seen, and they appeared out -of place in the half-freedom of the corridor; for nobody could conceive -a prisoner save in a cell or shop, and these were moving in a public -corridor, unshackled. - -Then she distinguished George Cannon among them. He was the third from -the last. She knew him by his nose and the shape of his chin, and by -his walk, though there was little left of his proud walk in the -desolating, hopeless prison-shuffle which was the gait of all six -convicts. His hair was iron-grey. All these details she could see and -be sure of in the distance of the dim corridor. She no longer had a -stomach; it had gone, and yet she felt a horrible nausea. - -She cried out to herself: - -"Why did I come? Why did I come? I am always doing these mad things. -Edwin was right. Why do I not listen to him?" - -The party of visitors led by the high official, and the file of convicts -in charge of armed warders, were gradually approaching one another in -the wide corridor. It seemed to Hilda that a fearful collision was -imminent, and that something ought to be done. But nobody among the -visitors did anything or seemed to be disturbed. Only they had all -fallen silent; and in the echoing corridor could be heard the firm steps -of the male visitors accompanying the delicate tripping of the women, -and the military tramp of the warders with the confused shuffling of the -convicts. - -"Has he recognised me?" thought Hilda, wildly. - -She hoped that he had and that he had not. She recalled with the most -poignant sorrow the few days of their union, their hours of intimacy, -his kisses, her secret realisation of her power over him, and of his -passion. She wanted to scream: - -"That man there is as innocent as any of you, and soon the whole world -will know it! He never committed any crime except that of loving me too -much. He could not do without me, and so I was his ruin. It is horrible -that he should be here in this hell. He must be set free at once. The -Home Secretary knows he is innocent, but they are so slow. How can -anyone bear that he should stop here one instant longer?" - -But she made no sound. The tremendous force of an ancient and organised -society kept her lips closed and her feet in a line with the others. -She thought in despair: - -"We are getting nearer, and I cannot meet him. I shall drop." She -glanced at Edwin, as if for help, but Edwin was looking straight ahead. - -Then a warder, stopping, ejaculated with the harsh brevity of a -drill-serjeant: - -"Halt!" - -The file halted. - -"Right turn!" - -The six captives turned, with their faces close against the wall of the -corridor, obedient, humiliated, spiritless, limp, stooping. Their backs -presented the most ridiculous aspect; all the calculated grotesquerie of -the surpassingly ugly prison uniform was accentuated as they stood thus, -a row of living scarecrows, who knew that they had not the right even to -look upon free men. Every one of them except George Cannon had large -protuberant ears that completed the monstrosity of their appearance. - -The official gave his new acquaintances a satisfied glance, as if -saying: - -"That is the rule by which we manage these chance encounters." - -The visitors went by in silence, instinctively edging away from the -captives. And as she passed, Hilda lurched very heavily against Edwin, -and recovered herself. Edwin seized her arm near the shoulder, and saw -that she was pale. The others were in front. - -Behind them they could hear the warder: - -"Left turn! March!" - -And the shuffling and the tramping recommenced. - - - - IV - - -In the garden of the Governor's house tennis had already begun when the -official brought back his convoy. Young Truscott and Mrs. Rotherwas -were pitted against Harry Hesketh and a girl of eighteen who possessed a -good wrist but could not keep her head. Harry was watching over his -partner, quietly advising her upon the ruses of the enemy, taking the -more difficult strokes for her, and generally imparting to her the -quality which she lacked. Harry was fully engaged; the whole of his -brain and body was at strain; he let nothing go by; he missed no chance, -and within the laws of the game he hesitated at no stratagem. And he was -beating young Truscott and Mrs. Rotherwas, while an increasing and -polite audience looked on. To the entering party, the withdrawn scene, -lit by sunshine, appeared as perfect as a stage-show, with its trees, -lawn, flowers, toilettes, the flying balls, the grace of the players, -and the grey solidity of the governor's house in the background. - -Alicia ran gawkily to Janet, who had got a box of chocolates from -somewhere, and one of the men followed her, laughing. Hilda sat apart; -she was less pale. Edwin remained cautiously near her. He had not left -her side since she lurched against him in the corridor. He knew; he had -divined that that which he most feared had come to pass,--the supreme -punishment of Hilda's morbidity. He had not definitely recognised -George Cannon, for he was not acquainted with him, and in the past had -only once or twice by chance caught sight of him in the streets of -Bursley or Turnhill. But he had seen among the six captives one who -might be he, and who certainly had something of the Five Towns look. -Hilda's lurch told him that by vindictiveness of fate George Cannon was -close to them. - -He had ignored his own emotion. The sudden transient weight of Hilda's -body had had a strange moral effect upon him. "This," he thought, "is -the burden I have to bear. This, and not lithography, nor riches, is my -chief concern. She depends on me. I am all she has to stand by." The -burden with its immense and complex responsibilities was sweet to his -inmost being; and it braced him and destroyed his resentment against her -morbidity. His pity was pure. He felt that he must live more -nobly--yes, more heroically--than he had been living; that all irritable -pettiness must drop away from him, and that his existence in her regard -must have simplicity and grandeur. The sensation of her actual weight -stayed with him. He had not spoken to her; he dared not; he had -scarcely met her eyes; but he was ready for any emergency. Every now and -then, in the garden, Hilda glanced over her shoulder at the house, as -though her gaze could pierce the house and see the sinister prison -beyond. - -The set ended, to Harry Hesketh's satisfaction; and, another set being -arranged, he and Mrs. Rotherwas, athletic in a short skirt and simple -blouse, came walking, rather flushed and breathless, round the garden -with one or two others, including Harry's late partner. The -conversation turned upon the great South Wales colliery strike against a -proposed reduction of wages. Mrs. Rotherwas' husband was a colliery -proprietor near Monmouth, and she had just received a letter from him. -Everyone sympathised with her and her husband, and nobody could -comprehend the wrongheadedness of the miners, except upon the -supposition that they had been led away by mischievous demagogues. As -the group approached, the timid young girl, having regained her nerve, -was exclaiming with honest indignation: "The leaders ought to be shot, -and the men who won't go down the pits ought to be forced to go down and -made to work." And she picked at fluff on her yellow frock. Edwin -feared an uprising from Hilda, but naught happened. Mrs. Rotherwas -spoke about tea, though it was rather early, and they all, Hilda as -well, wandered to a large yew tree under which was a table; through the -pendant branches of the tree the tennis could be watched as through a -screen. - -The prison clock tolled the hour over the roofs of the house, and Mrs. -Rotherwas gave the definite signal for refreshments. - -"You're exhausted," she said teasingly to Harry. - -"You'll see," said Harry. - -"No," Mrs. Rotherwas delightfully relented. "You're a dear, and I love -to watch you play. I'm sure you could give Mr. Truscott half fifteen." - -"Think so?" said Harry, pleased, and very conscious that he was living -fully. - -"You see what it is to have an object in life, Hesketh," Edwin remarked -suddenly. - -Harry glanced at him doubtfully, and yet with a certain ingenuous -admiration. At the same time a white ball rolled near the tree. He -ducked under the trailing branches, returned the ball, and moved slowly -towards the court. - -"Alicia tells me you're very old friends of theirs," said Mrs. -Rotherwas, agreeably, to Hilda. - -Hilda smiled quietly. - -"Yes, we are, both of us." - -Who could have guessed, now, that her condition was not absolutely -normal? - -"Charming people, aren't they, the Heskeths?" said Mrs. Rotherwas. -"Perfectly charming. They're an ideal couple. And I do like their -house, it's so deliciously quaint, isn't it, Mary?" - -"Lovely," agreed the young girl. - -It was an ideal world, full of ideal beings. - -Soon after tea the irresistible magnetism of Alicia's babies drew Alicia -off the moor, and with her the champion player, Janet, Hilda and Edwin. -Mrs. Rotherwas let them go with regret, adorably expressed. Harry would -have liked to stay, but on the other hand he was delightfully ready to -yield to Alicia. - - - - V - - -On arriving at Tavy Mansion Hilda announced that she should lie down. -She told Edwin, in an exhausted but friendly voice, that she needed only -rest, and he comprehended, rightly, that he was to leave her. Not a -word was said between them as to the events within the prison. He left -her, and spent the time before dinner with Harry Hesketh, who had the -idea of occupying their leisure with a short game of bowls, for which it -was necessary to remove the croquet hoops. - -Hilda undressed and got into bed. Soon afterwards both Alicia, with an -infant, and Janet came to see her. Had Janet been alone, Hilda might -conceivably in her weakness have surrendered the secret to her in -exchange for that soft and persuasive sympathy of which Janet was the -mistress, but the presence of Alicia made a confidence impossible, and -Hilda was glad. She plausibly fibbed to both sisters, and immediately -afterwards the household knew that Hilda would not appear at dinner. -There was not the slightest alarm or apprehension, for the affair -explained itself in the simplest way,--Hilda had had a headache in the -morning, and had been wrong to go out; she was now merely paying for the -indiscretion. She would be quite recovered the next day. Alicia -whispered a word to her husband, who, besides, was not apt easily to get -nervous about anything except his form at games. Edwin also, with his -Five Towns habit of mind, soberly belittled the indisposition. The -household remained natural and gay. When Edwin went upstairs to prepare -for dinner, moving very quietly, his wife had her face towards the wall -and away from the light. He came round the bed to look at her. - -"I'm all right," she murmured. - -"Want nothing at all?" he asked, with nervous gruffness. - -She shook her head. - -Very impatiently she awaited his departure, exasperated more than she -had ever been by his precise deliberation over certain details of his -toilet. As soon as he was gone she began to cry; but the tears came so -gently from her eyes that the weeping was as passive, as independent of -volition, as the escape of blood from a wound. - -She had a grievance against Edwin. At the crisis in the prison she had -blamed herself for not submitting to his guidance, but now she had -reacted against all such accusations, and her grievance amounted to just -an indictment of his commonsense, his quietude, his talent for keeping -out of harm's way, his lack of violent impulses, his formidable -respectability. She was a rebel; he was not. He would never do -anything wrong, or even perilous. Never, never would he find himself in -need of a friend's help. He would always direct his course so that -society would protect him. He was a firm part of the structure of -society; he was the enemy of impulses. When he foresaw a danger, the -danger was always realised: she had noticed that, and she resented it. -He was infinitely above the George Cannons of the world. He would be -incapable of bigamy, incapable of being caught in circumstances which -could bring upon him suspicion of any crime whatever. Yet for her the -George Cannons had a quality which he lacked, which he could never -possess, and which would have impossibly perfected him--a quality -heroic, foolish, martyr-like! She was almost ready to decide that his -complete social security was due to cowardice and resulted in -self-righteousness! ... Could he really feel pity as she felt it, for -the despised and rejected, and a hatred of injustice equal to hers? - -These two emotions were burning her up. Again and again, ceaselessly, -her mind ran round the circle of George Cannon's torture and the -callousness of society. He had sinned, and she had loathed him; but -both his sin and her loathing were the fruit of passion. He had been a -proud man, and she had shared his pride; now he was broken, unutterably -humiliated, and she partook of his humiliation. The grotesque and -beaten animal in the corridor was all that society had left of him who -had once inspired her to acts of devotion, who could make her blush, and -to satisfy whom she would recklessly spend herself. The situation was -intolerable, and yet it had to be borne. But surely it must be ended! -Surely at the latest on the morrow the prisoner must be released, and -soothed and reinstated! ... Pardoned? No! A pardon was an insult, -worse than an insult. She would not listen to the word. Society might -use it for its own purposes; but she would never use it. Pardon a man -after deliberately and fiendishly achieving his ruin? She could have -laughed. - -Exhaustion followed, tempering emotion and reducing it to a profound -despairing melancholy that was stirred at intervals by frantic revolt. -The light failed. The windows became vague silver squares. Outside -fowls clucked, a horse's hoof clattered on stones; servants spoke to -each other in their rough, good-natured voices. The peace of the world -had its effect on her, unwilling though she was. Then there was a faint -tap at the door. She made no reply, and shut her eyes. The door gently -opened, and someone tripped delicately in. She heard movements at the -washstand.... One of the maids. A match was struck. The blinds were -stealthily lowered, the curtains drawn; garments were gathered together, -and at last the door closed again. - -She opened her eyes. The room was very dimly illuminated. A -night-light, under a glass hemisphere of pale rose, stood on the -dressing-table. By magic, order had been restored; a glinting copper -ewer of hot water stood in the whiteness of the basin with a towel over -it; the blue blinds, revealed by the narrowness of the red curtains, -stirred in the depths of the windows; each detail of the chamber was -gradually disclosed, and the chamber was steeped in the first -tranquillity of the night. Not a sound could be heard. Through the -depths of her bitterness, there rose slowly the sensation of the beauty -of existence even in its sadness.... - -A long time afterwards it occurred to her in the obscurity that the bed -was tumbled. She must have turned over and over. The bed must be -arranged before Edwin came. He had to share it. After all, he had -committed no fault; he was entirely innocent. She and fate between them -had inflicted these difficulties and these solicitudes upon him. He had -said little or nothing, but he was sympathetic. When she had stumbled -against him she had felt his upholding masculine strength. He was -dependable, and would be dependable to the last. The bed must be -creaseless when he came; this was the least she could do. She arose. -Very faintly she could descry her image in the mirror of the great -wardrobe--a dishevelled image. Forgetting the bed, she bathed her face, -and, unusually, took care to leave the washstand as tidy as the maid had -left it. Then, having arranged her hair, she set about the bed. It was -not easy for one person unaided to make a wide bed. Before she had -finished she heard footsteps outside the door. She stood still. Then -she heard Edwin's voice: - -"Don't trouble, thanks. I'll take it in myself." - -He entered, carrying a tray, and shut the door, and instantly she busied -herself once more with the bed. - -"My poor girl," he said with quiet kindliness, "what are you doing?" - -"I'm just putting the bed to rights," she answered, and almost with a -single movement she slid back into the bed. "What have you got there?" - -"I thought I'd ask for some tea for you," he said. "Nearly the whole -blessed household wanted to come and see you, but I wouldn't have it." - -She could not say: "It's very nice of you." But she said, simply to -please him: "I should like some tea." - -He put the tray on the dressing-table; then lit three candles, two on -the dressing-table and one on the night-table, and brought the tray to -the night-table. - -He himself poured out the tea, and offered the cup. She raised herself -on an elbow. - -"Did you recognise him?" she muttered suddenly, after she had blown on -the tea to cool it. - -Under ordinary conditions Edwin would have replied to such an unprepared -question with another, petulant and impatient: "Recognise who?" -pretending that he did not understand the allusion. But now he made no -pretences. - -"Not quite," he said. "But I knew at once. I could see which of them -it must be." - -The subject at last opened between them, Hilda felt an extraordinary -solace and relief. He stood by the bedside, in black, with a great -breastplate of white, his hair rough, his hands in his pockets. She -thought he had a fine face; she thought of him as, at such a time, her -superior; she wanted powerfully to adopt his attitude, to believe in -everything he said. They were talking together in safety, quietly, -gravely, amicably, withdrawn and safe in the strange house--he -benevolent and assuaging and comprehending, she desiring the balm which -he could give. It seemed to her that they had never talked to each -other in such tones. - -"Isn't it awful--awful?" she exclaimed. - -"It is," said Edwin, and added carefully, tenderly: "I suppose he _is_ -innocent." - -She might have flown at him: "That's just like you--to assume he isn't!" -But she replied: - -"I'm quite sure of it. I say--I want you to read all the letters I've -had from Mrs. Cannon. I've got them here. They're in my bag there. -Read them now. Of course I always meant to show them to you." - -"All right," he agreed, drew a chair to the dressing-table where the bag -was, found the letters, and read them. She waited, as he read one -letter, put it down, read another, laid it precisely upon the first one, -with his terrible exactitude and orderliness, and so on through the -whole packet. - -"Yes," said he at the end, "I should say he's innocent this time, right -enough." - -"But something ought to be done!" she cried. "Don't you think something -ought to be done, Edwin?" - -"Something has been done. Something is being done." - -"But something else!" - -He got up and walked about the room. - -"There's only one thing to be done," he said. - -He came towards her, and stood over her again, and the candle on the -night-table lighted his chin and the space between his eyelashes and his -eyebrows. He timidly touched her hair, caressing it. They were -absolutely at their ease together in the intimacy of the bedroom. In -her brief relations with George Cannon there had not been time to -establish anything like such intimacy. With George Cannon she had -always had the tremors of the fawn. - -"What is it?" - -"Wait. That's all. It's not the slightest use trying to hurry these -public departments. You can't do it. You only get annoyed for nothing -at all. You can take that from me, my child." - -He spoke with such delicate persuasiveness, such an evident desire to be -helpful, that Hilda was convinced and grew resigned. It did not occur -to her that he had made a tremendous resolve which had raised him above -the Edwin she knew. She thought she had hitherto misjudged and -underrated him. - -"I wanted to explain to you about that ten pounds," she said. - -"That's all right--that's all right," said he hastily. - -"But I _must_ tell you. You saw Mrs. Cannon's letter asking me for -money. Well, I borrowed the ten pounds from Janet. So of course I had -to pay it back, hadn't I?" - -"How is Janet?" he asked in a new, lighter tone. - -"She seems to be going on splendidly, don't you think so?" - -"Well then, we'll go home to-morrow." - -"Shall we?" - -She lifted her arms and he bent. She was crying. In a moment she was -sobbing. She gave him violent kisses amid her sobs, and held him close -to her until the fit passed. Then she said, in her voice reduced to -that of a child: - -"What time's the train?" - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - THE GHOST - - - I - - -It was six-thirty. The autumn dusk had already begun to fade; and in -the damp air, cold, grimy, and vaporous, men with scarves round their -necks and girls with shawls over their heads, or hatted and even gloved, -were going home from work past the petty shops where sweets, tobacco, -fried fish, chitterlings, groceries, and novelettes were sold among -enamelled advertisements of magic soaps. In the feeble and patchy -illumination of the footpaths, which left the middle of the streets and -the upper air all obscure, the chilled, preoccupied people passed each -other rapidly like phantoms, emerging out of one mystery and -disappearing into another. Everywhere, behind the fanlights and shaded -windows of cottages, domesticity was preparing the warm relaxations of -the night. Amid the streets of little buildings the lithographic -establishment, with a yellow oblong here and there illuminated in its -dark façades, stood up high, larger than reality, more important and -tyrannic, one of the barracks, one of the prisons, one of the -money-works where a single man or a small group of men by brains and -vigour and rigour exploited the populace. - -Edwin, sitting late in his private office behind those façades, was not -unaware of the sensation of being an exploiter. By his side on the -large flat desk lay a copy of the afternoon's _Signal_ containing an -account of the breaking up by police of an open-air meeting of confessed -anarchists on the previous day at Manchester. Manchester was, and is -still, physically and morally, very close to the Five Towns, which -respect it more than they respect London. An anarchist meeting at -Manchester was indeed an uncomfortable portent for the Five Towns. -Enormous strikes, like civil wars at stalemate, characterised the autumn -as they had characterised the spring, affecting directly or indirectly -every industry, and weakening the prestige of government, conventions, -wealth, and success. Edwin was successful. It was because he was -successful that he was staying late and that a clerk in the outer office -was staying late and that windows were illuminated here and there in the -façades. Holding in his hand the wage-book, he glanced down the long -column of names and amounts. Some names conveyed nothing to him; but -most of them raised definite images in his mind--of big men, roughs, -decent clerks with wristbands, undersized pale machinists, intensely -respectable skilled artisans and daughtsmen, thin ragged lads, greasy, -slatternly, pale girls, and one or two fat women,--all dirty, and -working with indifference in dirt. Most of them kowtowed to him; some -did not; some scowled askance. But they were all dependent on him. Not -one of them but would be prodigiously alarmed and inconvenienced--to say -nothing of going hungry--if it he did not pay wages the next morning. -The fact was he could distribute ruin with a gesture and nobody could -bring him to book.... - -Something wrong! Under the influence of strikes and anarchist meetings -he felt with foreboding and even with a little personal alarm that -something was wrong. Those greasy, slatternly girls, for instance, with -their coarse charm and their sexuality,--they were underpaid. They -received as much as other girls, on pot-banks, perhaps more, but they -were underpaid. What chance had they? He was getting richer every day, -and safer (except for the vague menace); yet he could not appreciably -improve their lot, partly for business reasons, partly because any -attempt to do so would bring the community about his ears and he would -be labelled as a doctrinaire and a fool, and partly because his own -commonsense was against such a move. Not those girls, not his works, not -this industry and that, was wrong. All was wrong. And it was -impossible to imagine any future period when all would not be wrong. -Perfection was a desolating thought. Nevertheless the struggle towards -it was instinctive and had to go on. The danger was (in Edwin's eyes) -of letting that particular struggle monopolise one's energy. Well, he -would not let it. He did a little here and a little there, and he voted -democratically and in his heart was most destructively sarcastic about -toryism; and for the rest he relished the adventure of existence, and -took the best he conscientiously could, and thought pretty well of -himself as a lover of his fellowmen. If he was born to be a master, he -would be one, and not spend his days in trying to overthrow mastery. He -was tired that evening, he had a slight headache, he certainly had -worries; but he was not unhappy on the throbbing, tossing steamer of -humanity. Nobody could seem less adventurous than he seemed, with his -timidities and his love of moderation, comfort, regularity and security. -Yet his nostrils would sniff to the supreme and all-embracing adventure. - -He heard Hilda's clear voice in the outer office: "Mr. Clayhanger in -there?" and the clerk's somewhat nervously agitated reply, repeating -several times in eager affirmative. And he himself, the master, though -still all alone in the sanctum, at once pretended to be very busy. - -Her presence would thus often produce an excitation in the organism of -the business. She was so foreign to it, so unsoiled by it, so aloof -from it, so much more gracious, civilised, enigmatic than anything that -the business could show! And, fundamentally, she was the cause of the -business; it was all for her; it existed with its dirt, noise, crudity, -strain, and eternal effort so that she might exist in her elegance, her -disturbing femininity, her restricted and deep affections, her -irrational capriciousness, and her strange, brusque commonsense. The -clerks and some of the women felt this; Big James certainly felt it; and -Edwin felt it, and denied it to himself, more than anybody. There was -no economic justice in the arrangement. She would come in veiled, her -face mysterious behind the veil, and after a few minutes she would -delicately lift her gloved fingers to the veil, and raise it, and her -dark, pale, vivacious face would be disclosed. "Here I am!" And the -balance was even, her debt paid! That was how it was. - -In the month that had passed since the visit to Dartmoor, Edwin, despite -his resolve to live heroically and philosophically, had sometimes been -forced into the secret attitude: "This woman will kill me, but without -her I shouldn't be interested enough to live." He was sometimes morally -above her to the point of priggishness, and sometimes incredibly below -her; but for the most part living in a different dimension. She had -heard nothing further from Mrs. Cannon; she knew nothing of the -bigamist's fate, though more than once she had written for news. Her -moods were unpredictable and disconcerting, and as her moods constituted -the chief object of Edwin's study the effect on him was not -tranquillising. At the start he had risen to the difficulty of the -situation; but he could not permanently remain at that height, and the -situation had apparently become stationary. His exasperations, both -concealed and open, were not merely unworthy of a philosopher, they were -unworthy of a common man. "Why be annoyed?" he would say to himself. -But he was annoyed. "The tone--the right tone!" he would remind -himself. Surely he could remember to command his voice to the right -tone? But no! He could not. He could infallibly remember to wind up -his watch, but he could not remember that. Moreover, he felt, as he had -felt before, on occasions, that no amount of right tone would keep their -relations smooth, for the reason that principles were opposed. Could -she not see? ... Well, she could not. There she was, entire, -unalterable--impossible to chip inconvenient pieces off her--you must -take her or leave her; and she could not see, or she would not--which in -practice was the same thing. - -And yet some of the most exquisite moments of their union had occurred -during that feverish and unquiet month--moments of absolute surrender -and devotion on her part, of protective love on his; and also long -moments of peace. With the early commencement of autumn, all the family -had resumed the pursuit of letters with a certain ardour. A startling -feminist writer, and the writer whose parentage and whose very name lay -in the Five Towns, who had re-created the East and whose vogue was a -passion among the lettered--both these had published books whose success -was extreme and genuine. And in the curtained gas-lit drawing-room of a -night Hilda would sit rejoicing over the triumphant satire of the -woman-novelist, and Edwin and George would lounge in impossible -postures, each mesmerised by a story of the Anglo-Indian; and between -chapters Edwin might rouse himself from the enchantment sufficiently to -reflect: "How indescribably agreeable these evenings are!" And ten to -one he would say aloud, with false severity: "George! Bed!" And George, -a fine judge of genuineness in severity, would murmur carelessly: "All -right! I'm going!" And not go. - -And now Edwin in the office thought: - -"She's come to fetch me away." - -He was gratified. But he must not seem to be gratified. The sanctity -of business from invasion had to be upheld. He frowned, feigning more -diligently than ever to be occupied. She came in, with that air at once -apologetic and defiant that wives have in affronting the sacred -fastness. Nobody could have guessed that she had ever been a business -woman, arriving regularly at just such an office every morning, -shorthand-writing, twisting a copying-press, filing, making -appointments. Nobody could have guessed that she had ever been in -business for herself, and had known how sixpence was added to sixpence -and a week's profit lost in an hour. All such knowledge had apparently -dropped from her like an excrescence, had vanished like a temporary -disfigurement, and she looked upon commerce with the uncomprehending, -careless, and yet impressed eyes of a young girl. - -"Hello, missis!" he exclaimed casually. - -Then George came in. Since the visit to Dartmoor Hilda had much -increased her intimacy with George, spending a lot of time with him, -walking with him, and exploring in a sisterly and reassuring manner his -most private life. George liked it, but it occasionally irked him and -he would give a hint to Edwin that mother needed to be handled at times. - -"You needn't come in here, George," said Hilda. - -"Well, can I go into the engine-house?" George suggested. Edwin had -always expected that he would prefer the machine-room. But the -engine-house was his haunt, probably because it was dirty, fiery, and -stuffy. - -"No, you can't," said Edwin. "Pratt's gone by this, and it's shut up." - -"No, it isn't. Pratt's there." - -"All right." - -"Shut the door, dear," said Hilda. - -"Hooray!" George ran off and banged the glass door. - -Hilda, glancing by habit at the unsightly details of the deteriorating -room, walked round the desk. With apprehension Edwin saw resolve and -perturbation in her face. He was about to say: "Look here, infant, I'm -supposed to be busy." But he refrained. - -Holding out a letter which she nervously snatched from her bag, Hilda -said: - -"I've just had this--by the afternoon post. Read it." - -He recognised at once the sloping handwriting; but the paper was -different; it was a mere torn half-sheet of very cheap notepaper. He -read: "Dear Mrs. Clayhanger. Just a line to say that my husband is at -last discharged. It has been weary waiting. We are together, and I am -looking after him. With renewed thanks for your sympathy and help. -Believe me, Sincerely yours, Charlotte M. Cannon." The signature was -scarcely legible. There was no address, no date. - -Edwin's first flitting despicable masculine thought was: "She doesn't -say anything about that ten pounds!" It fled. He was happy in an -intense relief that affected all his being. He said to himself: "Now -that's over, we can begin again." - -"Well," he murmured. "That's all right. Didn't I always tell you it -would take some time? ... That's all right." - -He gazed at the paper, waving it in his hand as he held it by one -corner. He perceived that it was the letter of a jealous woman, who had -got what she wanted and meant to hold it, and entirely to herself; and -his mood became somewhat sardonic. - -"Very curt, isn't it?" said Hilda strangely. "And after all this time, -too!" - -He looked up at her, turning his head sideways to catch her eyes. - -"That letter," he said in a voice as strange as Hilda's, "that letter is -exactly what it ought to be. It could not possibly have been better -turned.... You don't want to keep it, I suppose, do you?" - -"No," she muttered. - -He tore it into very small pieces, and dropped them into the -waste-paper-basket beneath the desk. - -"And burn all the others," he said, in a low tone. - -"Edwin," after a pause. - -"Yes?" - -"Don't you think George ought to know? Don't you think one of us ought -to tell him,--either you or me? You might tell him?" - -"Tell him what?" Edwin demanded sharply, pushing back his chair. - -"Well, everything!" - -He glowered. He could feel himself glowering. He could feel the -justifiable anger animating him. - -"Certainly not!" he enunciated resentfully, masterfully, overpoweringly. -"Certainly not!" - -"But supposing he hears from outsiders?" - -"You needn't begin supposing." - -"But he's bound to have to know sometime." - -"Possibly. But he isn't going to know now, any road! Not with my -consent. The thing's absolute madness." - -Hilda almost whispered: - -"Very well, dear. If you think so." - -"I do think so." - -He suddenly felt very sorry for her. He was ready to excuse her -astounding morbidity as a consequence of extreme spiritual tribulation. -He added with brusque good-nature: - -"And so will you, in the morning, my child." - -"Shall you be long?" - -"No. I told you I should be late. If you'll run off, my chuck, I'll -undertake to be after you in half an hour." - -"Is your headache better?" - -"No. On the other hand, it isn't worse." - -He gazed fiercely at the wages-book. - -She bent down. - -"Kiss me," she murmured tearfully. - -As he kissed her, and as she pressed against him, he absorbed and -understood all the emotions through which she had passed and was -passing, and from him to her was transmitted an unimaginable tenderness -that shamed and atoned for the inclemency of his refusals. He was very -happy. He knew that he would not do another stroke of work that night, -but still he must pretend to do some. Playfully, without rising, he -drew down her veil, smacked her gently on the back, and indicated the -door. - -"I have to call at Clara's about that wool for Maggie," she said, with -courage. His fingering of her veil had given her extreme pleasure. - -"I'll bring the kid up," he said. - -"Will you?" - -She departed, leaving the door unlatched. - - - - II - - -A draught from the outer door swung wide-open the unlatched door of -Edwin's room. - -"What are doors for?" he muttered, pleasantly impatient; then he called -aloud: - -"Simpson. Shut the outer door--and this one, too." - -There was no answer. He arose and went to the outer office. Hilda had -passed through it like an arrow. Simpson was not there. But a man -stood leaning against the mantelpiece; he held at full spread a copy of -the _Signal_, which concealed all the upper part of him except his -fingers and the crown of his head. Though the gas had been lighted in -the middle of the room, it must have been impossible for him to read by -it, since it shone through the paper. He lowered the newspaper with a -rustle and looked at Edwin. He was a big, well-dressed man, wearing a -dark grey suit, a blue Melton overcoat, and a quite new glossy -"boiler-end" felt hat. He had a straight, prominent nose, and dark, -restless eyes, set back; his short hair was getting grey, but not his -short black moustache. - -"Were you waiting to see me?" Edwin said, in a defensive, half-hostile -tone. The man might be a belated commercial traveller of a big -house--some of those fellows considered themselves above all laws; on -the other hand he might be a new; customer in a hurry. - -"Yes," was the reply, in a deep, full and yet uncertain voice. "The -clerk said you couldn't be disturbed, and asked me to wait. Then he -went out." - -"What can I do for you? It's really after hours, but some of us are -working a bit late." - -The man glanced at the outer door, which Edwin was shutting, and then at -the inner door, which exposed Edwin's room. - -"I'm George Cannon," he said, advancing a step, as it were defiantly. - -For an instant Edwin was frightened by the sudden melodrama of the -situation. Then he thought: - -"I am up against this man. This is a crisis." - -And he became almost agreeably aware of his own being. The man stood -close to him, under the gas, with all the enigmatic quality of another -being. He could perceive now--at any rate he could believe--that it was -George Cannon. Forgetful of what the man had suffered, Edwin felt for -him nothing but the instinctive inimical distrust of the individual who -has never got at loggerheads with society for the individual who once -and for always has. To this feeling was added a powerful resentment of -the man's act in coming--especially unannounced--to just _him_, the -husband of the woman he had dishonoured. It was a monstrous act--and -doubtless an act characteristic of the man. It was what might have been -expected. The man might have been innocent of a particular crime, might -have been falsely imprisoned; but what had he originally been doing, -with what rascals had he been consorting, that he should be even -suspected of crime? George Cannon's astonishing presence, so suddenly -after his release, at the works of Edwin Clayhanger, was unforgiveable. -Edwin felt an impulse to say savagely: - -"Look here. You clear out. You understand English, don't you? Hook -it." - -But he had not the brutality to say it. Moreover, the clerk returned, -carrying, full to the brim, the tin water-receptacle used for wetting -the damping-brush of the copying-press. - -"Will you come in, please?" said Edwin curtly. "Simpson, I'm engaged." - -The two men went into the inner room. - -"Sit down," said Edwin grimly. - -George Cannon, with a firm gesture, planted his hat on the flat desk -between them. He looked round behind him at the shut glazed door. - -"You needn't be afraid," said Edwin. "Nobody can hear--unless you -shout." - -He gazed curiously but somewhat surreptitiously at George Cannon, trying -to decide whether it was possible to see in him a released convict. He -decided that it was not possible. George Cannon had a shifty, but not a -beaten, look; many men had a shifty look. His hair was somewhat short, -but so was the hair of many men, if not of most. He was apparently in -fair health; assuredly his constitution had not been ruined. And if his -large, coarse features were worn, marked with tiny black spots, and -seamed and generally ravaged, they were not more ravaged than the -features of numerous citizens of Bursley aged about fifty who saved -money, earned honours, and incurred the envy of presumably intelligent -persons. And as he realised all this, Edwin's retrospective painful -alarm as to what might have happened if Hilda had noticed George Cannon -in the outer office lessened until he could dismiss it entirely. By -chance she had ignored Cannon, perhaps scarcely seeing him in her -preoccupied passage, perhaps taking him vaguely for a customer; but -supposing she _had_ recognised him, what then? There would have been an -awkward scene--nothing more. Awkward scenes do not kill; their effect is -transient. Hilda would have had to behave, and would have behaved, with -severe commonsense. He, Edwin himself, would have handled the affair. -A demeanour matter-of-fact and impassible was what was needed. After -all, a man recently out of prison was not a wild beast, nor yet a freak. -Hundreds of men were coming out of prisons every day.... He should know -how to deal with this man--not pharisaically, not cruelly, not unkindly, -but still with a clear indication to the man of his reprehensible -indiscretion in being where he then was. - -"Did she recognise me--down there--Dartmoor?" asked George Cannon, -without any preparing of the ground, in a deep, trembling voice; and as -he spoke a flush spread slowly over his dark features. - -"Er--yes!" answered Edwin, and his voice also trembled. - -"I wasn't sure," said George Cannon. "We were halted before I could -see. And I daren't look round--I should ha' been punished. I've been -punished before now for looking up at the sky at exercise." He spoke -more quickly and then brought himself up with a snort. "However, I've -not come all the way here to talk prison, so you needn't be afraid. I'm -not one of your reformers." - -In his weak but ungoverned nervous excitement, from which a faint trace -of hysteria was not absent, he now seemed rather more like an -ex-convict, despite his good clothes. He had become, to Edwin's -superior self-control, suddenly wistful. And at the same time, the -strange opening question, and its accent, had stirred Edwin, and he saw -with remorse how much finer had been Hilda's morbid and violent pity -than his own harsh commonsense and anxiety to avoid emotion. The man in -good clothes moved him more than the convict had moved him. He seemed -to have received vision, and he saw not merely the unbearable pathos of -George Cannon, but the high and heavenly charitableness of Hilda, which -he had constantly douched, and his own common earthliness. He was -exceedingly humbled. And he also thought, sadly: "This chap's still -attached to her. Poor devil!" - -"What have you come for?" he enquired. - -George Cannon cleared his throat. Edwin waited, in fear, for the -avowal. He could make nothing out of the visitor's face; its expression -was anxious and drew sympathy, but there was something in it which -chilled the sympathy it invoked and which seemed to say: "I shall look -after myself." It yielded naught. You could be sorry for the heart -within, and yet could neither like nor esteem it. "Punished for looking -up at the sky." ... Glimpses of prison life presented themselves to -Edwin's imagination. He saw George Cannon again halted and turning like -a serf to the wall of the corridor. And this man opposite to him, close -to him in the familiar room, was the same man as the serf! Was he the -same man? ... Inscrutable, the enigma of that existence whose breathing -was faintly audible across the desk. - -"You know all about it--about my affair, of course?" - -"Well," said Edwin. "I expect you know how much I know." - -"I'm an honest man--you know that. I needn't begin by explaining that -to you." - -Edwin nerved himself: - -"You weren't honest towards Hilda, if it comes to that." - -He used his wife's Christian name, to this man with whom he had never -before spoken, naturally, inevitably. He would not say "my wife." To -have said "my wife" would somehow have brought some muddiness upon that -wife, and by contact upon her husband. - -"When I say 'honest' I mean--you know what I mean. About Hilda--I don't -defend that. Only I couldn't help myself.... I daresay I should do it -again." Edwin could feel his eyes smarting and he blinked, and yet he -was angry with the man, who went on: "It's no use talking about that. -That's over. And I couldn't help it. I had to do it. She's come out -of it all right. She's not harmed, and I thank God for it! If there'd -been a child living ... well, it would ha' been different." - -Edwin started. This man didn't know he was a father--and his son was -within a few yards of him--might come running in at any moment! (No! -Young George would not come in. Nothing but positive orders would get -the boy out of the engine-house so long as the engine-man remained -there.) Was it possible that Hilda had concealed the existence of her -child, or had announced the child's death? If so, she had never done a -wiser thing, and such sagacity struck him as heroic. But if Mrs. Cannon -knew as to the child, then it was Mrs. Cannon who, with equal prudence -and for a different end, had concealed its existence from George Cannon -or lied to him as to its death. Certainly the man was sincere. As he -said "Thank God!" his full voice had vibrated like the voice of an -ardent religionist at a prayer-meeting. - -George Cannon began again: - -"All I mean is I'm an honest man. I've been damnably treated. Not that -I want to go into that. No! I'm a fatalist. That's over. That's done -with. I'm not whining. All I'm insisting on is that I'm not a thief, -and I'm not a forger, and I've nothing to hide. Perhaps I brought my -difficulties about that bank-note business on myself. But when you've -once been in prison, you don't choose your friends--you can't. Perhaps I -might have ended by being a thief or a forger, only on this occasion it -just happens that I've had a good six years for being innocent. I never -did anything wrong, or even silly, except let myself get too fond of -somebody. That might happen to anyone. It did happen to me. But -there's nothing else. You understand? I never--" - -"Yes, yes, certainly!" said Edwin, stopping him as he was about to -repeat all the argument afresh. It was a convincing argument. - -"No one's got the right to look down on me, I mean," George Cannon -insisted, bringing his face forward over the desk. "On the contrary -this country owes me an apology. However, I don't want to go into that. -That's done with. Spilt milk's spilt. I know what the world is." - -"I agree. I agree!" said Edwin. - -He did. The honesty of his intelligence admitted almost too eagerly and -completely the force of the pleading. - -"Well," said George Cannon, "to cut it short, I want help. And I've -come to you for it." - -"Me!" Edwin feebly exclaimed. - -"You, Mr. Clayhanger! I've come straight here from London. I haven't a -friend in the whole world, not one. It's not everybody can say that. -There was a fellow named Dayson at Turnhill--used to work for me--he'd -have done something if he could. But he was too big a fool to be able -to; and besides, he's gone, no address. I wrote to him." - -"Oh, that chap!" murmured Edwin, trying to find relief in even a -momentary turn of the conversation. "I know who you mean. -Shorthand-writer. He died in the Isle of Man on his holiday two years -ago. It was in the papers." - -"_That's_ his address, is it? Good old Dead Letter Office! Well, he is -crossed off the list, then; no mistake!" Cannon snarled bitterly. "I'm -aware you're not a friend of mine. I've no claim on you. You don't -know me; but you know about me. When I saw you in Dartmoor I guessed -who you were, and I said to myself you looked the sort of man who might -help another man.... Why did you come into the prison? Why did you -bring her there? You must have known I was there." He spoke with a -sudden change to reproachfulness. - -"I didn't bring her there." Edwin blushed. "It was---- However, we -needn't go into that, if you don't mind." - -"Was she upset?" - -"Of course." - -Cannon sighed. - -"What do you want me to do?" asked Edwin gloomily. In secret he was -rather pleased that George Cannon should have deemed him of the sort -likely to help. Was it the flattery of a mendicant? No, he did not -think it was. He believed implicitly everything the man was saying. - -"Money!" said Cannon sharply. "Money! You won't feel it, but it will -save me. After all, Mr. Clayhanger, there's a bond between us, if it -comes to that. There's a bond between us. And you've had all the luck -of it." - -Again Edwin blushed. - -"But surely your wife--" he stammered. "Surely Mrs. Cannon isn't -without funds. Of course I know she was temporarily rather short a -while back, but surely--" - -"How do you know she was short?" Cannon grimly interrupted. - -"My wife sent her ten pounds--I fancy it was ten pounds--towards -expenses, you know." - -Cannon ejaculated, half to himself, savagely: - -"Never told me!" - -He remained silent. - -"But I've always understood she's a woman of property," Edwin finished. - -Cannon put both elbows on the desk, leaned further forward, and opened -his mouth several seconds before speaking. - -"Mr. Clayhanger, I've left my wife--as you call her. If I'd stayed with -her I should have killed her. I've run off. Yes, I know all she's done -for me. I know without her I might have been in prison to-day and for a -couple o' years to come. But I'd sooner be in prison or in hell or -anywhere you like than with Mrs. Cannon. She's an old woman. She -always was an old woman. She was nearly forty when she hooked me, and I -was twenty-two. And I'm young yet. I'm not middle-aged yet. She's got -a clear conscience, Mrs. Cannon has. She always does her duty. She'd -let me walk over her, she'd never complain, if only she could keep me. -She'd just play and smile. Oh yes, she'd turn the other cheek--and keep -on turning it. But she isn't going to have me. And for all she's done -I'm not grateful. Hag. That's what she is!" He spoke loudly, -excitedly, under considerable emotion. - -"Hsh!" Edwin, alarmed, endeavoured gently to soothe him. - -"All right! All right!" Cannon proceeded in a lower but still -impassioned voice. "But look here! You're a man. You know what's what. -You'll understand what I mean. Believe me when I say that I wouldn't -live with that woman for eternal salvation. I couldn't. I couldn't do -it. I've taken some of her money, only a little, and run off..." He -paused, and went on with conscious persuasiveness now: "I've just got -here. I had to ask your whereabouts. I might have been recognised in -the streets, but I haven't been. I didn't expect to find you here at -this time. I might have had to sleep in the town to-night. I wouldn't -have come to your private house. Now I've seen you I shall get along to -Crewe to-night. I shall be safer there. And it's on the way to -Liverpool and America. I want to go to America. With a bit o' capital -I shall be all right in America. It's my one chance; but it's a good -one. But I must have some capital. No use landing in New York with -empty pockets." - -Said Edwin, still shying at the main issues: - -"I was under the impression you had been to America once." - -"Yes, that's why I know. I hadn't any money. And what's more," he added -with peculiar emphasis, "I was brought back." - -Edwin thought: - -"I shall yield to this man." - -At that instant he saw the shadow of Hilda's head and shoulders on the -glass of the door. - -"Excuse me a second," he murmured, bounded with astonishing velocity out -of the room, and pulled the door to after him with a bang. - - - - III - - -Hilda, having observed the strange, excited gesture, paused a moment, in -an equally strange tranquillity, before speaking. Edwin fronted her at -the very door. Then she said, clearly and deliberately, through her -veil: - -"Auntie Hamps has had an attack--heart. The doctor says she can't -possibly live through the night. It was at Clara's." - -This was the first of Mrs. Hamps's fatal heart-attacks. - -"Ah!" breathed Edwin, with apparently a purely artistic interest in the -affair. "So that's it, is it? Then she's at Clara's." - -"Yes." - -"What doctor?" - -"I forget his name. Lives in Acre Lane. They sent for the nearest. -She can't get her breath--has to fight for it. She jumped out of bed, -struggling to breathe." - -"Have you seen her?" - -"Yes. They made me." - -"Albert there?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"Well, I suppose I'd better go round. You go back. I'll follow you." - -He was conscious of not the slightest feeling of sorrow at the imminent -death of Auntie Hamps. Even the image of the old lady fighting to fetch -her breath scarcely moved him, though the deathbed of his father had -been harrowing enough. He and Hilda had the same thought: "At last -something has happened to Auntie Hamps!" And it gave zest. - -"I must speak to you," said Hilda, low, and moved towards the inner -door. - -The clerk Simpson was behind them at his ink-stained desk, stamping -letters, and politely pretending to be deaf. - -"No," Edwin stopped her. "There's someone in there. We can't talk -there." - -"A customer?" - -"Yes ... I say, Simpson. Have you done those letters?" - -"Yes, sir," answered Simpson, smiling. He had been recommended as a -"very superior" youth, and had not disappointed, despite a -constitutional nervousness. - -"Take them to the pillar, and call at Mr. Benbow's and tell them that -I'll be round in about a quarter of an hour. I don't know as you need -come back. Hurry up." - -"Yes, sir." - -Edwin and Hilda watched Simpson go. - -"Whatever's the matter?" Hilda demanded in a low, harsh voice, as soon -as the outer door had clicked. It was as if something sinister in her -had been suddenly released. - -"Matter? Nothing. Why?" - -"You look so queer." - -"Well--you come along with these shocks." He gave a short, awkward -laugh. He felt and looked guilty, and he knew that he looked guilty. - -"You looked queer when you came out." - -"You've upset yourself, my child, that's all." He now realised the high -degree of excitement which he himself, without previously being aware of -it, had reached. - -"Edwin, who is it in there?" - -"Don't I tell you--it's a customer." - -He could see her nostrils twitching through, the veil. - -"It's George Cannon in there!" she exclaimed. - -He laughed again. "What makes you feel that?" he asked, feeling all the -while the complete absurdity of such fencing. - -"When I ran out I noticed somebody. He was reading a newspaper and I -couldn't see him. But he just moved it a bit, and I seemed to catch -sight of the top of his head. And when I got into the street I said to -myself, 'It looked like George Cannon,' and then I said, 'Of course it -couldn't be.' And then with this business about Auntie Hamps the idea -went right out of my head." - -"Well, it is, if you want to know." - -Her mysterious body and face seemed to radiate a disastrous emotion that -filled the whole office. - -"Did you know he was coming?" - -"I did not. Hadn't the least notion!" The sensation of criminality -began to leave Edwin. As Hilda seemed to move and waver, he added: - -"Now you aren't going to see him!" - -And his voice menacingly challenged her, and defied her to stir a step. -The most important thing in the world, then, was that Hilda should not -see George Cannon. He would stop her by force. He would let himself -get angry and brutal. He would show her that he was the stronger. He -had quite abandoned his earlier attitude of unsentimental callousness -which argued that after all it wouldn't ultimately matter whether they -encountered each other or not. Far from that, he was, so it appeared to -him, standing between them, desperate and determined, and acting -instinctively and conventionally. Their separate pasts, each full of -grief and tragedy, converged terribly upon him in an effort to meet in -just that moment, and he was ferociously resisting. - -"What does he want?" - -"He wants me to help him to go to America." - -"_You!_" - -"He says he hasn't a friend." - -"But what about his wife?" - -"That's just what I said.... He's left her. Says he can't live with -her." - -There was a silence, in which the tension appreciably lessened. - -"Can't live with her! Well, I'm not surprised. But I do think it's -strange, him coming to you." - -"So do I," said Edwin drily, taking the upper hand; for the change in -Hilda's tone--her almost childlike satisfaction in the news that Cannon -would not live with his wife--seemed to endow him with superiority. -"But there's a lot of strange things in this world. Now listen here. -I'm not going to keep him waiting; I can't." - -He then spoke very gravely, authoritatively and ominously: "Find George -and take him home at once." - -Hilda, impressed, gave a frown. - -"I think it's very wrong that you should be asked to help him." Her -voice shook and nearly broke. "Shall you help him, Edwin?" - -"I shall get him out of this town at once, and out of the country. Do -as I say. As things are he doesn't know there is any George, and it's -just as well he shouldn't. But if he stays anywhere about, he's bound -to know." - -All Hilda's demeanour admitted that George Cannon had never been allowed -to know that he had a son; and the simple candour of the admission -frightened Edwin by its very simplicity. - -"Now! Off you go! George is in the engine-house." - -Hilda moved reluctantly towards the outer-door, like a reproved and -rebellious schoolgirl. Suddenly she burst into tears, sprang at Edwin, -and, putting her arms round his neck, kissed him through the veil. - -"Nobody but you would have helped him--in your place!" she murmured -passionately, half admiring, half protesting. And with a backward look -as she hurried off, her face stern and yet soft seemed to appeal: "Help -him." - -Edwin was at once deeply happy and impregnated with a sense of the -frightful sadness that lurks in the hollows of the world. He stood -alone with the flaring gas, overcome. - - - - IV - - -He went back to the private room, self-conscious and rather tongue-tied, -with a clear feeling of relief that Hilda was disposed of, removed from -the equation--and not unsuccessfully. After the woman, to deal with the -man, in the plain language of men, seemed simple and easy. He was -astounded, equally, by the grudging tardiness of Mrs. Cannon's -information to Hilda as to the release, and by the baffling, inflexible -detraction of Hilda's words: "Well, I'm not surprised." And the -flitting image of Auntie Hamps fighting for life still left him -untouched. He looked at George Cannon, and George Cannon, with his -unreliable eyes, looked at him. He almost expected Cannon to say: "Was -that Hilda you were talking to out there?" But Cannon seemed to have no -suspicion that, in either the inner or the outer room, he had been so -close to her. No doubt, when he was waiting by the mantel-piece in the -outer room, he had lifted the paper as soon as he heard the door -unlatched, expressly in order to screen himself from observation. -Probably he had not even guessed that the passer was a woman. Had -Simpson been there, the polite young man would doubtless have said: -"Good night, Mrs. Clayhanger," but Simpson had happened not to be there. - -"Are you going to help me?" asked George Cannon, after a moment, and his -heavy voice was so beseeching, so humble, so surprisingly sycophantic, -so fearful, that Edwin could scarcely bear to hear it. He hated to hear -that one man could be so slavishly dependent on another. Indeed, he -much preferred Cannon's defiant, half-bullying tone. - -"Yes," said he. "I shall do what I can. What do you want?" - -"A hundred pounds," said George Cannon, and, as he named the sum, his -glance was hard and steady. - -Edwin was startled. But immediately he began to readjust his ideas, -persuading himself that after all the man could not prudently have asked -for less. - -"I can't give it you all now." - -Cannon's face lighted up in relief and joy. His black eyes sparkled -feverishly with the impatience of an almost hopeless desire about to be -satisfied. Although he did not move, his self-control had for the moment -gone completely, and the secrets of his soul were exposed. - -"Can you send it me--in notes? I can give you an address in Liverpool." -His voice could hardly utter the words. - -"Wait a second," said Edwin. - -He went to the safe let into the wall, of which he was still so naïvely -proud, and unlocked it with the owner's gesture. The perfect fitting of -the bright key, the ease with which it turned, the silent, heavy swing -of the massive door on its hinges--these things gave him physical as -well as moral pleasure. He savoured the security of his position and -his ability to rescue people from destruction. From the cavern of the -safe he took out a bag of gold, part of the money required for wages on -the morrow,--he would have to send to the Bank again in the morning. He -knew that the bag contained exactly twenty pounds in half-sovereigns, -but he shed the lovely twinkling coins on the desk and counted them. - -"Here," he said. "Here's twenty pounds. Take the bag, too--it'll be -handier," and he put the money into the bag. Then a foolish, grand idea -struck him. "Write down the address on this envelope, will you, and -I'll send you a hundred to-morrow. You can rely on it." - -"Eighty, you mean," muttered George Cannon. - -"No," said Edwin, with affected nonchalance, blushing, "a hundred. The -twenty will get you over and you'll have a hundred clear when you arrive -on the other side." - -"Ye're very kind," said Cannon weakly. "I--" - -"Here. Here's the envelope. Here's a bit of pencil." Edwin stopped -him hastily. His fear of being thanked made him harsh. - -While Cannon was nervously writing the address, he noticed that the -man's clumsy fingers were those of a day-labourer. - -"You'll get it all back. You'll see," said Cannon, as he stood up to -leave, holding his glossy felt hat in his left hand. - -"Don't worry about that. I don't want it. You owe me nothing." - -"You'll have every penny back, and before long, too." - -Edwin smiled, deprecating the idea. - -"Well, good luck!" he said. "You'll get to Crewe all right. There's a -train at Shawport at eight seven." - -They shook hands, and quitted the inner office. As he traversed the -outer office on his way forth, in front of Edwin, Cannon turned his -head, as if to say something, but, confused, he said nothing and went -on, and at once he disappeared into the darkness outside. And Edwin was -left with a memory of his dubious eyes, hard rather than confident, -profoundly relieved rather than profoundly grateful. - -"By Jove!" Edwin murmured by himself. "Who'd have thought it? ... They -say those chaps always turn up again like bad pennies, but I bet he -won't." Simultaneously he reflected upon the case of Mrs. Cannon, -deserted; but it did not excite his pity. He fastened the safe, -extinguished the lights, shut the office, and prepared his mind for the -visit to Auntie Hamps. - - - - V - - -Hilda and her son were in the dining-room, in which the table, set for a -special meal--half-tea, half-supper--made a glittering oblong of white. -On the table, among blue-and-white plates, and knives and forks, lay -some of George's shabby school-books. In most branches of knowledge -George privately knew that he could instruct his parents--especially his -mother. Nevertheless that beloved outgrown creature was still -occasionally useful at home-lessons, as for instance in "poetry." -George, disdainful, had to learn some verses each week, and now his -mother held a book entitled "The Poetry Reciter," while George mumbled -with imperfect verbal accuracy the apparently immortal lines: - - Abou Ben Adhem, may his tribe increase, - Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. - - -His mother, however, scarcely regarded the book. She knew the poem by -heart, and had indeed recited it to George, who, though he was much -impressed by her fire, could not by any means have been persuaded to -imitate the freedom of her delivery. His elocution to-night was -unusually bad, for the reason that he had been pleasurably excited by -the immense news of Auntie Hamps's illness. Not that he had any grudge -against Auntie Hamps! His pleasure would have been as keen in the grave -illness of any other important family connection, save his mother and -Edwin. Such notable events gave a sensational interest to domestic life -which domestic life as a rule lacked. - -Then, through the half-open door of the dining-room came the sound of -Edwin's latch-key in the front-door. - -"There's uncle!" exclaimed George, and jumped up. - -Hilda stopped him. - -"Put your books together," said she. "You know uncle likes to go up to -the bathroom before he does anything!" - -It was a fact that the precisian hated even to be greeted, on his return -home in the evening, until he came downstairs from the bathroom. - -Hilda herself collected the books and put them on the sideboard. - -"Shall I tell Ada?" George suggested, champing the bit. - -"No. Ada knows." - -With deliberation Hilda tended the fire. Her mind was in a state of -emotional flux. Memories and comparisons mournfully and yet agreeably -animated it. She thought of the days when she used to recite amid -enthusiasm in the old drawing-room of the Orgreaves; and of the days -when she was a wanderer, had no home, no support, little security; and -of the brief, uncertain days with George Cannon; and of the eternal days -when her only assurance was the assurance of disaster. She glanced at -George, and saw in him reminders of his tragic secret father now hidden -away, forced into the background, like something obscene. Nearly every -development of the present out of the past seemed to her, now, to be -tragic. Johnnie Orgreave had of course not come back from his idyll -with the ripping Mrs. Chris Hamson; their seclusion was not positively -known; but the whole district knew that the husband had begun -proceedings and that the Orgreave business was being damaged by the -incompetence of Jimmie Orgreave, whose deplorable wife had a few days -earlier been seen notoriously drunk in the dress-circle of the Hanbridge -Theatre Royal. Janet was still at Tavy Mansion because there was no -place for her in the Five Towns. Janet had written to Hilda, sadly, and -the letter breathed her sense of her own futility and superfluousness in -the social scheme. In one curt phrase, that very afternoon, the taciturn -Maggie, who very seldom complained, had disclosed something of what it -was to live day and night with Auntie Hamps. Even Clara, the -self-sufficient, protected by an almost impermeable armour of conceit, -showed signs of the anxiety due to obscure chronic disease and a husband -who financially never knew where he was. Finally, the last glories of -Auntie Hamps were sinking to ashes. Only Hilda herself was, from nearly -every point of view, in a satisfactory and promising situation. She -possessed love, health, money, stability. When danger threatened, a -quiet and unfailingly sagacious husband was there to meet and destroy -it. Surely nothing whatever worth mentioning, save the fact that she -was distantly approaching forty, troubled the existence of Hilda now; -and her age certainly did not trouble her. - -Ada entered with the hot dishes, and went out. - -At length Hilda heard the bathroom door. She left the dining-room, -shutting the door on George, who could take a hint very -well--considering his years. Edwin, brushed and spruce, was coming -downstairs, rubbing his clean hands with physical satisfaction. He -nodded amiably, but without smiling. - -"Has he gone?" said Hilda, in a low voice. - -Edwin nodded. He was at the foot of the stairs. - -She did not offer to kiss him, having a notion that he would prefer not -to be kissed just then. - -"How much did you give him?" She knew he would not care for the -question, but she could not help putting it. - -He smiled, and touched her shoulder. She liked him to touch her -shoulder. - -"That's all right," he said, with a faint condescension. "Don't you -worry about that." - -She did not press the point. He could be free enough with -information--except when it was demanded. Some time later he would -begin of his own accord to talk. - -"How was Auntie Hamps?" - -"Well, if anything, she's a bit easier. I don't mind betting she gets -over it." - -They went into the dining-room almost side by side, and she enquired -again about his headache. - -The meal was tranquil. After a few moments Edwin opened the subject of -Auntie Hamps's illness with some sardonic remarks upon the demeanour of -Albert Benbow. - -"Is Auntie dying?" asked George with gusto. - -Edwin replied: - -"What are those schoolbooks doing there on the sideboard? I thought it -was clearly understood that you were to do your lessons in your mother's -boudoir." - -He spoke without annoyance, but coldly. He was aware that neither Hilda -nor her son could comprehend that to a bookman schoolbooks were not -books, but merely an eyesore. He did not blame them for their -incapacity, but he considered that an arrangement was an arrangement. - -"Mother put them there," said the base George. - -"Well, you can take them away," said Edwin firmly. "Run along now." - -George rose from his place between Hilda and Edwin, and from his -luscious plate, and removed the books. Hilda watched him meekly go. -His father, too, had gone. Edwin was in the right; his position could -not be assailed. He had not been unpleasant, but he had spoken as one -sublimely confident that his order would not be challenged. Within her -heart Hilda rebelled. If Edwin had been responsible for some act -contrary to one of her decrees, she would never in his presence have -used the tone that he used to enforce obedience. She would have laughed -or she would have frowned, but she would never have been the polite -autocrat. Nor would he have expected her to play the rôle; he would -probably have resented it. - -Why? Were they not equals? No, they were not equals. The fundamental -unuttered assumption upon which the household life rested was that they -were not equals. She might cross him, she might momentarily defy him, -she might torture him, she might drive him to fury, and still be safe -from any effective reprisals, because his love for her made her -necessary to his being; but in spite of all that his will remained the -seat of government, and she and George were only the Opposition. In the -end, she had to incline. She was the complement of his existence, but -he was not the complement of hers. She was just a parasite, though an -essential parasite. Why? ... The reason, she judged, was economic, and -solely economic. She rebelled. Was she not as individual, as original, -as he? Had she not a powerful mind of her own, experience of her own, -ideals of her own? Was she not of a nature profoundly and exceptionally -independent?... - -Her lot was unalterable. She had of course, not the slightest desire to -leave him; she was devoted to him; what irked her was that, even had she -had the desire, she could not have fulfilled it, for she was too old -now, and too enamoured of comfort and security, to risk such an -enterprise. She was a captive, and she recalled with a gentle pang, -less than regret, the days when she was unhappy and free as a man, when -she could say, "I will go to London," "I will leave London," "I am -deceived and ruined, but I am my own mistress." - -These thoughts in the idyllic tranquillity of the meal, mingled, below -her smiling preoccupations of an honoured house-mistress, with the -thoughts of her love for her husband and son and of their excellences, -of the masculine love which enveloped and shielded her, of her security, -of the tragedy of the bribed and dismissed victim and villain, George -Cannon, of the sorrows of some of her friends, and of the dead. In her -heart was the unquiet whispering: "I submit, and yet I shall never -submit." - - - - - BOOK III - - EQUILIBRIUM - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - GEORGE'S EYES - - - I - - -Hilda sat alone in the boudoir, before the fire. She had just come out -of the kitchen, and she was wearing the white uniform of the kitchen, -unsuited for a boudoir; but she wore it with piquancy. The November -afternoon had passed into dusk, and through the window, over the roofs -of Hulton Street, stars could be seen in a darkening clear sky. After a -very sharp fall and rise of the barometer, accounting for heavy -rainstorms, the first frosts were announced, and winter was on the -doorstep. The hardy inhabitants of the Five Towns, Hilda among them, -were bracing themselves to the discipline of winter, with its mud, -increased smuts, sleet, and damp, piercing chills; and they were taking -pleasure in the tonic prospect of discomfort. The visitation had -threatened ever since September. Now it had positively come. Let it -come! Build up the fire, stamp the feet, and defy it! Hilda was -exhilarated, having been reawakened to the zest and the romance of life, -not merely by the onset of winter, but by dramatic events in the -kitchen. - -A little over three years had elapsed since the closing of the episode -of George Cannon, and for two of those years Hilda had had peace in the -kitchen. She had been the firm mistress who knows what she wants, and, -knowing also how to handle the peculiar inmates of the kitchen, gets it; -she had been the mistress who "won't put up with" all sorts of things, -including middle-age and ugliness in servants, and whom heaven has -spoilt by too much favour. Then the cook, with the ingratitude of a -cherished domestic, had fallen in love and carried her passion into a -cottage miles away at Longshaw. And from that moment Hilda had ceased -to be the mistress who by firmness commands fate; she had become as -other mistresses. In a year she had had five cooks, giving varying -degrees of intense dissatisfaction. She had even dismissed the slim and -constant Ada once, but, yielding to an outburst of penitent affection, -had withdrawn the notice. The last cook, far removed from youthfulness -or prettiness, had left suddenly that day, after insolence, after the -discovery of secret beer and other vileness in the attic-bedroom, after -a scene in which Hilda had absolutely silenced her, reducing ribaldry to -sobs. Cook and trunk expelled, Hilda had gone about the house like a -fumigation, and into the kitchen like the embodiment of calm and gay -efficiency. She would do the cooking herself. She would show the -kitchen that she was dependent upon nobody. She had quickened the speed -of Ada, accused her "tartly," but not without dry good-humour, of a -disloyal secretiveness, and counselled her to mind what she was about if -she wanted to get on in the world. - -Edwin knew nothing, for all had happened since his departure to the -works after midday dinner. He would be back in due course, and George -would be back, and Tertius Ingpen (long ago reconciled) was coming for -the evening. She would show them all three what a meal was, and -incidentally Ada would learn what a meal was. There was nothing like -demonstrating to servants that you could beat them easily at their own -game. - -She had just lived through her thirty-ninth birthday. "Forty!" she had -murmured to herself with a shiver of apprehension, meaning that the next -would be the fortieth. It was an unpleasant experience. She had told -Edwin not to mention her birthday abroad. Clumsy George had enquired: -"Mother, how old are you?" To which she had replied, "Lay-ours for -meddlers!" a familiar phrase whose origin none of them understood, but -George knew that it signified, "Mind your own business." No! She had -not been happy on that birthday. She had gazed into the glass and -decided that she looked old, that she did not look old, that she looked -old, endlessly alternating. She was not stout, but her body was solid, -too solid; it had no litheness, none whatever; it was absolutely set; -the cleft under the chin was quite undeniable, and the olive complexion -subtly ravaged. Still, not a hair of her dark head had changed colour. -It was perhaps her soul that was greying. Her married life was fairly -calm. It had grown monotonous in ease and tranquillity. The sharp, -respectful admiration for her husband roused in her by his handling of -the Cannon episode, had gradually been dulled. She had nothing against -him. Yet she had everything against him, because apart from his grave -abiding love for her he possessed an object and interest in life, and -because she was a mere complement and he was not. She had asked herself -the most dreadful of questions: "Why have I lived? Why do I go on -living?" and had answered: "Because of _them_," meaning Edwin and her -son. But it was not enough for her, who had once been violently -enterprising, pugnacious, endangered, and independent. For after she -had watched over them she had energy to spare, and such energy was not -being employed and could not be employed. Reading--a diversion! Fancy -work--a detestable device for killing time and energy! Social -duties--ditto! Charity--hateful! She had slowly descended into marriage -as into a lotus valley. And more than half her life was gone. She -could never detect that any other married woman in the town felt as she -felt. She could never explain herself to Edwin, and indeed had not -tried to explain herself. - -Now the affair of the alcoholic cook, aided by winter's first fillip, -stimulated and brightened her. And while thinking with a glance at the -clock of the precise moment when she must return to the kitchen and put -a dish down to the fire, she also thought, rather hopefully and then -quite hopefully, about the future of her marriage. Her brain seemed to -straighten and correct itself, like the brain of one who, waking up in -the morning, slowly perceives that the middle-of-the-night -apprehensiveness about eventualities was all awry in its pessimism. She -saw that everything could and must be improved, that the new life must -begin. Edwin needed to be inspired; she must inspire him. He slouched -more and more in his walk; he was more and more absorbed in his -business, quieter in the evenings, more impatient in the mornings. -Moreover, the household machine had been getting slack. A general tonic -was required; she would administer it--and to herself also. They should -all feel the invigorating ozone that very night. She would organise -social distractions; on behalf of the home she would reclaim from the -works those odd hours and half-hours of Edwin's which it had -imperceptibly filched. She would have some new clothes, and she would -send Edwin to the tailor's. She would make him buy a dog-cart and a -horse. Oh! She could do it. She had the mastery of him in many things -when she chose to be aroused. In a word, she would "branch out." - -She was not sure that she would not prosecute a campaign for putting -Edwin on the Town Council, where he certainly ought to be. It was his -duty to take a share in public matters, and ultimately to dominate the -town. Suggestions had already been made by wirepullers, and -unreflectively repulsed by the too casual Edwin. She saw him mayor, and -herself mayoress. Once, the prospect of any such formal honour, with -all that it entailed of ceremoniousness and insincere civilities, would -have annoyed if not frightened her. But now she thought, proudly and -timidly and desirously, that she would make as good a mayoress as most -mayoresses, and that she could set one or two of them an example in tact -and dignity. Why not? Of late neither mayors nor mayoresses in the -Five Towns had been what they used to be. The grand tradition was -apparently in abeyance, the people who ought to carry it on seeming -somehow to despise it. She could remember mayors, especially Chief -Bailiffs at Turnhill, who imposed themselves upon the imagination of the -town. But nowadays the name of a mayor was never a household word. She -had even heard Ingpen ask Edwin: "See, who is the new mayor?" and Edwin -start his halting answer: "Let me see--" - -And she had still another and perhaps greater ambition--to possess a -country house. In her fancy her country house was very like Alicia -Hesketh's house, Tavy Mansion, which she had never ceased to envy. She -felt that in a new home, spacious, with space around it, she could -really commence the new life. She saw the place perfectly appointed and -functioning perfectly--no bother about smuts on white curtains; no -half-trained servants; none of the base, confined, promiscuity of filthy -Trafalgar Road; and the Benbows and Auntie Hamps at least eight or ten -miles off! She saw herself driving Edwin to the station in the morning, -or perhaps right into Bursley if she wanted to shop.... No, she would -of course shop at Oldcastle.... She would leave old Darius Clayhanger's -miracle-house without one regret. And in the new life she would be -always active, busy, dignified, elegant, influential, and kind. And to -Edwin she would be absolutely indispensable. - -In these imaginings their solid but tarnished love glittered and gleamed -again. She saw naught but the charming side of Edwin and the romantic -side of their union. She was persuaded that there really was nobody -like Edwin, and that no marriage had ever had quite the mysterious, -secretly exciting quality of hers. She yearned for him to come home at -once, to appear magically in the dusk of the doorway. The mood was -marvellous. - - - - II - - -The door opened. - -"Can I speak to you, m'm?" - -It was the voice of Ada, somewhat perturbed. She advanced a little and -stood darkly in front of the open doorway. - -"What is it, Ada?" Hilda asked curtly, without turning to look at her. - -"It's--" Ada began and stopped. - -Hilda glanced round quickly, recognising now in the voice a peculiar -note with which experience had familiarised her. It was a note between -pertness and the beginning of a sob, and it always indicated that Ada -was feeling more acutely than usual the vast injustice of the worldly -scheme. It might develop into tears; on the other hand it might develop -into mere insolence. Hilda discerned that Ada was wearing neither cap -nor apron. She thought: "If this stupid girl wants trouble, she has -come to me at exactly and precisely the right moment to get it. I'm not -in the humour, after all I've gone through to-day, to stand any nonsense -either from her or from anybody else." - -"What is it, Ada?" she repeated, with restraint, and yet warningly. -"And where's your apron and your cap?" - -"In the kitchen, m'm." - -"Well, go and put them on, and then come and say what you have to say," -said Hilda, thinking: "I don't give any importance to her cap and apron, -but she does." - -"I was thinking I'd better give ye notice, m'm," said Ada, and she said -it pertly, ignoring the command. - -The two women were alone together in the house. Each felt it; each felt -the large dark emptiness of the house behind them, and the solid front -and back doors cutting them off from succour; each had to depend -entirely upon herself. - -Hilda asked quietly: - -"What's the matter now?" - -She knew that Ada's grievance would prove to be silly. The girl had -practically no commonsense. Not one servant girl in a hundred had any -appreciable commonsense. And when girls happened to be "upset"--as they -were all liable to be, and as Ada by the violent departure of the cook -no doubt was--even such minute traces of gumption as they possessed were -apt to disappear. - -"There's no pleasing you, m'm!" said Ada. "The way you talked to me in -the kitchen, saying I was always a-hiding things from ye. I've felt it -very much!" - -She threw her head back, and the gesture signified: "I'm younger than -you, and young men are always running after me. And I can get a new -situation any time. And I've not gone back into my kitchen to put my -cap and apron on." - -"Ada," said Hilda. "Shall I tell you what's wrong with you? You're a -little fool. You know you're talking rightdown nonsense. You know that -as well as I do. And you know you'll never get a better place than you -have here. But you've taken an idea into your head--and there you are! -Now do be sensible. You say you think you'd better give notice. Think -it over before you do anything ridiculous. Sleep on it. We'll see how -you feel in the morning." - -"I think I'd better give notice, m'm, especially seeing I'm a fool, and -silly," Ada persisted. - -Hilda sighed. Her voice hardened slightly: - -"So you'd leave me without a maid just at Christmas! And that's all the -thanks I get for all I've done for you." - -"Well, m'm. We've had such a queer lot of girls here lately, haven't -we?" The pertness was intensified. "I don't hardly care to stay. I -feel we sh'd both be better for a change like." - -It was perhaps Ada's subtly insolent use of the word "we" and "both" -that definitely brought about a new phase of the interview. Hilda -suddenly lost all desire for an amicable examination of the crisis. - -"Very well, Ada," she said, shortly. "But remember I shan't take you -back again, whatever happens." - -Ada moved away, and then returned. - -"Could I leave at once, m'm, same as cook?" - -Hilda was astonished and outraged, despite all her experience and its -resulting secret sardonic cynicism in regard to servants. The girl was -ready to walk out instantly. - -"And may I enquire where you'd go to?" asked Hilda with a sneer. "At -this time of night you couldn't possibly get home to your parents." - -"Oh!" answered Ada brightly. "I could go to me cousin's up at Toft End. -And her could send down a lad with a barrow for me box." - -The plot, then, had been thought out. "Her cousin's!" thought Hilda, -and seemed to be putting her finger on the cause of Ada's disloyalty. -"Her cousin's!" It was a light in a dark mystery. "Her cousin's!" - -"I suppose you know you're forfeiting the wages due to you the day after -to-morrow?" - -"I shall ask me cousin about that, m'm," said Ada, as it were -menacingly. - -"I should!" Hilda sarcastically agreed. "I certainly should." And she -thought with bitter resignation: "She'll have to leave anyhow after -this. She may as well leave on the spot." - -"There's those as'll see as I have me rights," said Ada pugnaciously, -with another toss of the head. - -Hilda had a mind to retort in anger; but she controlled herself. -Already that afternoon she had imperilled her dignity in the altercation -with the cook. The cook, however, had not Ada's ready tongue, and, while -the mistress had come off best against the cook, she might through -impulsiveness find herself worsted by Ada's more youthful impudence, -were it once unloosed. - -"That will do, then, Ada," she said. "You can go and pack your box -first thing." - -In less than three quarters of an hour Ada was gone, and her corded -trunk lay just within the scullery door, waiting the arrival of the -cousin's barrow. She had bumped it down the stairs herself. - -All solitary in the house, which had somehow been transformed into a -strange and unusual house, Hilda wept. She had only parted with an -unfaithful and ungrateful servant, but she wept. She dashed into the -kitchen and began to do Ada's work, still weeping, and she was savage -against her own tears; yet they continued softly to fall, misting her -vision of fire and utensils and earthenware vessels. Ada had left -everything in a moment; she had left the kettle on the fire, and the -grease in the square tin in which the dinner-joint had been cooked, and -the ashes in the fender, and tea-leaves in the kitchen teapot and a cup -and saucer unwashed. She had cared naught for the inconvenience she was -causing; had shewn not the slightest consideration; had walked off -without a pang, smilingly hoity-toity. And all servants were like that. -Such conduct might be due as much to want of imagination, to a simple -inability to picture to themselves the consequences of certain acts, as -to stark ingratitude; but the consequences remained the same; and Hilda -held fiercely to the theory of stark ingratitude. - -She had made Ada; she had created her. When Hilda engaged her, Ada was -little more than an "oat-cake girl,"--that is to say, one of those girls -who earn a few pence by delivering oat-cakes fresh from the stove at a -halfpenny each before breakfast at the houses of gormandising superior -artisans and the middle-classes. True, she had been in one situation -prior to Hilda's, but it was a situation where she learnt nothing and -could have learnt nothing. Nevertheless, she was very quick to learn, -and in a month Hilda had done wonders with her. She had taught her not -only her duties, but how to respect herself, to make the best of -herself, and favourably to impress others. She had enormously increased -Ada's value in the universe. And she had taught her some worldly -wisdom, and permitted and even encouraged certain coquetries, and in the -bed-room during dressings and undressings had occasionally treated her -as a soubrette if not as a confidante; had listened to her at length, -and had gone so far as to ask her views on this matter or that--the -supreme honour for a menial. Also she had very conscientiously nursed -her in sickness. She had really liked Ada, and had developed a -sentimental weakness for her. She had taken pleasure in her prettiness, -in her natural grace, and in her crude youth. She enjoyed seeing Ada -arrange a bedroom, or answer the door, or serve a meal. And Ada's -stupidity--that half-cunning stupidity of her class, which immovably -underlay her superficial aptitudes--had not sufficed to spoil her -affection for the girl. She had been indulgent to Ada's stupidity; she -had occasionally in some soft moods hoped that it was curable. And she -had argued in moments of discouragement that at any rate stupidity could -be faithful. In her heart she had counted Ada as a friend, as a true -standby in the more or less tragic emergencies of the household. And -now Ada had deserted her. Stupidity had proved to be neither faithful -nor grateful. Why had Ada been so silly and so base? Impossible to -say! A nothing! A whim! Nerves! Fatuity! The whole affair was -horribly absurd. These creatures were incalculable. Of course Hilda -would have been wiser not to upbraid her so soon after the scene with -the cook, and to have spoken more smoothly to the chit in the boudoir. -Hilda admitted that. But what then? Was that an excuse for the chit's -turpitude? There must be a limit to the mistress's humouring. And -probably after all the chit had meant to go.... If she had not meant to -go she would not have entered the boudoir apronless and capless. Some -rankling word, some ridiculous sympathy with the cook, some wild dream -of a Christmas holiday--who could tell what might have influenced her? -Hilda gave it up--and returned to it a thousand times. One truth -emerged--and it was the great truth of housemistresses--namely, that it -never, never, never pays to be too kind to servants. "Servants do not -understand kindness." You think they do; they themselves think they do; -but they don't,--they don't and they don't. Hilda went back into the -immensity of her desolating experience as an employer of female domestic -servants of all kinds, but chiefly bad--for the landlady of a small -boarding house must take what servants she can get--and she raged at the -persistence of the proof that kindness never paid. What did pay was -severity and inhuman strictness, and the maintenance of an impassable -gulf between employer and employed. Not again would she make the -mistake which she had made a hundred times. She hardened herself to the -consistency of a slave-driver. And all the time it was the woman in her, -not the mistress, that the hasty thoughtless Ada had wounded. To the -woman the kitchen was not the same place without Ada--Ada on whom she -had utterly relied in the dilemma caused by the departure of the cook. -As with angrily wet eyes she went about her new work in the kitchen, she -could almost see the graceful ghost of Ada tripping to and fro therein. - -And all that the world, and the husband, would know or understand was -that a cook had been turned out for drunkenness, and that a quite sober -parlour-maid had most preposterously walked after her. Hilda was aware -that in Edwin she had a severe, though a taciturn, critic of her -activities as employer of servants. She had no hope whatever of his -sympathy, and so she closed all her gates against him. She waited for -him as for an adversary, and all the lustre faded from her conception of -their love. - - - - III - - -When Edwin approached his home that frosty evening, he was disturbed to -perceive that there was no light from the hall-gas shining through the -panes of the front-door, though some light showed at the dining-room -window, the blinds of which had not been drawn. "What next?" he thought -crossly. He was tired, and the keenness of the weather, instead of -bracing him, merely made him petulant. He was astonished that several -women in a house could all forget such an important act as the lighting -of the hall-gas at nightfall. Never before had the hall-gas been -forgotten, and the negligence appeared to Edwin as absolutely monstrous. -The effect of it on the street, the effect on a possible caller, was bad -enough (Edwin, while pretending to scorn social opinion, was really very -deferential towards it), but what was worse was the revelation of the -feminine mentality. - -In opening the door with his latchkey he was purposely noisy, partly in -order to give expression to his justified annoyance, and partly to warn -all peccant women that the male had arrived, threatening. - -As his feet fumbled into the interior gloom and he banged the door, he -quite expected a rush of at least one apologetic woman with a box of -matches. But nobody came. Nevertheless he could hear sharp movements -through the half-open door of the kitchen. Assuredly women had the -irresponsibility of infants. He glanced for an instant into the -dining-room; the white cloth was laid, but the table was actually not -set. With unusual righteous care he wiped the half-congealed mud off his -boots on the mat; then removed his hat and his overcoat, took a large -new piece of indiarubher from his pocket and put it on the hall-table, -felt the radiator (which despite all his injunctions and recommendations -was almost cold); and lastly he lighted the gas himself. This final act -was contrary to his own rule, for he had often told Hilda that half her -trouble with servants arose through her impatiently doing herself things -which they had omitted, instead of ringing the bell and seeing the -things done. But he was not infrequently inconsistent, both in deed and -in thought. For another example, he would say superiorly that a woman -could never manage women, ignoring that he the all-wise had never been -able to manage Hilda. - -He turned to go upstairs. At the same moment somebody emerged obscurely -from the kitchen. It was Hilda, in a white apron. - -"Oh! I'm glad you've lighted it," said she curtly, without the least -symptom of apology, but rather affrontingly. - -He continued his way. - -"Have you seen anything of George?" she asked, and her tone stopped him. - -Yet she well knew that he hated to be stopped of an evening on his way -to the bathroom. It could not be sufficiently emphasized that to accost -him before he had descended from the bathroom was to transgress one of -the most solemn rules of his daily life. - -"Of course I haven't seen George," he answered. "How should I have seen -George?" - -"Because he's not back from school yet, and I can't help wondering----" - -She was worrying about George as usual. - -He grunted and passed on. - -"There's no light on the landing, either," he said, over the banisters. -"I wish you'd see to those servants of yours." - -"As it happens there aren't any servants." - -Her tone, getting more peculiar with each phrase, stopped him again. - -"Aren't any servants? What d'you mean?" - -"Well, I found the attic full of beer bottles, so I sent her off on the -spot." - -"Sent who off?" - -"Eliza." - -"And where's Ada?" - -"She's gone too," said Hilda defiantly, and as though rebutting an -accusation before it could be made. - -"Why?" - -"She seemed to want to. And she was very impertinent over it." - -He snorted and shrugged his shoulders. - -"Well, it's your affair," he muttered, too scornful to ask details. - -"It is," said she, significantly laconic. - -In the bathroom, vexed and gloomy as he brushed his nails and splashed -in the wash basin, he mused savagely over the servant problem. The -servant problem had been growing acute. He had predicted several times -that a crisis would arrive; a crisis had arrived; he was always right; -his rightness was positively uncanny. He had liked Ada; he had not -disliked the cook. He knew that Hilda was to blame. How should she not -be to blame,--losing her entire staff in one afternoon? It was not -merely that she lacked the gift of authoritative control,--it was also -that she had no feeling for democratic justice as between one human -being and another. And yet among his earliest recollections of her was -her passionate sympathy with men on strike as against their employers. -Totally misleading manifestations! For her a servant was nothing but a -"servant." She was convinced that all her servants were pampered and -spoilt; and as for Edwin's treatment of his workpeople she considered it -to be ridiculously, criminally soft. If she had implied once she had -implied a hundred times that the whole lot of them laughed at him behind -his back for a sentimental simpleton. Occasionally Edwin was quite -outraged by her callousness. The topic of the eight-hours day, of the -ten-hours day, and even of the twelve-hours day (the last for -tramwaymen) had been lately exciting the district. And Edwin was -distressed that in his own house a sixteen-hour day for labour was in -vogue and that the employer perceived no shame in it. He did not -clearly see how the shame was to be abolished, but he thought that it -ought to be admitted. It was not admitted. From six in the morning -until ten at night these mysterious light-headed young women were the -slaves of a bell. They had no surcease except one long weekday evening -each week and a short Sunday evening each fortnight. At one period -Hilda had had a fad for getting them out of bed at half-past five, to -cure them of laziness. He remembered one cook whose family lived at the -village of Brindley Edge, five miles off. This cook on her weekday -evening would walk to Brindley Edge, spend three quarters of an hour in -her home, and walk back to Bursley, reaching Trafalgar Road just in time -to get to bed. Hilda saw nothing very odd in that. She said the girl -could always please herself about going to Brindley Edge. - -Edwin's democratic sense was gradually growing in force; it disturbed -more and more the peace of his inmost mind. He seldom displayed his -sympathies (save to Tertius Ingpen who, though a Tory, was in some ways -astoundingly open to ideas, which seemed to interest him as a pretty -equation would interest him), but they pursued their secret activity in -his being, annoying him at his lithographic works, and still more in his -home. He would suppress them, and grin, and repeat his ancient -consoling truth that what was, was. The relief, however, was not -permanent. - -In that year the discovery of Rontgen Rays, the practical invention of -the incandescent gas-mantle, the abolition of the man with the red flag -in front of self-propelled vehicles, and the fact that Consols stood at -113, had combined to produce in innumerable hearts the illusion that -civilisation was advancing at a great rate. But Edwin in his soul -scarcely thought so. He was worrying not only about Liberal principles, -but about the world; in his youth he had never worried about the world. -And of his own personal success he would ask and ask: Is it right? He -said to himself in the bathroom: "There's a million domestic servants in -this blessed country, and not one of them works less than a hundred -hours a week, and nobody cares. I don't think I really care myself. -But there it is all the same!" And he was darkly resentful against -Hilda on account of the entire phenomenon.... He foresaw, too, a period -of upset and discomfort in his house. Would there, indeed, ever be any -real tranquillity in his house, with that strange, primeval cave-woman -in charge of it? - -As he descended the stairs, Hilda came out of the dining-room with an -empty tray. - -She said: - -"I wish you'd go out and look for George." - -Imagine it--going out into the Five Towns to look for one boy! - -"Oh! He'll be all right. I suppose you haven't forgotten Ingpen's -coming to-night." - -"Of course I haven't. But I want you to go out and look for George." - -He knew what was in her mind,--namely an absurd vision of George and his -new bicycle crushed under a tramcar somewhere between Bleakridge and -Hanbridge. In that year everybody with any pretension to youthfulness -and modernity rode a bicycle. Both Edwin and Hilda rode -occasionally--such was the power of fashion. Maternal apprehensions had -not sufficed to keep George from having a bicycle, nor from riding on it -unprotected up and down the greasy slopes of Trafalgar Road to and from -school. Edwin himself had bought the bicycle, pooh-poohing danger, and -asserting that anyhow normal risks must always be accepted with an even -mind. - -He was about to declare that he would certainly not do anything so silly -as to go out and look for George,--and then all of a sudden he had the -queer sensation of being alone with Hilda in the house made strange and -romantic by a domestic calamity. He gazed at Hilda with her apron, and -the calamity had made her strange and romantic also. He was vexed, -annoyed, despondent, gloomy, fearful of the immediate future; he had -immense grievances; he hated Hilda, he loathed giving way to her. He -thought: "What is it binds me to this incomprehensible woman? I will -not be bound!" But he felt that he would be compelled (not by her but -by something in himself) to commit the folly of going out to look for -George. And he felt that though his existence was an exasperating -adventure, still it was an adventure. - -"Oh! Damn!" he exploded, and reached for a cap. - -And then George came into the hall through the kitchen. The boy often -preferred to enter by the back, the stalking Indian way. - - - - IV - - -George wore spectacles. He had grown considerably. He was now between -fourteen and fifteen years of age, and he had begun to look his age. -His mental outlook and conversation were on the whole in advance of his -age. Even when he was younger he had frequently an adult manner of wise -talking, but it had appeared unreal, naïve,--it was amusing rather than -convincing. Now he imposed himself even on his family as a genuine -adolescent, though the idiom he employed was often schoolboyish and his -gestures were immaturely rough. The fact was he was not the same boy. -Everybody noticed it. His old charm and delicacy seemed to have gone, -and his voice was going. He had become harsh, defiant, somewhat brutal, -and egotistic if not conceited. He held a very low opinion of all his -school-fellows, and did not conceal it. Yet he was not very high in his -form (the lower fifth); his reports were mediocre; and he cut no figure -in the playfield. In the home he was charged with idleness, -selfishness, and irresolution. It was pointed out to him that he was -not making the best of his gifts, and that if he only chose to make the -best of them he might easily, etc., etc. Apparently he did not care a -bit. He had marked facility on the piano, but he had insisted on giving -up his piano lessons and would not open the piano for a fortnight at a -time. He still maintained his intention of being an architect, but he -had ceased to show any interest in architecture. He would, however, -still paint in water-colours; and he read a lot, but gluttonously, -without taste. Edwin and Hilda, and especially Hilda, did not hide -their discontent. Hilda had outbursts against him. In regard to Hilda -he was disobedient. Edwin always spoke quietly to him, and was seldom -seriously disobeyed. When disobeyed Edwin would show a taciturn -resentment against the boy, who would sulk and then melt. - -"Oh! He'll grow out of it," Edwin would say to Hilda, yet Edwin, like -Hilda, thought that the boy was deliberately naughty, and they held -themselves towards him as grieved persons of superior righteousness -towards a person of inferior righteousness. Not even Edwin reflected -that profound molecular changes might be proceeding in George's brain, -for which changes he was in no way responsible. Nevertheless, despite -the blighting disappointment of George's evolution, the home was by no -means deeply engloomed. No! George had an appealing smile, a mere gawky -boyishness, a peculiar way of existing, that somehow made joy in the -home. Also he was a centre of intense and continual interest, and of -this he was very well aware. - -In passing through the kitchen George had of course been struck by the -astounding absence of the cook; he had noticed further a fancy apron and -a cap lying on the window sill therein. And when he came into the hall, -the strange aspect of his mother (in a servant's apron) and his uncle -proved to him that something marvellously unusual, exciting, and -uplifting was afoot. He was pleased, agog, and he had the additional -satisfaction that great events would conveniently divert attention from -his lateness. Still he must be discreet, for the adults were evidently -at loggerheads, and therefore touchy. He slipped between Edwin and -Hilda with a fairly good imitation of innocent casualness, as if saying: -"Whatever has occurred, I am guiltless, and going on just as usual." - -"Ooh! Bags I!" he exclaimed loudly, at the hall-table, and seized the -indiarubber, which Edwin had promised him. His school vocabulary -comprised an extraordinary number of words ending in _gs_. He would -never, for example, say "first," but "foggs"; and never "second," but -"seggs." That very morning, for example, meeting Hilda on the mat at -the foot of the stairs, he had shocked her by saying: "You go up foggs, -mother, and I'll go seggs." - -"George!" Hilda severely protested. Her anxiety concerning him was now -turned into resentment. "Have you had an accident?" - -"An accident?" said George, as though at a loss. Yet he knew perfectly -that his mother was referring to the bicycle. - -Edwin said curtly: - -"Now, don't play the fool. Have you fallen off your bike? Look at your -overcoat. Don't leave that satchel there, and hang your coat up -properly." - -The overcoat was in a grievous state. A few days earlier it had been -new. Besides money, it had cost an enormous amount of deliberation and -discussion, like everything else connected with George. Against his -will, Edwin himself had been compelled to conduct George to Shillitoe's, -the tailor's, and superintend a third trying-on, for further -alterations, after the overcoat was supposed to be finished. And lo, -now it had no quality left but warmth! Efforts in regard to George were -always thus out of proportion to the trifling results obtained. At -George's age Edwin doubtless had an overcoat, but he positively could -not remember having one, and he was quite sure that no schoolboy -overcoat of his had ever preoccupied a whole household for two minutes, -to say nothing of a week. - -George's face expressed a sense of injury, and his face hardened. - -"Mother made me take my overcoat. You know I can't cycle in my -overcoat. I've not been on my bicycle all day. Also my lamp's broken," -he said, with gloomy defiance. - -His curiosity about wondrous events in the house was quenched. - -And Edwin felt angry with Hilda for having quite unjustifiably assumed -that George had gone to school on his bicycle. Ought she not to have -had the ordinary gumption to assure herself, before worrying, that the -lad's bicycle was not in the shed? Incredible thoughtlessness! All -these alarms for nothing! - -"Then why are you so late?" Hilda demanded, diverting to George her -indignation at Edwin's unuttered but yet conveyed criticism of herself. - -"Kept in." - -"All this time?" Hilda questioned, suspiciously. - -George sullenly nodded. - -"What for?" - -"Latin." - -"Homework? Again?" ejaculated Edwin. "Why hadn't you done it -properly?" - -"I had a headache last night. And I've got one to-day." - -"Another of your Latin headaches!" said Edwin sarcastically. There was -nothing, except possibly cod liver oil, that George detested more than -Edwin's serious sarcasm. - -The elders glanced at one another and glanced away. Both had the same -fear--the dreadful fear that George might be developing the worse -characteristics of his father. Both had vividly in mind the fact that -this boy was the son of George Cannon. They never mentioned to each -other either the fear or the fact; they dared not. But each knew the -thoughts of the other. The boy was undoubtedly crafty; he could conceal -subtle designs under a simple exterior; he was also undoubtedly -secretive. The recent changes in his disposition had put Edwin and -Hilda on their guard, and every time young George displayed cunning, or -economised the truth, or lied, the fear visited them. "I hope he'll turn -out all right!" Hilda had said once. Edwin had nearly replied: "What are -you worrying about? The sons of honest men are often rascals. Why on -earth shouldn't the son of a rascal be an honest man?" But he had only -said, with good-humoured impatience: "Of course he'll turn out all -right!" Not that he himself was convinced. - -Edwin now attacked the boy gloomily: - -"You didn't seem to have much of a headache when you came in just now." - -It was true. - -But George suddenly burst into tears. His headaches were absolutely -genuine. The emptiness of the kitchen and the general queer look of -things in the house had, however, by their promise of adventurous -happenings, caused him to forget his headache altogether, and the -discovery of the new indiarubber had been like a tonic to a -convalescent. The menacing attitude of the elders had now brought about -a relapse. The headache established itself as his chief physical -sensation. His chief moral sensation was that of a terrible grievance. -He did not often cry; he had not indeed cried for about a year. But -to-night there was something nervous in the very air, and the sob took -him unawares. The first sob having prostrated all resistance, others -followed victoriously, and there was no stopping them. He did not quite -know why he should have been more liable to cry on this particular -occasion than on certain others, and he was rather ashamed; on the other -hand it was with an almost malicious satisfaction that he perceived the -troubling effect of his tears on the elders. They were obviously in a -quandary. Serve them right! - -"It's my eyes," he blubbered. "I told you these specs would never suit -me. But you wouldn't believe me, and the headmaster won't believe me." - -The discovery that George's eyesight was defective, about two months -earlier, had led to a desperate but of course hopeless struggle on his -part against the wearing of spectacles. It was curious that in the -struggle he had never even mentioned his strongest objection to -spectacles,--namely, the fact that Bert Benbow wore spectacles. - -"Why didn't you tell us?" Edwin demanded. - -Between sobs George replied with overwhelming disillusioned disgust: - -"What's the good of telling you anything? You only think I'm codding." - -And he passed upstairs, apparently the broken victim of fate and -parents, but in reality triumphant. His triumph was such that neither -Edwin nor Hilda dared even to protest against the use of such an -inexcusable word as 'codding.' - -Hilda went into the kitchen, and Edwin rather aimlessly followed her. -He felt incompetent. He could do nothing except carry trays, and he had -no desire to carry trays. Neither spoke. Hilda was bending over the -fire, then she arranged the grid in front of the fire to hold a tin, and -she greased the tin. He thought she looked very wistful, for all the -somewhat bitter sturdiness of her demeanour. Tertius Ingpen was due for -the evening; she had no servants--through her own fault; and now a new -phase had arrived in the unending responsibility for George's welfare. -He knew that she was blaming him on account of George. He knew that she -believed in the sincerity of George's outburst; he believed in it -himself. The spectacles were wrong; the headache was genuine. And he, -Edwin, was guilty of the spectacles because he had forced Hilda, by his -calm bantering commonsense, to consult a small local optician of good -reputation. - -Hilda had wanted to go to Birmingham or Manchester; but Edwin said that -such an idea was absurd. The best local optician was good enough for -the great majority of the inhabitants of the Five Towns and would be -good enough for George. Why not indeed? Why the craze for specialists? -There could be nothing uniquely wrong with the boy's eyes,--it was a -temporary weakness. And so on and so on, in accordance with Edwin's -instinct for denying the existence of a crisis. And the local optician, -consulted, had borne him out. The local optician said that every year -he dealt with dozens of cases similar to George's. And now both the -local optician and Edwin were overthrown by a boy's sobbing tears. - -Suddenly Hilda turned round upon her husband. - -"I shall take George to London to-morrow about his eyes," she said, with -immense purpose and sincerity, in a kind of fierce challenge. - -This was her amends to George for having often disbelieved him, and for -having suspected him of taking after his father. She made her amends -passionately, and with all the force of her temperament. In her eyes -George was now a martyr. - -"To London?" exclaimed Edwin weakly. - -"Yes. It's no use half doing these things. I shall ask Charlie -Orgreave to recommend me a first-class oculist." - -Edwin dared say nothing. Either Manchester or Birmingham would have -been just as good as London, perhaps better. Moreover, she had not even -consulted him. She had decided by a violent impulse and announced her -decision. This was not right; she would have protested against a -similar act by Edwin. But he could not argue with her. She was far -beyond argument. - -"I wouldn't have that boy's eyesight played with for anything!" she said -fiercely. - -"Well, of course you wouldn't! Who would?" Edwin thought, but he did -not say it. - -"Go and see what he's doing," she said. - -Edwin slouched off. He was no longer the master of the house. He was -only an economic factor and general tool in the house. And as he -wandered like a culprit up the stairs of the mysteriously transformed -dwelling he thought again: "What is it that binds me to her?" But he -was abashed and in spite of himself impressed by the intensity of -Hilda's formidable emotion. Nevertheless as he began vaguely to -perceive all that was involved in her threat to go to London on the -morrow, he stiffened, and said to himself: "We shall see about that. We -shall just see about that!" - - - - V - - -They were at the meal. Hilda had covered George's portion of fish with -a plate and put it before the fire to keep warm. She was just returning -to the table. Tertius Ingpen, who sat with his back to the fire, looked -at her over his shoulder with an admiring smile and said: - -"Well, I've had some good meals in this house, but this is certainly the -best bit of fish I ever tasted. So that the catastrophe in the kitchen -leaves me unmoved." - -Hilda, with face suddenly transformed by a responsive smile, insinuated -herself between the table and her arm-chair, drew forward the chair by -its arms, and sat down. Her keen pleasure in the compliment was -obvious. Edwin noted that the meal was really very well served, the -table brighter than usual, the toast crisper, and the fish--a fine piece -of hake white as snow within its browned exterior--merely perfect. There -was no doubt that Hilda could be extremely efficient when she desired; -Edwin's criticism was that she was too often negligent, and that in her -moods of conscientiousness she gave herself too urgently and completely, -producing an unnecessary disturbance in the atmosphere of the home. -Nevertheless Edwin too felt pleasure in the compliment to Hilda; and he -calmly enjoyed the spectacle of his wife and his friend side by side on -such mutually appreciative terms. The intimacy of the illuminated table -in the midst of the darker room, the warmth and crackling of the fire, -the grave solidity of the furniture, the springiness of the thick -carpet, and the delicate odours of the repast,--all these things -satisfied in him something that was profound. And the two mature, -vivacious, intelligent faces under the shaded gas excited his loyal -affection. - -"That's right," Hilda murmured, in her clear enunciation. "I do like -praise!" - -"Now then, you callous brute," said Ingpen to Edwin. "What do you say?" - -And Hilda cried with swift, complaining sincerity: - -"Oh! Edwin never praises me!" - -Her sincerity convinced by its very artlessness. The complaint had come -unsought from her heart. And it was so spontaneous and forcible that -Tertius Ingpen, as a tactful guest, saw the advisability of easing the -situation by laughter. - -"Yes, I do!" Edwin protested, and though he was shocked, he laughed, in -obedience to Ingpen's cue. It was true; he did praise her; but not -frequently, and almost always in order to flatter her rather than to -express his own emotion. Edwin did not care for praising people; he -would enthusiastically praise a book, but not a human being. His way -was to take efficiency for granted. "Not so bad," was a superlative of -laudation with him. He was now shocked as much by the girl's outrageous -candour as by the indisputable revelation that she went hungry for -praise. Even to a close friend such as Ingpen, surely a wife had not -the right to be quite so desperately sincere. Edwin considered that in -the presence of a third person husband and wife should always at any -cost maintain the convention of perfect conjugal amenity. He knew -couples who achieved the feat,--Albert and Clara, for example. But -Hilda, he surmised, had other ideas, if indeed she had ever consciously -reflected upon this branch of social demeanour. Certainly she seemed at -moments to lose all regard for appearances. - -Moreover, she was polluting by acerbity the pure friendliness of the -atmosphere, and endangering cheer. - -"He's too wrapped up in the works to think about praising his wife," -Hilda continued, still in the disconcerting vein of sincerity, but with -less violence and a more philosophical air. The fact was that, although -she had not regained the zest of the mood so rudely dissipated by the -scene with Ada, she was kept cheerful by the mere successful exercise of -her own energy in proving to these two men that servants were not in the -least essential to the continuance of plenary comfort in her house; and -she somewhat condescended towards Edwin. - -"By the way, Teddie," said Ingpen, pulling lightly at his short beard, -"I heard a rumour that you were going to stand for the Town Council in -the South ward. Why didn't you?" - -Edwin looked a little confused. - -"Who told you that tale?" - -"It was about." - -"It never came from me," said Edwin. - -Hilda broke in eagerly: - -"He was invited to stand. But he wouldn't. I thought he ought to. I -begged him to. But no, he wouldn't. And did you know he refused a -J.P.ship too?" - -"Oh!" mumbled Edwin. "That sort o' thing's not my line." - -"Oh, isn't it!" Ingpen exclaimed. "Then whose line is it?" - -"Look at all the rotters in the Council!" said Edwin. - -"All the more reason why you should be on it!" - -"Well, I've got no time," Edwin finished gloomily and uneasily. - -Ingpen paused, tapping his teeth with his finger, before proceeding, in -a judicial, thoughtful manner which in recent years he had been -developing: - -"I'll tell you what's the matter with you, old man. You don't know it, -but you're in a groove. You go about like a shuttle from the house to -the works and the works to the house. And you never think beyond the -works and the house." - -"Oh, don't I?" - -Ingpen went placidly on: - -"No, you don't. You've become a good specimen of the genus -'domesticated business man.' You've forgotten what life is. You fancy -you're at full stretch all the time, but you're in a coma. I suppose -you'll never see forty again--and have you ever been outside this -island? You went to Llandudno this year because you went last year. -And you'll go next year because you went this year. If you happen now -and then to worry about the failure of your confounded Liberal Party you -think you're a blooming broad-minded publicist. Where are your musical -evenings? When I asked you to go with me to a concert at Manchester -last week but one, you thought I'd gone dotty, simply because it meant -your leaving the works early and not getting to bed until the -unheard-of-time of one thirty a.m." - -"I was never told anything about any concert," Hilda interjected -sharply. - -"Go on! Go on!" said Edwin raising his eyebrows. - -"I will," said Ingpen with tranquillity, as though discussing -impartially and impersonally the conduct of some individual at the -Antipodes. "Where am I? Well, you're always buying books, and I believe -you reckon yourself a bit of a reader. What d'you get out of them? I -daresay you've got decided views on the transcendent question whether -Emily Brontë was a greater writer than Charlotte. That's about what -you've got. Why, dash it, you haven't a vice left. A vice would -interfere with your lovely litho. There's only one thing that would -upset you more than a machinery breakdown at the works----" - -"And what's that?" - -"What's that? If one of the hinges of your garden-gate came off, or you -lost your latchkey! Why, just look how you've evidently been struck all -of a heap by this servant affair! I expect it occurred to you your -breakfast might be five minutes late in the morning." - -"Stuff!" said Edwin, amiably. He regarded Ingpen's observations as -fantastically unjust and beside the mark. But his sense of fairness and -his admiration of the man's intellectual honesty would not allow him to -resent them. Ingpen would discuss and dissect either his friends or -himself with equal detachment; the detachment was complete. And his -assumption that his friends fully shared his own dispassionate, curious -interest in arriving at the truth appealed very strongly to Edwin's -loyalty. That Ingpen was liable to preach and even to hector was a -drawback which he silently accepted. - -"Struck all of a heap indeed!" muttered Edwin. - -"Wasn't he, Hilda?" - -"I should just say he was! And I know he thinks it's all my fault," -said Hilda. - -Tertius Ingpen glanced at her an instant, and gave a short half-cynical -laugh, which scarcely concealed his mild scorn of her feminine confusion -of the argument. - -"It's the usual thing!" said Ingpen, with scorn still more marked. At -this stage of a dissertation he was inclined to be less a human being -than the trumpet of a sacred message. "It's the usual thing! I never -knew a happy marriage yet that didn't end in the same way." Then, -perceiving that he was growing too earnest, and that his emphasis on the -phrase 'happy marriage' had possibly been too sarcastic, he sniggered. - -"I really don't see what marriage has to do with it," said Hilda, -frowning. - -"No, of course you don't," Ingpen agreed. - -"If you'd said business----" she added. - -"Now we've had the diagnosis," Edwin sardonically remarked, looking at -his plate, "what's the prescription?" He was reflecting: "'Happy -marriage,' does he call it! ... Why on earth does she say I think it's -all her fault? I've not breathed a word." - -"Well," replied Ingpen. "You live much too close to your infernal -works. Why don't you get away, right away, and live out in the country -like a sensible man, instead of sticking in this filthy hole--among all -these new cottages? ... Barbarian hordes...." - -"Oh! Hurrah!" cried Hilda. "At last I've got somebody who takes my -side." - -"Of course you say it's impossible. You naturally would----" Ingpen -resumed. - -He was interrupted by the entrance of George. Soon after Tertius -Ingpen's arrival, George had been despatched to summon urgently Mrs. -Tams, the charwoman who had already more than once helped to fill a -hiatus between two cooks. George showed now no trace of his late -martyrdom, nor of a headache. To conquer George in these latter days -you had to demand of him a service. It was Edwin who had first -discovered the intensity of the boy's desire to take a useful share in -any adult operation whatever. He came in red-cheeked, red-handed, -rough, defiant, shy, proud, and making a low intermittent "Oo-oo" noise -with protruding lips to indicate the sharpness of the frost outside. As -he had already greeted Ingpen he was able to go without ceremony -straight to his chair. - -Confidentially, in the silence, Hilda raised her eyebrows to him -interrogatively. In reply he gave one short nod. Thus in two scarcely -perceptible gestures the assurance was asked for and given that the -mission had been successful and that Mrs. Tams would be coming up at -once. George loved these private and laconic signallings, which -produced in him the illusion that he was getting nearer to the enigma of -life. - -As he persisted in the "Oo-oo" manifestation, Hilda amicably murmured: - -"Hsh-hsh!" - -George pressed his lips swiftly and hermetically together, and raised -his eyebrows in protest against his own indecorum. He glanced at his -empty place; whereupon Hilda glanced informingly in the direction of the -fire, and George, skilled in the interpretation of minute signs, skirted -stealthily round the table behind his mother's chair, and snatched his -loaded plate from the hearth. - -Nobody said a word. The sudden stoppage of the conversation had indeed -caused a slight awkwardness among the elders. George, for his part, was -quite convinced that they had been discussing his eyesight. - -"Furnace all right again, sonny?" asked Edwin, quietly, when the boy had -sat down. Hilda was replenishing Ingpen's plate. - -"Blop!" muttered George, springing up aghast. This meant that he had -forgotten the furnace in the cellar, source of heat to the radiator in -the hall. By a recent arrangement he received sixpence a week for -stoking the furnace. - -"Never mind! It'll do afterwards," said Edwin. - -But George, masticating fish, shook his head. He must be stern with -himself, possibly to atone for his tears. And he went off instantly to -the cellar. - -"Bit chill," observed Edwin to him as he left the room. "A bit chilly" -was what he meant; but George delighted to chip the end off a word, and -when Edwin chose to adopt the same practice, the boy took it as a -masonic sign of profound understanding between them. - -George nodded and vanished. And both Edwin and Hilda dwelt in secret -upon his boyish charm, and affectionate satisfaction mingled with and -softened their apprehensions and their brooding responsibility and -remorse. They thought: "He is simply exquisite," and in their hearts -apologised to him. - -Tertius Ingpen asked suddenly: - -"What's happened to the young man's spectacles?" - -"They don't suit him," said Hilda eagerly. "They don't suit him at all. -They give him headaches. Edwin would have me take him to the local man, -what's-his-name at Hanbridge. I was afraid it would be risky, but Edwin -would have it. I'm going to take him to London to-morrow. He's been -having headaches for some time and never said a word. I only found it -out by accident." - -"Surely," Ingpen smiled, "it's contrary to George's usual practice to -hide his troubles like that, isn't it?" - -"Oh!" said Hilda. "He's rather secretive, you know." - -"I've never noticed," said Ingpen, "that he was more secretive than most -of us are about a grievance." - -Edwin, secretly agitated, said in a curious light tone: - -"If you ask me, he kept it quiet just to pay us out." - -"Pay you out? What for?" - -"For making him wear spectacles at all. These kids want a deuce of a -lot of understanding; but that's my contribution. He simply said to -himself: 'Well, if they think they're going to cure my eyesight for me -with their beastly specs they just aren't, and I won't tell 'em!'" - -"Edwin!" Hilda protested warmly. "I wonder you can talk like that!" - -Tertius Ingpen went off into one of his peculiar long fits of laughter; -and Edwin quizzically smiled, feeling as if he was repaying Hilda for -her unnecessary insistence upon the fact that he was responsible for the -choosing of an optician. Hilda, suspecting that the two men saw -something droll which was hidden from her, blushed and then laughed in -turn, somewhat self-consciously. - -"Don't _you_ think it's best to go to London, about an affair like -eyesight?" she asked Ingpen pointedly. - -"The chief thing in these cases," said Ingpen solemnly, "is to satisfy -the maternal instinct. Yes, I should certainly go to London. If Teddie -disagrees, I'm against him. Who are you going to?" - -"You are horrid!" Hilda exclaimed, and added with positiveness: "I shall -ask Charlie Orgreave first. He'll tell me the best man." - -"You seem to have a great belief in Charlie," said Ingpen. - -"I have," said Hilda, who had seen Charlie at George's bedside when -nobody knew whether George would live or die. - -And while they were talking about Charlie and about Janet, who was now -living with her brother at Ealing, the sounds of George stoking the -furnace below came dully up through the floor-boards. - -"If you and George are going away," asked Ingpen, "what'll happen to his -worship--with not a servant in the house?" - -This important point had been occupying Edwin's mind ever since Hilda -had first announced her intention to go to London. But he had not -mentioned it to her, nor she to him, their relations being rather -delicate. It had, for him, only an academic interest, since he had -determined that she should not go to London on the morrow. Nevertheless -he awaited anxiously the reply. - -Hilda answered with composure: - -"I'm hoping he'll come with us." - -He had been prepared for anything but this. The proposition was -monstrously impossible. Could a man leave his works at a moment's -notice? The notion was utterly absurd. - -"That's quite out of the question," he said at once. He was absolutely -sincere. The effect of Ingpen's discourse was, however, such as to -upset the assured dignity of his pronouncement; for the decision was -simply an illustration of Ingpen's theory concerning him. He blushed. - -"Why is it out of the question?" demanded Hilda, inimically gazing at -him. - -She had lost her lenient attitude towards him of the afternoon. -Nevertheless, reflecting upon Tertius Ingpen's indictment of the usual -happy marriage, she had been planning the expedition to London as a -revival of romance in their lives. She saw it as a marvellous -rejuvenating experience. When she thought of all that she had suffered, -and all that Edwin had suffered, in order that they might come together, -she was quite desolated by the prosaic flatness of the ultimate result. -Was it to attain their present stolid existence that they had endured -affliction for a decade? She wanted passionately to break the -mysterious bands that held them both back from ecstasy and romance. And -he would not help her. He would not enter into her desire. She had -known that he would refuse. He refused everything--he was so set in his -own way. Resentment radiated from her. - -"I can't," said Edwin. "What d'you want to go to-morrow for? What does -a day or two matter?" - -Then she loosed her tongue. Why to-morrow? Because you couldn't trifle -with a child's eyesight. Already the thing had been dragging on for -goodness knew how long. Every day might be of importance. And why not -to-morrow? They could shut the house up, and go off together and stay -at Charlie's. Hadn't Janet asked them many a time? Maggie would look -out for new servants. And Mrs. Tams would clean the house. It was -really the best way out of the servant question too, besides being the -best for George. - -"And there's another thing," she went on without a pause, speaking -rapidly and clearly. "Your eyes want seeing to as well. Do you think I -don't know?" she sneered. - -"Mine!" he exclaimed. "My eyes are as right as rain." It was not true. -His eyes had been troubling him. - -"Then why have you had a double candle-bracket fixed at your bed-head, -when a single one's been enough for you all these years?" she demanded. - -"I just thought of it, that's all," said Edwin glumly, and with no -attempt to be diplomatic. "Anyhow I can't go to London to-morrow. And -when I want an oculist," he finished with grimness, "Hanbridge'll be -good enough for me, I'm thinking." - -Strange, she had never before said a word to him about his eyes! - -"Then what shall you do while I'm away?" she asked implacably. - -But if she was implacable, he also could be implacable. If she insisted -on leaving him in the lurch,--well, she should leave him in the lurch! -Tertius Ingpen was witness of a plain breach between them. It was -unfortunate; it was wholly Hilda's fault; but he had to face the fact. - -"I don't know," he replied curtly. - -The next moment George returned. - -"Hasn't Mrs. Tams been quick, mother?" said George. "She's come." - - - - VI - - -In the drawing-room, after the meal, Edwin could hear through the half -open door the sounds of conversation between Hilda and Mrs. Tams, with -an occasional word from George, who was going to help Mrs. Tams to "put -the things away" after she had washed and wiped. The voice of Mrs. Tams -was very gentle and comforting. Edwin's indignant pity went out to her. -Why should Mrs. Tams thus cheerfully bear the misfortunes of others? -Why should she at a moment's notice leave a cottageful of young children -and a husband liable at any time to get drunk and maim either them or -her, in order to meet a crisis caused by Hilda's impulsiveness and lack -of tact? The answer, as in so many cases, was of course economic. Mrs. -Tams could not afford not to be at Mrs. Clayhanger's instant call; also -she was born the victim of her own altruism; her soul was soft like her -plump cushionlike body, and she lived as naturally in injustice as a -fish in water. But could anything excuse those who took advantage of -such an economic system and such a devoted nature? Edwin's conscience -uneasily stirred; he could have blushed. However, he was helpless; and -he was basely glad that he was helpless, that it was no affair of his -after all, and that Mrs. Tams had thus to work out her destiny to his -own benefit. He saw in her a seraph for the next world, and yet in this -world he contentedly felt himself her superior. And her voice, -soothing, acquiescent, expressive of the spirit which gathers in -extraneous woes as the mediæval saint drew to his breast the swords of -the executioners, continued to murmur in the hall. - -Edwin thought: - -"I alone in this house feel the real significance of Mrs. Tams. I'm -sure she doesn't feel it herself." - -But these reflections were only the vague unimportant background to the -great matter in his mind,--the difficulty with Hilda. When he had -entered the house, questions of gaslight and blinds were enormous to -him. The immense general question of servants had diminished them to a -trifle. Then the question of George's headache and eyesight had taken -precedence. And now the relations of husband and wife were mightily -paramount over everything else. Tertius Ingpen, having as usual opened -the piano, was idly diverting himself with strange chords, while -cigarette smoke rose into his eyes, making him blink. Like Edwin, -Ingpen was a little self-conscious after the open trouble in the -dining-room. It would have been absurd to pretend that trouble did not -exist; on the other hand the trouble was not of the kind that could be -referred to, by even a very intimate friend. The acknowledgment of it -had to be mute. But in addition to being self-conscious, Ingpen was -also triumphant. There was a peculiar sardonic and somewhat disdainful -look on his face as he mused over the chords, trying to keep the -cigarette smoke out of his eyes. His oblique glance seemed to be saying -to Edwin: "What have I always told you about women? Well, you've -married and you must take the consequences. Your wife's no worse than -other wives. Here am I, free! And wouldn't you like to be in my place, -my boy! ... How wise I have been!" - -Edwin resented these unspoken observations. The contrast between -Ingpen's specious support and flattery of Hilda when she was present, -and his sardonic glance when she was absent, was altogether too marked. -Himself in revolt against the institution of marriage, Edwin could not -bear that Ingpen should attack it. Edwin had, so far as concerned the -outside world, taken the institution of marriage under his protection. -Moreover Ingpen's glance was a criticism of Hilda such as no husband -ought to permit. And it was also a criticism of the husband--that slave -and dupe! ... Yet, at bottom what Edwin resented was Ingpen's -contemptuous pity for the slave and the dupe. - -"Why London--and why to-morrow?" said Edwin, cheerfully, with a superior -philosophical air, as though impartially studying an argumentative -position, as though he could regard the temporary vagaries of an -otherwise fine sensible woman with bland detachment. He said it because -he was obliged to say something, in order to prove that he was neither a -slave nor a dupe. - -"Ask me another," replied Ingpen curtly, continuing to produce chords. - -"Well, we shall see," said Edwin mysteriously, firmly, and loftily; -meaning that, if his opinion were invited, his opinion would be that -Hilda would not go away to-morrow and that whenever she went she would -not go to London. - -He had decided to have a grand altercation with his wife that night, -when Ingpen and Mrs. Tams had departed and George was asleep and they -had the house to themselves. He knew his ground and he could force a -decisive battle. He felt no doubt as to the result. The news of his -triumph should reach Ingpen. - -Ingpen was apparently about to take up the conversation when George came -clumsily and noisily into the drawing-room. All his charm seemed to -have left him. - -"I thought you were going to help," said Edwin. - -"So I am," George challenged him; and, lacking the courage to stop at -that point, added: "But they aren't ready yet." - -"Let's try those Haydn bits, George," Ingpen suggested. - -"Oh no!" said George curtly. - -Ingpen and the boy had begun to play easy fragments of duets together. - -Edwin said with sternness: - -"Sit down to that piano and do as Mr. Ingpen asks you." - -George flushed and looked foolish and sat down; and Ingpen quizzed him. -All three knew well that Edwin's fierceness was only one among sundry -consequences of the mood of the housemistress. The slow movement and -the scherzo from the symphony were played. And while the music went on, -Edwin heard distantly the opening and shutting of the front-door and an -arrival in the hall, and then chattering. Maggie had called. "What's -she after?" thought Edwin. - -"Hoo! There's Auntie Maggie!" George exclaimed, as soon as the scherzo -was finished, and ran off. - -"That boy is really musical," said Ingpen with conviction. - -"Yes, I suppose he is," Edwin agreed casually, as though deprecating a -talent which however was undeniable. "But you'd never guess he's got a -bad headache, would you?" - -It was a strange kind of social evening, and Hilda--it seemed to the -august Edwin--had a strange notion of the duties of hostess. Surely, if -Mrs. Tams was in the kitchen, Hilda ought to be in the drawing-room with -their guest! Surely Maggie ought to have been brought into the -drawing-room,--she was not a school girl, she was a woman of over forty, -and yet she had quite inexcusably kept her ancient awkwardness and -timidities. He could hear chatterings from the dining-room, scurryings -through the hall, and chatterings from the kitchen; then a smash of -crockery, a slight scream, and girlish gigglings. They were all the -same, all the women he knew, except perhaps Clara,--they had hours when -they seemed to forget that they were adult and that their skirts were -long. And how was it that Hilda and Maggie were suddenly so intimate, -they whose discreet mutual jealousy was an undeniable phenomenon of the -family life? With all his majesty he was simpleton enough never to have -understood that two women who eternally suspect each other may yet -dissolve upon occasion into the most touching playful tenderness. The -whole ground-floor was full of the rumour of an apparent alliance -between Hilda and Maggie. And as he listened Edwin glanced sternly at -the columns of the evening _Signal_, while Tertius Ingpen, absorbed, -worked his way bravely through a sonata of Beethoven. - -Then George reappeared. - -"Mother's going to take me to London to-morrow about my eyes," said -George to Ingpen, stopping the sonata by his mere sense of the terrific -importance of such tidings. And he proceeded to describe the projected -doings in London, the visit to Charlie and Janet Orgreave, and possibly -to the Egyptian Hall. - -Edwin did not move. He kept an admirable and complete calm under the -blow. Hilda was decided, then, to defy him. In telling the boy, who -during the meal had been permitted to learn nothing, she had burnt her -boats; she had even burnt Edwin's boats also: which seemed to be -contrary to the rules laid down by society for conjugal warfare,--but -women never could fight according to rules! The difficulties and -dangers of the great pitched battle which Edwin had planned for the -close of the evening were swiftly multiplied. He had misgivings. - -The chattering, giggling girls entered the drawing-room. But as Maggie -came through the doorway her face stiffened; her eyes took on a glaze; -and when Ingpen bent over her hand in all the false ardour of his -excessive conventional chivalry, the spinster's terrible -constraint--scourge of all her social existence--gripped her like a -disease. She could scarcely speak. - -"Hello, Mag," Edwin greeted her. - -Impossible to divine in this plump, dowdy, fading, dumb creature the -participator in all those chatterings and gigglings of a few moments -earlier! Nevertheless Edwin, who knew her profoundly, could see beneath -the glaze of those eyes the commonsense soul of the sagacious woman -protesting against Ingpen's affected manners and deciding that she did -not care for Ingpen at all. - -"Auntie Hamps is being naughty again," said Hilda bluntly. - -Ingpen, and then Edwin, sniggered. - -"_I_ can't do anything with her, Edwin," said Maggie, speaking quickly -and eagerly, as she and Hilda sat down. "She's bound to let herself in -for another attack if she doesn't take care of herself. And she won't -take care of herself. She won't listen to the doctor or anybody else. -She's always on her feet, and she's got sewing-meetings on the brain -just now. I've got her to bed early to-night--she's frightfully -shaky--and I thought I'd come up and tell you. You're the only one that -can do anything with her at all, and you really must come and see her -to-morrow on your way to the works." - -Maggie spoke as though she had been urging Edwin for months to take the -urgent matter in hand and was now arrived at desperation. - -"All right! All right!" said he, with amiable impatience; it was the -first he had heard of the matter. "I'll drop in. But I've got no -influence over her," he added, with sincerity. - -"Oh yes, you have!" said Maggie, mildly now. "I'm very sorry to hear -about George's eyes. Seeing it's absolutely necessary for Hilda to take -him to London to-morrow, and you've got no servants at all, can't you -come and sleep at Auntie's for a night or two? You've no idea what a -relief it would be to me." - -In an instant Edwin saw that he was beaten, that Hilda and Maggie, in -the intervals of their giggling, had combined to overthrow him. The -tone in which Maggie uttered the words 'George's eyes,' 'absolutely -necessary' and 'such a relief' precluded argument. His wife would have -her capricious unnecessary way, and he would be turned out of his own -house. - -"I think you might, dear," said Hilda, with the angelic persuasiveness -of a loving and submissive wife. Nobody could have guessed from that -marvellous tone that she had been determined to defeat him and was then, -so to speak, standing over his prostrate form. - -Maggie, having said what was necessary to be said, fell back into the -constraint from which no efforts of her companions could extricate her. -Such was the effect upon her of the presence of Tertius Ingpen, a -stranger. Presently Ingpen was scanning time-tables for Hilda, and -George was finding notepaper for her, and Maggie was running up and down -stairs for her. She was off to London. "In that woman's head," thought -Edwin, as, observing his wife, he tried in vain to penetrate the secrets -behind her demeanour, "there's only room for one idea at a time." - - - - VII - - -Edwin sat alone in the drawing-room, at the end of an evening which he -declined to call an evening at all. His eyes regarded a book on his -knee, but he was not reading it. His mind was engaged upon the enigma -of his existence. He had entered his house without the least -apprehension, and brusquely, in a few hours, everything seemed to be -changed for him. Impulse had conquered commonsense; his ejectment was a -settled thing; and he was condemned to the hated abode of Auntie Hamps. -Events seemed enormous; they desolated him; his mouth was full of ashes. -The responsibilities connected with George were increasing; his wife, -incalculable and unforeseeable, was getting out of hand; and the menace -of a future removal to another home in the country was raised again. - -He looked about the room; and he imagined all the house, every object in -which was familiar and beloved, and he simply could not bear to think of -the disintegration of these interiors by furniture-removers, and of the -endless rasping business of creating a new home in partnership with a -woman whose ideas about furnishing were as unsound as they were -capricious. He utterly dismissed the fanciful scheme, as he dismissed -the urgings towards public activity. He deeply resented all these -headstrong intentions to disturb him in his tranquillity. They were -indefensible, and he would not have them. He would die in sullen -obstinacy rather than yield. Impulse might conquer commonsense, but not -beyond a certain degree. He would never yield. - -Ingpen had departed, to sleep in a room in the same building as his -office at Hanbridge. He knew that Ingpen had no comprehension of -domestic comfort and a well-disposed day. Nevertheless he envied the -man his celestial freedom. If he, Edwin, were free, what an ideal life -he could make for himself, a life presided over by commonsense, -regularity, and order! He was not free; he would never be free; and -what had he obtained in exchange for freedom? ... Ingpen's immense -criticism smote him. He had a wife and her child; servants--at -intervals; a fine works and many workpeople; a house, with books; money, -security. The organised machinery of his existence was tremendous; and -it was all due to him, made by him in his own interests and to satisfy -his own desires. Without him the entire structure would crumble in a -week; without him it would have no excuse. And what was the result? Was -he ever, in any ideal sense, happy: that is, free from foreboding, from -friction, from responsibility, and withal lightly joyous? Was any -quarter of an hour of his day absolutely what he would have wished? He -ranged over his day, and concluded that the best part of it was the very -last.... He got into bed, the candles in the sconce were lit, the gas -diminished to a blue speck, and most of the room in darkness; he lay -down on his left side, took the marker from the volume in his hand, and -began to read; the house was silent and enclosed; the rumbling -tramcar--to whose sound he had been accustomed from infancy--did not a -bit disturb him; it was in another world; over the edge of his book he -could see the form of his wife, fast asleep in the other bed, her -plaited hair trailing over the pillow; the feel of the sheets to his -limbs was exquisite; he read, the book was good; the chill of winter -just pleasantly affected the hand that held the book; nothing annoyed; -nothing jarred; sleep approached.... That fifteen minutes, that twenty -or thirty minutes, was all that he could show as the result of the -tremendous organised machinery of his existence--his house, his works, -his workpeople, his servants, his wife with her child.... - -Hilda came with quick determination into the drawing-room. They had not -spoken to each other alone since the decision and his defeat. He was -aware of his heart beating resentfully. - -"I'm going to bed now, dear," she said in an ordinary tone. "I've got a -frightful headache, and I must sleep. Be sure and wake me up at seven -in the morning, will you? I shall have such lots to do." - -He thought: - -"Has she a frightful headache?" - -She bent down and kissed him several times, very fervently; her lips -lingered on his. And all the time she frowned ever so little; and it -was as if she was conveying to him: "But--each for himself in marriage, -after all." - -In spite of himself, he felt just a little relieved; and he could not -understand why. He watched her as she left the room. How had it come -about that the still finally mysterious creature was living in his -house, imposing her individuality upon him, spoiling his existence? He -considered that it was all disconcertingly strange. - -He rose, lit a cigarette, and opened the window; and the frosty air, -entering, braced him and summoned his self-reliance. The night was -wondrous. And when he had shut the window and turned again within, the -room, beautiful, withdrawn, peaceful, was wondrous too. He reflected -that soon he would be in bed, calmly reading, with his wife unconscious -as an infant in the other bed. And then his grievance against Hilda -slowly surged up and he began for the first time to realise how vast it -was. - -"Confound that woman!" he muttered, meaning Auntie Hamps. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - AUNTIE HAMPS SENTENCED - - - I - - -On the next evening it was Maggie who opened Mrs. Hamps's front-door for -Edwin. There was no light in the lobby, but a faint gleam coming -through the open door of the sitting-room disclosed the silhouette of -Maggie's broad figure. - -"I thought you'd call in this morning," said Maggie discontentedly. "I -asked you to. I've been expecting you all day." - -"Didn't you get my message?" - -"No. What message?" - -"D'you mean to say a lad hasn't been here with my portmanteau?" demanded -Edwin, alarmed and ready to be annoyed. - -"Yes. A lad's been with your portmanteau. But he gave no message." - -"D--n him. I told him to tell you I couldn't possibly get here before -night." - -"Well, he didn't!" said Maggie stoutly, throwing back the blame upon -Edwin and his hirelings. "I particularly wanted you to come early. I -told Auntie you'd be coming." - -"How's she getting on?" Edwin asked with laconic gruffness, dismissing -Maggie's grievance without an apology. He might have to stand nonsense -from Hilda; but he would not stand it from Maggie, of whose notorious -mildness he at once began to take advantage, as in the old days of their -housekeeping together. Moreover, his entrance into this abode was a -favour, exhibiting the condescension of the only human being who could -exercise influence upon Auntie Hamps. - -"She's worse," said Maggie, briefly and significantly. - -"In bed?" said Edwin, less casually, marking her tone. - -Maggie nodded. - -"Had the doctor?" - -"I should think so indeed!" - -"Hm! Why don't you have a light in this lobby?" he enquired suddenly, -on a drily humorous note, as he groped to suspend his overcoat upon an -unstable hatstand. It seemed to be a very cold lobby, after his own -radiator-heated half. - -"She never will have a light here, unless she's doing the grand for -someone. Are you going to wash ye?" - -"No. I cleaned up at the works." A presentiment of the damp chilliness -of the Hamps bedroom had suggested this precaution. - -Maggie preceded him into the sitting-room, where a hexagonal -occasional-table was laid for tea. - -"Hello! Do you eat here? What's the matter with the dining-room?" - -"The chimney always smokes when the wind's in the south-west." - -"Well, why doesn't she have a cowl put on it?" - -"You'd better ask her.... Also she likes to save a fire. She can't -bear to have two fires going as well as the kitchen-range. I'll bring -tea in. It's all ready." - -Maggie went away. - -Edwin looked round the shabby Victorian room. A length of featureless -linoleum led from the door to the table. This carpet-protecting -linoleum exasperated him. It expressed the very spirit of his aunt's -house. He glanced at the pictures, the texts, the beady and the woolly -embroideries, the harsh chairs, and the magnificent morocco exteriors of -the photograph-albums in which Auntie Hamps kept the shiny portraits of -all her relatives, from grand-nieces back to the third and fourth -generation of ancestors. And a feeling of desolation came over him. He -thought: "How many days shall I have to spend in this deadly hole?" It -was extremely seldom that he visited King Street, and when he did come -the house was brightened to receive him. He had almost forgotten what -the house really was. And, suddenly thrown back into it at its most -lugubrious and ignoble, after years of the amenities of Trafalgar Road, -he was somehow surprised that that sort of thing had continued to exist, -and he resented that it should have dared to continue to exist. He had -a notion that, since he had left it behind, it ought to have perished. - -He cautiously lifted the table and carried it to the hearthrug. Then he -sat down in the easy-chair, whose special property, as he remembered, -was slowly and inevitably to slide the sitter forward to the hard edge -of the seat; and he put his feet inside the fender. In the grate a small -fire burned between two fire-bricks. He sneezed. Maggie came in with a -tray. - -"Are you cold?" she asked, seeing the new situation of the table. - -"Am I cold!" Edwin repeated. - -"Well," said Maggie, "I always think your rooms are so hot." - -Edwin seized the small serviceable tongs which saved the wear of the -large tongs matching the poker and the shovel, and he dragged both -firebricks out of the grate. - -"No coal here, I suppose!" he exclaimed gloomily, opening the black -japanned coal-scuttle. "Oh! Corn in Egypt!" The scuttle was full of -coal. He threw on to the fire several profuse shovelfuls of best -household nuts which had cost sixteen shillings a ton even in that -district of cheap coal. - -"Well," Maggie murmured, aghast. "It's a good thing it's you. If it -had been anybody else--" - -"What on earth does she do with her money?" he muttered. - -Shrugging her shoulders, Maggie went out again with an empty tray. - -"No servant, either?" Edwin asked, when she returned. - -"She's sitting with Auntie." - -"Must I go up before I have my tea?" - -"No. She won't have heard you come." - -There was a grilled mutton-chop and a boiled egg on the crowded small -table, with tea, bread-and-butter, two rounds of dry bread, some cakes, -and jam. - -"Which are you having--egg or chop?" Edwin demanded as Maggie sat down. - -"Oh! They're both for you." - -"And what about you?" - -"I only have bread-and-butter as a rule." - -Edwin grunted, and started to eat. - -"What's supposed to be the matter with her?" he enquired. - -"It seems it's congestion of the lung, and thickened arteries. It -wouldn't matter so much about the lung being congested, in itself, only -it's the strain on her heart." - -"I see." - -"Been in bed all day, I suppose." - -"No, she would get up. But she had to go back to bed at once. She had -a collapse." - -"Hm!" - -He could not think of anything else to say. - -"Haven't got to-night's _Signal_, have you?" - -"Oh no!" said Maggie, astonished at such a strange demand. "Hilda get -off all right?" - -"Yes, they went by the nine train." - -"She told me that she should, if she could manage it. I expect Mrs. -Tams was up there early." - -Edwin nodded, recalling with bitterness certain moments of the early -morning. And then silence ensued. The brother and sister could not keep -the conversation alive. Edwin thought: "We know each other intimately, -and we respect each other, and yet we cannot even conduct a meal -together without awkwardness and constraint. Has civilisation down here -got no further than that?" He felt sorry for Maggie, and also kindly -disdainful of her. He glanced at her furtively and tried to see in her -the girl of the far past. She had grown immensely older than himself. -She was now at home in the dreadful Hamps environment. True, she had an -income, but had she any pleasures? It was impossible to divine what her -pleasures might be, what she thought about when she lay in bed, to what -hours she looked forward. First his father, then himself, and lastly -Auntie Hamps had subjugated her. And of the three Auntie Hamps had most -ruthlessly succeeded, and in the shortest time. And yet--Edwin -felt--even Auntie Hamps had not quite succeeded, and the original -individual still survived in Maggie and was silently critical of all the -phenomena which surrounded her and to which she had apparently -submitted. Realising this, Edwin ceased to be kindly disdainful. - -Towards the end of the meal a heavy foot was heard on the stairs. - -"Minnie!" Maggie called. - -After shuffling and hesitation the sitting-room door was pushed ever so -little open. - -"Yes, miss," said someone feebly. - -"Why have you left Mrs. Hamps? Do you need anything?" - -"Missis made me go, miss," came the reply, very loosely articulated. - -"Come in and take your bread," said Maggie, and aside to Edwin: -"Auntie's at it again!" - -After another hesitation the door opened wide, and Minnie became -visible. She was rather a big girl, quite young, fat, too fair, -undecided, obviously always between two minds. Her large apron, -badly-fitting over the blue frock, was of a dubious yellow colour. She -wore spectacles. Behind her spectacles she seemed to be blinking in -confusion at all the subtle complexities of existence. She advanced -irregularly to the table with a sort of nervous desperation, as if -saying: "I have to go through this ordeal." Edwin could not judge -whether she was about to smile or about to weep. - -"Here's your bread," said Maggie, indicating the two rounds of dry -bread. "I've left the dripping on the kitchen table for you." - -Edwin, revolted, perceived of course in a flash what the life of Minnie -was under the regime of Auntie Hamps. - -"Thank ye, miss." - -He noticed that the veiled voice was that of a rather deaf person. - -Blushing, Minnie took the bread, and moved away. Just as she reached the -door, she gave a great sob, followed by a number of little ones; and the -bread fell on to the carpet. She left it there, and vanished, still -violently sobbing. - -Edwin, spellbound, stopped masticating. A momentary sensation almost of -horror seized him. Maggie turned pale, and he was glad that she turned -pale. If she had shown by no sign that such happenings were unusual, he -would have been afraid of the very house itself, of its mere sinister -walls which seemed to shelter sick tyrants, miserable victims, and -enchanted captives; he would have begun to wonder whether he himself was -safe in it. - -"What next?" muttered Maggie, intimidated but plucky, rising and -following Minnie. "Just go up to Auntie, will you?" she called to Edwin -over her shoulder. "She oughtn't really to be left alone for a minute." - - - - II - - -Edwin pushed open the door and crept with precautions into the bedroom. -Mrs. Hamps was dozing. In the half-light of the lowered gas he looked -at her and was alarmed, shocked, for it was at once apparent that she -must be very ill. She lay reclining against several crumpled and -crushed pillows, with her head on one side and her veined hands limp on -the eiderdown, between the heavy brown side-curtains that hung from the -carved mahogany tester. The posture seemed to be that of an exhausted -animal, surprised by the unconsciousness of final fatigue, shameless in -the intense need of repose. Auntie Hamps had ceased to be a Wesleyan, a -pillar of society, a champion of the conventions, and a keeper-up of -appearances; she was just an utterly wearied and beaten creature, -breathing noisily through wide-open mouth. Edwin could not remember -ever having seen her when she was not to some extent arrayed for the -world's gaze; he had not seen her at the crisis of any of her recent -attacks. He knew that more than once she had recovered when good judges -had pronounced recovery impossible; but he was quite sure, now, that she -would never rise from that bed. He had the sudden dreadful thought: -"She is done for, sentenced, cut off from the rest of us. This is the -end for her. She won't be able to pretend any more. All her efforts -have come to this." The thought affected him like a blow. And two -somewhat contradictory ideas sprang from it: first, the entire absurdity -of her career as revealed by its close, and secondly, the tragic dignity -with which its close was endowing her. - -At once contemptible and august, she was diminished, even in size. Her -scanty grey hair was tousled. Her pink flannel night-dress with its -long, loose sleeves was grotesque; the multitude of her patched outer -wrappings, from which peeped her head on its withered neck, and -safety-pins, and the orifice of a hot-water bag, were equally grotesque. -None of the bed-linen was clean, or of good quality. The eiderdown was -old, and the needle-points of its small white feathers were piercing it. -The table at the bed-head had a strange collection of poor, odd -crockery. The whole room, with its distempered walls of an -uncomfortable green colour, in spite of several respectable pieces of -mahogany furniture, seemed to be the secret retreat of a graceless and -mean indigence. And above all it was damply cold; the window stood a -little open, and only the tiniest fire burnt in the inefficient grate. - -For decades Auntie Hamps, with her erect figure and handsome face, her -black silks, jet ornaments, and sealskins, her small regular -subscriptions and her spasmodic splendours of golden generosity, her -heroic relentless hypocrisies and her absolute self-reliance and -independence, had exhibited a glorious front to the world. With her, -person and individuality were almost everything, and the environment she -had made for herself almost nothing. The ground-floor of her house was -presentable, especially when titivated for occasional hospitalities, but -not more than presentable. The upper floor was never shown. In -particular, Auntie Hamps was not one of those women who invite other -women to their bedrooms. Her bedroom was guarded like a fastness. In -it, unbeheld, lived the other Auntie Hamps, complementary to the grand -and massive Mrs. Hamps known to mankind. And now the fastness was -exposed, defenceless, and its squalid avaricious secrets discovered; and -she was too broken to protest. There was something unbearably pitiful -in that. Her pose was pitiful and her face was pitiful. Those features -were still far from ugly; the contours of the flushed cheeks, the chin, -and the convex eyelids were astonishingly soft, and recalled the young -girl of about half a century earlier. She was both old and young in her -troubled unconsciousness. The reflection was inevitable: "She was a -young girl--and now she is sentenced." Edwin felt himself desolated by -a terrible gloom which questioned the justification of all life. The -cold of the room made him shiver. After gazing for a long time at the -sufferer, he tiptoed to the fire. On the painted iron mantelpiece were -a basalt clock and three photographs; a recent photograph of smirking -Clara surrounded by her brood; a faded photograph of Maggie as a young -girl, intolerably dowdy; and an equally faded photograph of himself as a -young man of twenty,--he remembered the suit and the necktie in which he -had been photographed. The simplicity, the ingenuousness, of his own -boyish face moved him deeply and at the same time disgusted him. "Was I -like that?" he thought, astounded, and he felt intensely sorry for the -raw youth. Above the clock was suspended by a ribbon a new green card, -lettered in silver with some verses entitled "Lean Hard." This card, he -knew, had superseded a booklet of similar tenor that used to lie on the -dressing-table when he was an infant. The verses began: - - _Child of My love, "Lean hard",_ - _And let Me feel the pressure of thy care._ - - -And they ended: - - _Thou lovest Me. I knew it. Doubt not then,_ - _But loving Me, LEAN HARD._ - - -All his life he had laughed at the notion of his Auntie leaning hard -upon anything whatever. Yet she had lived continually with these verses -ever since the year of their first publication; she had never tired of -their message. And now Edwin was touched. He seemed to see some -sincerity, some beauty, in them. He had a vision of their author, -unknown to literature, but honoured in a hundred thousand respectable -homes. He thought: "Did Auntie only pretend to believe in them? Or did -she think she did believe in them? Or did she really believe in them?" -The last seemed a possibility. Supposing she did really believe in -them? ... Yes, he was touched. He was ready to admit that spirituality -was denied to none. He seemed to come into contact with the universal -immanent spirituality. - -Then he stooped to put some bits of coal silently on the fire. - -"Who's that putting coal on the fire?" said a faint but sharply -protesting voice from the bed. - -The weakness of the voice gave Edwin a fresh shock. The voice seemed to -be drawing on the very last reserves of its owner's vitality. Owing to -the height of the foot of the bed, Auntie Hamps could not see anything -at the fireplace lower than the mantelpiece. As she withdrew from earth -she employed her fading faculties to expostulate against a waste of coal -and to identify the unseen criminal. - -"I am," said Edwin cheerfully. "It was nearly out." - -He stood up, smiling slightly, and faced her. - -Auntie Hamps, lifting her head and frowning in surprise, gazed at him -for a few moments, as if trying to decide who he was. Then she said, in -the same enfeebled tone as before: - -"Eh, Edwin! I never heard you come in. This is an honour!" And her -head dropped back. - -"I'm sleeping here," said Edwin, with determined cheerfulness. "Did ye -know?" - -She reflected, and answered deliberately, using her volition to -articulate every syllable: - -"Yes. Ye're having Maggie's room." - -"Oh no, Auntie!" - -"Yes, you are. I've told her." The faint voice became harshly -obstinate. "Turn the gas up a bit, Edwin, so that I can see you. Well, -this is an honour. Did Maggie give ye a proper tea?" - -"Oh yes, thanks. Splendid." - -He raised the gas. Auntie Hamps blinked. - -"You want something to shade this gas," said Edwin. "I'll fix ye -something." - -The gas-bracket was a little to the right of the fireplace, over the -dressing-table, and nearly opposite the bed. Auntie Hamps nodded. -Having glanced about, Edwin put a bonnet-box on the dressing-table and -on that, upright and open, the Hamps family Bible from the ottoman. The -infirm creation was just lofty enough to come between the light and the -old woman's eyes. - -"That'll be better," said he. "You're not at all well, I hear, Auntie." -He endeavoured to be tactful. - -She slowly shook her head as it lay on the pillow. - -"This is one of my bad days.... But I shall pick up.... Then has Hilda -taken George to London?" - -Edwin nodded. - -"Eh, I do hope and pray it'll be all right. I've had such good eyesight -myself, I'm all the more afraid for others. What a blessing it's been -to me! ... Eh, what a good mother dear Hilda is!" She added after a -pause: "I daresay there never was such a mother as Hilda, unless it's -Clara." - -"Has Clara been in to-day?" Edwin demanded, to change the subject of -conversation. - -"No, she hasn't. But she will, as soon as she has a moment. She'll be -popping in. They're such a tie on her, those children are--and how she -looks after them! ... Edwin!" She called him, as though he were -receding. - -"Yes?" - -The frail voice continued, articulating with great carefulness, and -achieving each sentence as though it were a miracle, as indeed it was: - -"I think no one ever had such nephews and nieces as I have. I've never -had children of my own--that was not to be!--but I must say the Lord has -made it up to me in my nephews and nieces. You and Hilda ... and Clara -and Albert ... and the little chicks!" Tears stood in her eyes. - -"You're forgetting Maggie," said Edwin, lightly. - -"Yes," Auntie Hamps agreed, but in a quite different tone, reluctant and -critical. "I'm sure Maggie does her best. Oh! I'm sure she does ... -Edwin!" Again she called him. - -He approached the tumbled bed, and even sat on the edge of it, his hands -in his pockets. Auntie Hamps, though breathing now more rapidly and -with more difficulty, seemed to have revitalised herself at some -mysterious source of energy. She was still preoccupied by the mental -concentration and the effort of volition required for the smallest -physical acts incident to her continued existence; but she had -accumulated power for the furtherance of greater ends. - -"D'ye want anything?" Edwin suggested, indicating the contents of the -night-table. - -She moved her head to signify a negative. Her pink-clad arms did not -stir. And her whole being seemed to be suspended while she prepared for -an exertion. - -"I'm so relieved you've come," she said at length, slowly and painfully. -"You can't think what a relief it is to me. I've really no one but -you.... It's about that girl." - -"What girl?" - -"Minnie." - -"The servant?" - -Mrs. Hamps inclined her head, and fetched breath through the wide-open -mouth. "I've only just found it out. She's in trouble. Oh! She -admitted it to me a bit ago. I sent her downstairs. I wouldn't have -her in my bedroom a minute longer. She's in trouble. I felt sure she -was.... She was at class-meeting last Wednesday. And only yesterday I -paid her her wages. Only yesterday! Here she lives on the fat of the -land, and what does she do for it? I assure you I have to see to -everything myself. I'm always after her.... In a month she won't be -fit to be seen ... Edwin, I've never been so ashamed.... That I should -have to tell such a thing to my own nephew!" She ceased, exhausted. - -Edwin was somewhat amused. He could not help feeling amused at such an -accident happening in the house of Mrs. Hamps. - -"Who's the man?" he asked. - -"Yes, and that's another thing!" answered Mrs. Hamps solemnly, in her -extreme weakness. "It's the barman at the Vaults, of all people. She -wouldn't admit it, but I know." - -"What are you going to do?" - -"She must leave my house at once." - -"Where does she live--I mean her people?" - -"She has no parents." Auntie Hamps reflected for a few moments. "She -has an aunt at Axe." - -"Well, she can't get to Axe to-night," said Edwin positively. "Does -Maggie know about it?" - -"Maggie!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamps scornfully. "Maggie never notices -_anything_." She added in a graver tone: "And there's no reason why -Maggie should know. It's not the sort of thing that Maggie ought to -know about. You can speak to the girl herself. It will come much -better from you. I shall simply tell Maggie I've decided the girl must -go." - -"She can't go to-night," Edwin repeated, humouringly, but firmly. - -Auntie Hamps proved the sincerity of her regard for him by yielding. - -"Well," she murmured, "to-morrow morning, then. She can turn out the -sitting-room, and clean the silver in the black box, and then she can -go--before dinner. I don't see why I should give her her dinner. Nor -her extra day's wages either." - -"And what shall you do for a servant? Get a charwoman?" - -"Charwoman? No! Maggie will manage." And then with a sudden flare of -relished violence: "I always knew that girl was a mopsy slut. And -what's more, if you ask me, she brought him into the house--and after -eleven o'clock at night too!" - -"All right!" Edwin muttered, to soothe the patient. - -And Mrs. Hamps sadly smiled. - -"It's such a relief to me," she breathed. "You don't know what a relief -to me it is to put it in your hands." - -Her eyelids dropped. She said no more. Having looked back for an -instant in a supreme effort on behalf of the conventions upon which -society was established, Auntie Hamps turned again exhausted towards the -lifting veil of the unknown. And Edwin began to realise the -significance of the scene that was ended. - - - - III - - -"I say," Edwin began, when he had silently closed the door of the -sitting-room. "Here's a lark, if you like!" And he gave a short laugh. -It was under such language and such demeanour that he concealed his real -emotion, which was partly solemn, partly pleasurable, and wholly -buoyant. - -Maggie looked up gloomily. With a bit of pencil held very close to the -point in her heavy fingers, she was totting up the figures of household -accounts in a penny red-covered cash-book. - -Edwin went on: - -"It seems the girl yon"--he indicated the kitchen with a jerk of the -head--"'s been and got herself into a mess." - -Maggie leaned her chin on her hand. - -"Has she been talking to you about it?" With a similar jerk of the head -Maggie indicated Mrs. Hamps's bedroom. - -"Yes." - -"I suppose she's only just found it out?" - -"Who? Auntie? Yes. Did you know about it?" - -"Did I know about it?" Maggie repeated with mild disdainful impatience. -"Of course I knew about it. I've known for weeks. But I wasn't going to -tell _her_." She finished bitterly. - -Edwin regarded his sister with new respect and not without astonishment. -Never before in their lives had they discussed any inconvenient sexual -phenomenon. Save for vague and very careful occasional reference to -Clara's motherhood, Maggie had never given any evidence to her brother -that she was acquainted with what are called in Anglo-Saxon countries -"the facts of life," and he had somehow thought of her as not having -emerged, at the age of forty-four or so, from the naïve ignorance of the -young girl. Now her perfectly phlegmatic attitude in front of the -Minnie episode seemed to betoken a familiarity that approached cynicism. -And she was not at all tongue-tied; she was at her ease. She had become -a woman of the world. Edwin liked her; he liked her manner and her tone. -His interest in the episode even increased. - -"She was for turning her out to-night," said he. "I stopped that." - -"I should think so indeed!" - -"I've got her as far as to-morrow morning." - -"The girl won't go to-morrow morning either!" said Maggie. "At least, -if she goes, I go." She spoke with tranquillity, adding: "But we -needn't bother about that. Auntie'll be past worrying about Minnie -to-morrow morning.... I'd better go up to her. She can't possibly be -left alone." - -Maggie shut the account-book, and rose. - -"I only came down for a sec to tell you. She was dozing," said Edwin -apologetically. "She's awfully ill. I'd no idea." - -"Yes, she's ill right enough." - -"Who'll sit up with her?" - -"I shall." - -"Did you sit up with her last night?" - -"No--only part of the night." - -"We ought to get a nurse." - -"Well, we can't get one to-night." - -"And what about Clara? Can't she take a turn? Surely in a case like -this she can chuck her eternal kids for a bit." - -"I expect she could. But she doesn't know." - -"Haven't you sent round?" He expressed surprise. - -"I couldn't," said Maggie with undisturbed equanimity. "Who could I -send? I couldn't spare Minnie. The thing didn't seem at all serious -until this morning. Since then I've had my hands full." - -"Yes, I can see you have," Edwin agreed appreciatively. - -"It was lucky the doctor called on his own. He does sometimes, you -know, since she began to have her attacks." - -"Well, I'll go round to Clara's myself," said Edwin. - -"I shouldn't," said Maggie. "At least not to-night." - -"Why not?" He might have put the question angrily, overbearingly; but -Maggie was so friendly, suave, confidential, persuasive, and so sure of -herself, that with pleasure he copied her accents. He enjoyed thus -talking to her intimately in the ugly dark house, with the life-bearing -foolish Minnie on the one hand, and the dying old woman on the other. -He thought: "There's something splendid about Mag. In fact I always -knew there was." And he forgot her terrible social shortcomings, her -utter lack of the feminine seductiveness that for him ought to be in -every woman, and her invincible stolidity. Her sturdy and yet scarcely -articulate championship of Minnie delighted him and quickened his pulse. - -"I'd sooner not have her here to-night," said Maggie. "You knew they'd -had a tremendous rumpus, didn't you?" - -"Who? Auntie and Clara?" - -"Yes." - -"I didn't. What about? When? Nobody ever said anything to me." - -"Oh, it must have been two or three months ago. Auntie said something -about Albert not paying me my interest on my money he's got. And then -Clara flared up, and the fat was in the fire." - -"D'you mean to say he's not paying you your interest? Why didn't you -tell me?" - -"Oh! It doesn't matter. I didn't want to bother you." - -"Well, you ought to have bothered me," said Edwin, with a trace of -benevolent severity. He was astounded, and somewhat hurt, that this -great family event should have been successfully concealed from him. He -felt furious against Albert and Clara, and at the same time proud that -his prognostication about the investment with Albert had proved correct. - -"Did Hilda know?" - -"Oh yes. Hilda knew." - -"Well, I'm dashed!" The exclamation showed naïvete. His impression of -the chicanery of women was deepened, so that it actually disquieted him. -"But I suppose," he went on, "I suppose this row isn't going to stop -Clara from coming here, seeing the state Auntie's in?" - -"No, certainly not. Clara would come like a shot if she knew, and -Albert as well. She's a good nurse--in some ways." - -"Well, if they aren't told, and anything happens to Auntie in the night, -there'll be a fine to-do afterwards,--don't forget that." - -"Nothing'll happen to Auntie in the night," said Maggie, with tranquil -reassurance. "And I don't think I could stand 'em to-night." - -The hint of her nervous susceptibility, beneath that stolid exterior, -appealed to him. - -Maggie, since closing the account-book, had moved foot by foot anxiously -towards the door, and had only been kept in the room by the imperative -urgency of the conversation. She now had her hand on the door. - -"I say!" He held her yet another moment. "What's this about me taking -your room? I don't want to turn you out of your room." - -"That's all right," she said, with a kind smile. "It's easiest, really. -Moreover, I daresay there won't be such a lot of sleeping.... I must go -up at once. She can't possibly be left alone." - -Maggie opened the door and she had scarcely stepped forth when Minnie -from the kitchen rushed into the lobby and dropped, intentionally or -unintentionally, on her knees before her. Edwin, unobserved by Minnie, -witnessed the scene through the doorway. Minnie, agitated almost to the -point of hysteria, was crying violently and as she breathed her -shoulders lifted and fell, and the sound of her sobbing rose -periodically to a shriek and sank to a groan. She knelt with her body -and thighs upright and her head erect, making no attempt to stem the -tears or to hide her face. In her extreme desolation she was perhaps as -unconscious of herself as she had ever been. Her cap was awry on her -head, and her hair disarranged; the blinking spectacles made her -ridiculous; only the blue print uniform, and the sinister yellowish -apron drawn down tight under her knees, gave a certain respectable -regularity to her extraordinary and grotesque appearance. - -To Edwin she seemed excessively young and yet far too large and too -developed for her age. The girl was obviously a fool. Edwin could -perceive in her no charm whatever, except that of her innocence; and it -was not easy to imagine that any man, even the barman at the Vaults, -could have mistaken her, even momentarily, for the ideal. And then some -glance of her spectacled eyes, or some gesture of the great red hand, -showed him his own blindness and mysteriously made him realise the -immensity of the illusion and the disillusion through which she had -passed in her foolish and incontinent simplicity. What had happened to -her was miraculous, exquisite, and terrible. He felt the magic of her -illusion and the terror of her disillusion. Already in her girlishness -and her stupidity she had lived through supreme hours. "Compared to -her," he thought, "I don't know what life is. No man does." And he not -only suffered for her sorrow, he gave her a sacred quality. It seemed to -him that heaven itself ought to endow her with beauty, grace, and -wisdom, so that she might meet with triumphant dignity the ordeals that -awaited her; and that mankind should supplement the work of heaven by -clothing her richly and housing her in secluded splendour, and offering -her the service which only victims merit. Surely her caprices ought to -be indulged and honoured! ... Edwin was indignant; indignation -positively burnt his body. She was helpless and defenceless and she had -been exploited by Auntie Hamps. And after having been exploited she had -been driven out by ukase on week-night to class-meeting and on Sunday -night to chapel, to find Christ, with the result that she had found the -barman at the Vaults. The consequences were inevitable. She was -definitely ruined, unless the child should bereave her by dying; and -even then she might still be ruined. And what about the child, if the -child lived? And although Edwin had never seen the silly girl before, -he said to himself, while noticing that a crumb or two of the bread -dropped by her still remained on the floor: "I'll see that girl through -whatever it costs!" He was not indignant against Auntie Hamps. How -could he be indignant against an expiring old creature already desperate -in the final dilemma. He felt nearly as sorry for Auntie Hamps as for -Minnie. He was indignant against destiny, of which Auntie Hamps was -only the miserable, unimaginative instrument. - -"I'd better go to-night, miss. Let me go to-night!" cried Minnie. And -she cried so loudly that Edwin was afraid Auntie Hamps might hear and -might make an apparition at the head of the stairs and curse Minnie with -fearful Biblical names. And the old woman in the curtained bed upstairs -was almost as present to him as the girl kneeling before his eyes on the -linoleum of the lobby. - -"Minnie! Minnie! Don't be foolish!" said Maggie, standing over her and -soothing her, not with her hands but with her voice. - -Maggie had shown no perturbation or even surprise at Minnie's behaviour. -She stood looking down at her benevolent, deprecating, and calm. And by -contrast with Minnie she seemed to be quite middle-aged. Her tone was -exactly right. It reminded Edwin of the tone which she would use to -himself when, she was sixteen and the housekeeper, and he was twelve. -Maggie had long since lost authority over him; she had lost everything; -she would die without having lived; she had never begun to live--(No, -perhaps once she had just begun to live!)--Minnie had prime knowledge -far exceeding hers. And yet she had power over Minnie and could -exercise it with skill. - -Minnie, hesitating, sobbed more slowly, and then ceased to sob. - -"Go back into the kitchen and have something to eat, and then you can go -to bed. You'll feel differently in the morning," said Maggie with the -same gentle blandness. - -And Minnie, as though fascinated, rose from her knees. - -Edwin, surmising what had passed between the two in the kitchen while he -was in the bedroom, was aware of a fresh, intense admiration for Maggie. -She might be dowdy, narrow, dull, obstinate, virgin,--but she was -superb. She had terrific reserves. He was proud of her. The tone -merely of her voice as she spoke to the girl seemed to prove the -greatness of her deeply-hidden soul. - -Suddenly Minnie caught sight of Edwin through the doorway, flushed red, -had the air of slavishly apologising to the unapproachable male for -having disturbed him by her insect-woes, and vanished. Maggie hurried -upstairs to the departing. Edwin was alone with the chill draught from -the lobby into the room, and with the wonder of life. - - - - IV - - -In the middle of the night Edwin kept watch over Auntie Hamps, who was -asleep. He sat in a rocking-chair, with his back to the window and the -right side of his face to the glow of the fire. The fire was as -effective as the size and form of the grate would allow; it burnt richly -red; but its influence did not seem to extend beyond a radius of four -feet outwards from its centre. The terrible damp chill of the Five -Towns winter hung in the bedroom like an invisible miasma. He could feel -the cold from the window, which was nevertheless shut, through the shawl -with which he had closed the interstices of the back of the chair, and, -though he had another thick shawl over his knees, the whole of his left -side felt the creeping attack of the insidious miasma. A thermometer -which he had found and which lay on the night-table five yards from the -fire registered only fifty-two degrees. His expelled breath showed in -the air. It was as if he were fighting with all resources against -frigidity, and barely holding his own. - -In the half-light of the gas, still screened from the bed by the -bonnet-box and the Bible, he glanced round amid the dark meadows at the -mean and sinister ugliness of the historic chamber, the secret nest and -withdrawing place of Auntie Hamps; and the real asceticism of her life -and of the life of all her generation almost smote him. Half a century -earlier such a room had represented comfort; in some details, as for -instance in its bed, it represented luxury; and in half a century Auntie -Hamps had learnt nothing from the material progress of civilisation but -the use of the hot-water bag; her vanished and forgotten parents would -have looked askance at the enervating luxuriousness of her hot-water -bag--unknown even to the crude wistful boy Edwin on the mantelpiece. -And Auntie Hamps herself was wont as it were to atone for it by using -the still tepid water therefrom for her morning toilet instead of having -truly hot water brought up from the kitchen. Edwin thought: "Are we -happier for these changes brought about by the mysterious force of -evolution?" And answered very emphatically: "Yes, we are." He would -not for anything have gone back to the austerities of his boyhood. - -He rocked gently to and fro in the chair, excited by events and by the -novel situation, and he was not dissatisfied with himself. Indeed he -was aware of a certain calm complacency, for his commonsense had -triumphed over Maggie's devoted silly womanishness. Maggie was for -sitting up through the night; she was anxious to wear herself out for no -reason whatever; but he had sent her to bed until three o'clock, -promising to call her if she should be needed. The exhausted girl was -full of sagacity save on that one point of martyrdom to the -fullest--apparently with her a point of honour. For the sake of the -sensation of having martyrised herself utterly she was ready to imperil -her fitness for the morrow. She secretly thought it was unfair to call -upon him, a man, to share her fatigues. He regarded himself as her -superior in wisdom, and he was relieved that anyone so wise and balanced -as Edwin Clayhanger had taken supreme charge of the household organism. - -Restless, he got up from the chair and looked at the bed. He had heard -no unusual sound therefrom, but to excuse his restlessness he had said: -"Suppose some change had occurred and I didn't notice it!" No change -had occurred. Auntie Hamps lay like a mite, like a baby forlorn, senile -and defenceless, amid the heaped pillows and coverings of the bed. -Within the deep gloom of the canopy and the over-arching curtains only -her small, soft face was alive; even her hair was hidden in the -indentation made by the weight of her head in the pillows. She was -unconscious, either in sleep or otherwise,--he could not tell how. And -in her unconsciousness the losing but obstinate fight against the power -which was dragging her over the edge of eternity still went on. It -showed in the apprehensive character of her breathing, which made a -little momentary periodic cloud above her face, and in the uneasy -muscular movements of the lips and jaws, and in the vague noises in her -throat. A tremendous pity for her re-entered his heart, almost breaking -it, because she was so beaten, and so fallen from the gorgeousness of -her splendour. Even Minnie could have imposed her will upon Auntie -Hamps now; each hour she weakened. - -He had no more resentment against her on account of Minnie, no -accusation to formulate. He was merely grieved, with a compassionate -grief, that Auntie Hamps had learnt so little while living so long. He -knew that she was cruel only because she was incapable of imagining what -it was to be Minnie. He understood. She worshipped God under the form -of respectability, but she did worship God. Like all religious votaries -she placed religion above morality; hence her chicane, her inveterate -deceit and self-deceit. It was with a religious aim that she had -concealed from him the estrangement between herself and Clara. The -unity of the family was one of her major canons (as indeed it was one of -Edwin's). She had a passion for her nephew and nieces. It was a grand -passion. Her pride in them must have been as terrific as her longing -that they and all theirs should conform to the sole ideal that she -comprehended. Undeniably there was something magnificent in her -religion--her unscrupulousness in the practice of it, and the mighty -consistency of her career. She had lived. He ceased to pity her, for -she towered above pity. She was dying, but only for an instant. He -would smile at his aunt's primeval notions of a future life, yet he had -to admit that his own notions, though far less precise, could not be -appreciably less crude. He and she were anyhow at one in the profound -and staggering conviction of immortality. Enlightened by that -conviction, he was able to reduce the physical and mental tragedy of the -death-bed to its right proportions as a transiency between the heroic -past and the inconceivable future. And in the stillness of the room and -the stillness of the house, perfumed by the abnegation of Maggie and the -desolate woe of the ruined Minnie whom the Clayhangers would save, and -in the outer stillness of the little street with the Norman church-tower -sticking up out of history at the bottom of its slope, Edwin felt -uplifted and serene. - -He returned to the rocking-chair. - -"She's asleep now in some room I've never seen!" he reflected. - -He was suddenly thinking of his wife. During the previous night, lying -sleepless close to her while she slept soundly, he had reflected long -and with increasing pessimism. The solace of Hilda's kiss had proved -fleeting. She had not realised--he himself was then only realising -little by little--the enormity of the thing she had done. What she had -deliberately and obstinately done was to turn him out of his house. No -injury that she might have chosen could have touched him more closely, -more painfully,--for his house to him was sacred. Her blundering with -the servants might be condoned, but what excuse was it possible to find -for this precipitate flight to London involving the summary ejectment -from the home of him who had created the home and for and by whom the -home chiefly existed? True the astounding feat of wrong-headedness had -been aided by the mere chance of Maggie's calling (capricious women were -always thus lucky!),--Maggie's suggestion and request had given some -afterglow of reason to the mad project. But the justification was still -far from sufficient. And the odious idea haunted him that, even if -Maggie had not called with her tale, Hilda would have persisted in her -scheme all the same. Yes, she was capable of that! The argument that -George's eyes (of whose condition she had learnt by mere hazard) could -not wait until domestic affairs were arranged, was too grotesque to -deserve an answer. - -Lying thus close to his wife in the dark, he had perceived that the -conflict between his individuality and hers could never cease. No -diplomatic devices of manner could put an end to it. And he had seen -also that as they both grew older and developed more fully, the conflict -was becoming more serious. He assumed that he had faults, but he was -solemnly convinced that the faults of Hilda were tremendous, essential, -and ineradicable. She had a faculty for acting contrary to justice and -contrary to sense which was simply monstrous. And it had always been -so. Her whole life had been made up of impulsiveness and contumacy in -that impulsiveness. Witness the incredible scenes of the strange -Dartmoor episode--all due to her stubborn irrationality! The -perspective of his marriage was plain to him in the night,--and it ended -in a rupture. He had been resolutely blind to Hilda's peculiarities, -dismissing incident after incident as an isolated misfortune. But he -could be blind no more. His marriage was all of a piece, and he must -and would recognise the fact.... The sequel would be a scandal! ... -Well, let it be a scandal! As the minutes and hours passed in grim -meditation, the more attractive grew the lost freedom of the bachelor -and the more ready he felt to face any ordeal that lay between him and -it.... And just as it was occurring to him that his proper course was -to have fought a terrific open decisive battle with her in front of both -Maggie and Ingpen he had fallen asleep. - -Upon awaking, barely in time to arouse Hilda, he knew that the mood of -the night had not melted away as such moods are apt to melt when the -window begins to show a square of silver-grey. The mood was even -intensified. Hilda had divined nothing. She never did divine the -tortures which she inflicted in his heart. She did not possess the -gumption to divine. Her demeanour had been amazing. She averred that -she had not slept at all. Instead of cajoling, she bullied. Instead of -tacitly admitting that she was infamously wronging him, she had assumed -a grievance of her own--without stating it. Once she had said -discontentedly about some trifle: "You might _at any rate_----" as -though the victim should caress the executioner. She had kissed him at -departure, but not as usual effusively, and he had suffered the kiss in -enmity; and after an unimaginable general upset and confusion, in which -George had shown himself strangely querulous, she had driven off with -her son,--unconscious, stupidly unaware, that she was leaving a disaster -behind her. And last of all Edwin, solitary, had been forced to perform -the final symbolic act, that of locking him out of his own sacred home! -The affair had transcended belief. - -All day at the works his bitterness and melancholy had been terrible, -and the works had been shaken with apprehension, for no angry menaces -are more disconcerting than those of a man habitually mild. Before -evening he had decided to write to his wife from Auntie Hamps's,--a -letter cold, unanswerable, crushing, that would confront her unescapably -with the alternatives of complete submission or complete separation. -The phrases of the letter came into his mind.... He would see who was -master.... He had been full of the letter when he entered Auntie -Hamps's lobby. But the strange tone in which Maggie had answered his -questions about the sick woman had thrust the letter and the crisis -right to the back of his mind, where they had uneasily remained -throughout the evening. And now in the rocking-chair he was reflecting: - -"She's asleep in some room I've never seen!" - -He smiled, such a smile, candid, generous, and affectionate, as was -Hilda's joy, such a smile as Hilda dwelt on in memory when she was -alone. The mood of resentment passed away, vanished like a nightmare at -dawn, and like one of his liverish headaches dispersed suddenly after -the evening meal. He saw everything differently. He saw that he had -been entirely wrong in his estimate of the situation, and of Hilda. -Hilda was a mother. She had the protective passion of maternity. She -was carried away by her passions; but her passions were noble, -marvellous, unique. He himself could never--he thought, humbled--attain -to her emotional heights. He was incapable of feeling about anything or -anybody as she felt about George. The revelation concerning George's -eyesight had shocked her, overwhelmed her with remorse, driven every -other idea out of her head. She must atone to George instantly; -instantly she must take measures--the most drastic and certain--to -secure him from the threatened danger. She could not count the cost till -afterwards. She was not a woman in such moments,--she was an instinct, -a desire, a ruthless purpose. And as she felt towards George, so she -must feel, in other circumstances, towards himself. Her kisses proved -it, and her soothing hand when he was unwell. Mrs. Hamps had said: "Eh, -dear! What a good mother dear Hilda is!" A sentimental outcry! But -there was profound truth in it, truth which the old woman had seen -better than he had seen it. "I daresay there never was such a -mother--unless it's Clara!" Hyperbole! And yet he himself now began to -think that there never could have been such a mother as Hilda. Clara -too in her way was wonderful.... Smile as you might, these mothers were -tremendous. The mysterious sheen of their narrow and deep lives dazzled -him. For the first time, perhaps, he bowed his head to Clara. - -But Hilda was far beyond Clara. She was not only a mother but a lover. -Would he cut himself off from her loving? Why? For what? To live -alone in the arid and futile freedom of a Tertius Ingpen? Such a notion -was fatuous. Where lay the difficulty between himself and Hilda? There -was no difficulty. How had she harmed him? She had not harmed him. -Everything was all right. He had only to understand. He understood. As -for her impulsiveness, her wrongheadedness, her bizarre -ratiocination,--he knew how to accept them, for was he not a -philosopher? They were indeed part of the incomparable romance of -existence with these prodigious and tantalising creatures. He admitted -that Hilda in some aspects transcended him, but in others he was -comfortably confident of his own steady, conquering superiority. He -thought of her with the most exquisite devotion. He pictured the secret -tenderness of their reunion amid the conventional gloom of Auntie -Hamps's death-bed.... He was confident of his ability to manage Hilda, -at any rate in the big things,--for example the disputed points of his -entry into public activity and their removal from Trafalgar Road into -the country. The sturdiness of the male inspired him. At the same time -the thought of the dark mood from which he had emerged obscurely -perturbed him, like a fearful danger passed; and he argued to himself -with satisfaction, and yet not quite with conviction, that he had -yielded to Maggie, and not to Hilda, in the affair of the journey to -London, and that therefore his masculine marital dignity was intact. - -And then he started at a strange sound below, which somehow recalled him -to the nervous tension of the house. It was a knocking at the -front-door. His heart thumped at the formidable muffled noise in the -middle of the night. He jumped up, and glanced at the bed. Auntie Hamps -was not wakened. He went downstairs where the gas which he had lighted -was keeping watch. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - DEATH AND BURIAL - - - I - - -Albert Benbow was at the front-door. Edwin curbed the expression of his -astonishment. - -"Hello, Albert!" - -"Oh! You aren't gone to bed?" - -"Not likely. Come in. What's up?" - -Albert, with the habit of one instructed never to tread actually on a -doorstep lest it should be newly whitened, stepped straight on to the -inner mat. He seemed excited, and Edwin feared that he had just learnt -of Auntie Hamps's illness and had come in the middle of the night -ostensibly to make enquiries, but really to make a grievance of the fact -that the Benbows had been "kept in ignorance." He could already hear -Albert demanding: "Why have you kept us in ignorance?" It was quite a -Benbow phrase. - -Edwin shut the door and shut out the dark and windy glimpse of the outer -world which had emphasised for a moment the tense seclusion of the -house. - -"You've heard of course about the accident to Ingpen?" said Albert. His -hands were deep in his overcoat pockets; the collar of the thin, rather -shabby overcoat was turned up; an old cap adhered to the back of his -head. While talking he slowly lifted his feet one after the other, as -though desiring to get warmth by stamping but afraid to stamp in the -night. - -"No, I haven't," said Edwin, with false calmness. "What accident?" - -The perspective of events seemed to change; Auntie Hamps's illness to -recede, and a definite and familiar apprehension to be supplanted by a -fear more formidable because it was a fear of the unknown. - -"It was all in the late special _Signal_!" Benbow protested, as if his -pride had been affronted. - -"Well, I haven't seen the _Signal_. What is it?" And Edwin thought: -"Is somebody else dying too?" - -"Fly-wheel broke. Ingpen was inspecting the slip-house next to the -engine-house. Part of the fly-wheel came through and knocked a loose -nut off the blunger right into his groin." - -"Whose works?" - -Albert answered in a light tone: - -"Mine." - -"And how's he going on?" - -"Well, he's had an operation and Sterling's got the nut out. Of course -they didn't know what it was till they got it out. And now Ingpen wants -to see you at once. That's why I've come." - -"Where is he?" - -"At the hospital." - -"Pirehill?" - -"No. The Clowes--Moorthorne Road, you know." - -"Is he going on all right?" - -"He's very weak. He can scarcely whisper. But he wants you. I've been -up there all the time, practically." - -Edwin seized his overcoat from the rack. - -"I had a rare job finding ye," Benbow went on. "I'd no idea you weren't -all at home. I wakened most of Hulton Street over it. It was Smiths -next door came out at last and told me missis and George had gone to -London and you were over here." - -"I wonder who told them!" Edwin mumbled as Albert helped him with the -overcoat. "I must tell Maggie. We've got some illness here, you know." - -"Oh?" - -"Yes. Auntie. Very sudden. Seemed to get worse to-night. Fact is I -was sitting up while Maggie has a bit of sleep. She was going to send -round for Clara in the morning. I'll just run up to Mag." - -Having thus by judicious misrepresentation deprived the Benbows of a -grievance, Edwin moved towards the stairs. Maggie, dressed, already -stood at the top of them, alert, anxious, adequate. - -"Albert, is that you?" - -After a few seconds of quick murmured explanation, Edwin and Albert -departed, and as they went Maggie, in a voice doubly harassed but -cheerful and oily called out after them how glad she would be, and what -a help it would be, if Clara could come round early in the morning. - -The small Clowes Hospital was high up in the town opposite the Park, -near the station and the railway-cutting and not far from the Moorthorne -ridge. Behind its bushes, through which the wet night-wind swished and -rustled, it looked still very new and red in the fitful moonlight. And -indeed it was scarcely older than the Park and swimming-baths close by, -and Bursley had not yet lost its naïve pride in the possession of a -hospital of its own. Not much earlier in the decade this town of -thirty-five thousand inhabitants had had to send all its "cases" five -miles in cabs to Pirehill Infirmary. Albert Benbow, with the -satisfaction of a habitué, led Edwin round through an aisle of bushes to -the side-entrance for out-patients. He pushed open a dark door, walked -into a gaslit vestibule, and with the assured gestures of a proprietor -invited Edwin to follow. A fat woman who looked like a char-woman made -tidy sat in a windsor-chair in the vestibule, close to a radiator. She -signed to Albert as an old acquaintance to go forward, and Albert nodded -in the manner of one conspirator to another. What struck Edwin was that -this middle-aged woman showed no sign of being in the midst of the -unusual. She was utterly casual and matter-of-fact. And Edwin had the -sensation of moving in a strange nocturnal world--a world which had -always co-existed with his own, but of which he had been till then most -curiously ignorant. His passage through the town listening absently to -Albert's descriptions of the structural damage to Ingpen and to the -works, and Albert's defence against unbrought accusations, had shown him -that the silent streets lived long after midnight in many a lighted -window here and there and in the movements of mysterious but not furtive -frequenters. And he seemed to have been impinging upon half-veiled -enigmas of misfortune or of love. At the other end of the thread of -adventure was his aunt's harsh bedroom with Maggie stolidly watching the -last ebb of senile vitality, and at this end was the hospital, full of -novel and disturbing vibrations and Tertius Ingpen waiting to impose -upon him some charge or secret. - -At the top of the naked stairs which came after a dark corridor was a -long naked resounding passage lighted by a tiny jet at either end. A -cough from behind a half-open door came echoing out and filled the night -and the passage. And then at another door appeared a tall, thin, fair -nurse in blue and white, with thin lips and a slight smile hard and -disdainful. - -"Here's Mr. Clayhanger, nurse!" muttered Albert Benbow, taking off his -cap, with a grimace at once sycophantic and grandiose. - -Edwin imagined that he knew by sight everybody in the town above a -certain social level, but he had no memory of the face of the nurse. - -"How is he?" he asked awkwardly, fingering his hat. - -The girl merely raised her eyebrows. - -"You mustn't stay," said she, in a mincing but rather loud voice that -matched her lips. - -"Oh no, I won't!" - -"I suppose _I'd_ better stop outside!" said Benbow. - -Edwin followed the nurse into a darkened room, of which the chief -article of furniture appeared to be a screen. Behind the screen was a -bed, and on the bed in the deep obscurity lay a form under creaseless -bedclothes. Edwin first recognised Ingpen's beard, then his visage very -pale and solemn, and without the customary spectacles. Of the whole -body only the eyes moved. As Edwin approached the bed he cast across -Ingpen a shadow from the distant gas. - -"Well, old chap!" he began with constraint. "This is a nice state of -affairs! How are you getting on?" - -Ingpen's enquiring apprehensive dumb glance silenced the clumsy -greeting. It was just as if he had rebuked: "This is no time for How -d'ye do's." When he had apparently made sure that Edwin was Edwin, -Ingpen turned his eyes to the nurse. - -"Water," he whispered. - -The nurse shook her head. - -"Net yet," she replied, with tepid indifference. - -Ingpen's eyes remained on her a moment and then went back to Edwin. - -"Ed," he whispered, and gazed once more at the nurse, who, looking away -from the bed, did not move. - -Edwin bent over the bed. - -"Ed," Ingpen demanded, speaking very deliberately. "Go to my office. In -the top drawer of the desk in the bedroom there's some photos and -letters.... Burn them.... Before morning.... Understand?" - -Edwin was profoundly stirred. In his emotion was pride at Ingpen's -trust, astonishment at the sudden, utterly unexpected revelation, and -the thrill of romance. - -He thought: - -"The man is dying!" - -And the tragic sensation of the vigil of the nocturnal world almost -overcame him. - -"Yes," he said. "Anything else?" - -"No." - -"What about keys?" - -Ingpen gave him another long glance. - -"Trousers." - -"Where are his clothes?" Edwin asked the nurse, whose lips were ironic. - -"Oh! They'll tell you downstairs. You'd better go now." - -As he went from the room he could feel Ingpen's glance following him. -He raged inwardly against the callousness of the nurse. It seemed -monstrous that he should abandon Ingpen for the rest of the night, -defenceless, to the cold tyranny of the nurse, whose power over the -sufferer was as absolute as that of an eastern monarch, who had never -heard of public opinion, over the meanest slave. He could not bear to -picture to himself Ingpen and the nurse alone together. - -"Isn't he allowed to drink?" he could not help murmuring, at the door. - -"Yes. At intervals." - -He wanted to chastise the nurse. He imagined an endless succession of -sufferers under her appalling, inimical nonchalance. Who had allowed -her to be a nurse? Had she become a nurse in order to take some needed -revenge against mankind? And then he thought of Hilda's passionate, -succouring tenderness when he himself was unwell,--he had not been -really ill for years. What was happening to Ingpen could never happen -to him, because Hilda stood everlastingly between him and such a horror. -He considered that a bachelor was the most pathetic creature on the -earth. He was drenched in the fearful, wistful sadness of all life.... -The sleeping town; Auntie Hamps on the edge of eternity; Minnie -trembling at the menaces of her own body; Hilda lying in some room that -he had never seen; and Ingpen...! - -"Soon over!" observed Albert Benbow in the corridor. - -Edwin could have winced at the words. - -"How do you think he is?" asked Albert. - -"Don't know!" Edwin replied. "Look here, I've got to get hold of his -clothes--downstairs." - -"Oh! That's it, is it? Pocket-book! Keys! Eh?" - - - - II - - -Edwin had once been in Tertius Ingpen's office at the bottom of Crown -Square, Hanbridge, but never in the bedroom which Ingpen rented on the -top floor of the same building. It had been for seventy or eighty years -a building of four squat storeys; but a new landlord, seeing the -architectural development of the town as a local metropolis and -determined to join in it at a minimum of expense, had knocked the two -lower storeys into one, fronted them with fawn-coloured terra cotta, and -produced a lofty shop whose rent exceeded the previous rent of the -entire house. - -The landlord knew that passers-by would not look higher up the façade -than the ground-floor, and that therefore any magnificence above that -level was merely wasted. The shop was in the occupation of a tea-dealer -who gave away beautiful objects such as vases and useful objects such as -tea-trays, to all purchasers. Ingpen's office, and a solicitor's office, -were on the first floor, formerly the second; the third floor was the -headquarters of the Hanbridge and District Ethical Society; the top -floor was temporarily unlet, save for Ingpen's room. Nobody except -Ingpen slept in the building, and he very irregularly. - -The latchkey for the sidedoor was easy to choose in the glittering light -of the latest triple-jetted and reflectored gaslamps which the -corporation, to match the glories of the new town-hall, had placed in -Crown Square. The lock, strange to say, worked easily. Edwin entered -somewhat furtively, and as it were guiltily, though in Crown Square and -the streets and the other squares visible therefrom, not a soul could be -seen. The illuminated clock of the Old Town Hall at the top of the -square showed twenty-five minutes to four. Immediately within the door -began a new, very long and rather mean staircase, with which Edwin was -acquainted. He closed the door, shutting out the light and the town, -and struck a match in the empty building. He had walked into Hanbridge -from Bursley, and as soon as he began to climb the stairs he was aware -of great fatigue, both physical and mental. The calamity to Ingpen had -almost driven Auntie Hamps out of his mind; it had not, however, driven -Minnie out of his mind. He was gloomy and indignant on behalf of both -Ingpen and Minnie. They were both victims. Minnie was undoubtedly a -fool, and he was about to learn, perhaps, to what extent Ingpen had been -a fool. - -Each footstep sounded loud on the boards of deserted house. Having used -several matches and arrived at the final staircase, Edwin wondered how -he was to distinguish Ingpen's room there from the others without trying -keys in all of them till he got to the right one. But on the top -landing he had no difficulty, for Ingpen's card was fastened with a -drawing-pin on to the first door he saw. A match burnt his fingers and -expired just as he was shaking out a likely key from Ingpen's bunch. -And then, in the black darkness, he perceived a line of light under the -door in front of which he stood. He forgot his fatigue in an instant. -His heart leaped. A burglar? Or had Ingpen left the gas burning? -Ingpen could not have left the gas burning since, according to Albert -Benbow, he had been in Bursley all afternoon. With precautions, and -feeling very desperate and yet also craven, he lit a fresh match and -managed quietly to open the door, which was not locked. - -As soon as he beheld the illuminated interior of the room, all his skin -crept and flushed as though he had taken a powerful stimulant. A girl -reclined asleep in a small basket lounge-chair by the gas-fire. He -could not see her face, which was turned towards the wall and away from -the gas-jet that hung from the ceiling over an old desk; but she seemed -slim and graceful, and there was something in the abandonment of -unconsciousness that made her marvellously alluring. Her hat and gloves -had been thrown on the desk, and a cloak lay on a chair. These coloured -and intimate objects--extensions of the veritable personality of the -girl--had the effect of delightfully completing the furniture of a room -which was in fact rather bare. A narrow bed in the far corner, -disguised under a green rug as a sofa; a green square of carpet, showing -the unpolished boards at the sides; the desk, and three chairs; a -primitive hanging wardrobe in another corner, hidden by a bulging linen -curtain; a portmanteau; a few unframed prints on the walls; an -alarm-clock on the mantelpiece,--there was nothing else in the chamber -where Ingpen slept when it was too late, or he was too slack, to go to -his proper home. But nothing else was needed. The scene was perfect; -the girl rendered it so. And immense envy of, and admiration for, -Ingpen surged through Edwin, who saw here the realisation of a dream -that was to marriage what poetry is to prose. Ingpen might rail against -women and against marriage in a manner exaggerated and indefensible; but -he had at any rate known how to arrange his life and how to keep his own -counsel. He had all the careless masculine freedom of his -condition,--and in the background this exquisite phenomenon! The girl, -her trustfulness, her abandonment, her secrecy, that white ear peeping -out of her hair,--were his! It was staggering that such romance could -exist in the Five Towns, of all places--for Edwin had the vague notion, -common to all natives, that his own particular district fell short of -full human nature in certain characteristics. For example, he could -credit a human nature dying for love in Manchester, but never in the -Five Towns. Even the occasional divorces that gave piquancy to life in -the Five Towns seemed to lack the mysterious glamour of all other -divorces. - -He thought: - -"Was it because he was expecting her that he sent me? Perhaps the desk -was only a blind--and he couldn't tell me any more. Anyhow I shall have -to break it to her." - -He felt exceedingly awkward and unequal to the situation so startling in -its novelty. Yet he did not wish himself away. - -As timidly, hat in hand, he went forward into the room, the girl stirred -and woke up, to the creaking of the chair. - -"Oh! Tert!" she murmured between sleeping and waking. - -Edwin did not like her voice. It reminded him of the voice of the nurse -whom he had just left. - -The girl, looking round, perceived that it was not Tertius Ingpen who -had come in. She gave a short, faint scream, then gathered herself -together and with a single movement stood up, perfectly collected and on -the defensive. - -"It's all right! It's all right!" said Edwin. "Mr. Ingpen gave me his -keys and asked me to come over and get some papers he wants.... I hope -I didn't frighten you. I'd no idea----" - -She was old! She was old! That is to say, she was not the girl he had -seen asleep. Before his marriage he would have put her age at -thirty-two, but now he knew enough to be sure that she must be more than -that. She was not graceful in movement. The expression of her pale -face was not agreeable. Her gestures were not distinguished. And she -could not act her part in the idyll. Moreover her frock was shabby and -untidy. But chiefly she was old. Had she been young, Edwin would have -excused all the rest. Romance was not entirely destroyed, but very -little remained. - -He thought, disdainfully, and as if resenting a deception: - -"Is this the best he can do?" - -And the Five Towns sank back to its ancient humble place in his esteem. - -The woman said with a silly nervous giggle: - -"I called to see Mr. Ingpen. He wasn't expecting me. And I suppose -while I was waiting I must have dropped off to sleep." - -It might have been true, but to Edwin it was inexpressibly inane. - -She seized her hat and then her cloak. - -"I'm sorry to say Mr. Ingpen's had an accident," said Edwin. - -She stopped, both hands above her head fingering her hat. - -"An accident? Nothing serious?" - -"Oh no! I don't think so," he lied. "A machinery accident. They had -to take him to the Clowes Hospital at Bursley. I've just come from -there." - -She asked one or two more questions, all the time hurrying her -preparations to leave. But Edwin judged with disgust that she was not -deeply interested in the accident. True, he had minimised it, but she -ought not to have allowed him to minimise it. She ought to have -obstinately believed that it was very grave. - -"I do hope he'll soon be all right," she said, snatching at her gloves -and going to the door. "Good night!" She gave another silly giggle, -preposterous in a woman of her age. Then she stopped. "I think you're -gentleman enough not to say anything about me being here," she said, -rather nastily. "It was quite an accident. I could easily explain it, -but you know what people are!" - -What a phrase--"I think you're gentleman enough!" - -He blushed and offered the required assurance. - -"Can I let you out?" he started forward. - -"No, thanks!" - -"But you can't open the door." - -"Yes I can." - -"The stairs are all dark." - -"Please don't trouble yourself," she said drily, in the tone of a woman -who sees offence in the courtesy of a male travelling companion on the -railway. - -He heard her steps _diminuendo_ down the stairs. - -Closing the door, he went to the window, and drew aside the blind. -Perhaps she would pass up the Square. But she did not pass up the Square -which was peopled by nothing but meek gaslamps under the empire of the -glowing clock in the pediment of the Old Town Hall. Where had she gone? -Where did she come from? Her accent had no noticeable peculiarity. Was -she married, or single, or a widow? Perhaps there was hidden in her -some strange and seductive quality which he had missed.... He saw the -slim girl again reclining in the basket-chair.... After all, she was a -woman, and she had been in Ingpen's room, waiting for him! - -Later, seated in front of the open drawer in the old desk, gathering -together letters and photographs--photographs of her in adroitly managed -poses, taken at Oldham; letters in a woman's hand--he was penetrated to -the marrow by the disastrous and yet beautiful infelicity of things. -The mere sight of the letters (of which he forebore to decipher a single -word, even a signature) nearly made him cry; the photographs were tragic -with the intolerable evanescence of life. By the will of Tertius Ingpen -helpless on the bed in the hospital, these documents of a passion or of -a fancy were to be burnt. Why? Was it true that Ingpen was dying? -Better to keep them. No, they must be burnt. He rose, and, with -difficulty, burnt them by instalments in a shovel over the tiny fender -that enclosed the gas-stove,--the room was soon half full of smoke.... -Why had he deceived the woman as to the seriousness of Ingpen's -accident? To simplify and mitigate the interview, to save himself -trouble; that was all! Well, she would learn soon enough! - -His eye caught a print on the wall above the bed,--a classic example of -the sentimentality of Marcus Stone: departing cavalier, drooping maiden, -terraced garden. It was a dreadful indictment of the Tertius Ingpen who -talked so well, with such intellectual aplomb, with such detachment and -exceptional cynicism. It was like a ray exposing some secret sinister -corner in the man's soul. He had hung up that print because it gave him -pleasure! Poor chap! But Edwin loved him. He decided that he would -call again at the hospital before returning to Auntie Hamps's. -Impossible that the man was dying! If the doctor or the matron had -thought he was in danger they would have summoned his relatives. He -might be dying. He might be dead. He must have immediately feared -death, or he would not have imposed upon Edwin such an errand.... What -simple, touching, admirable trust in a friend's loyalty the man had -displayed! - -Edwin put out the gas-stove, which exploded, lit a match, gave a great -yawn, put out the gas, and began the enterprise of leaving the house. - - - - III - - -"Look here! I must have some tea, _now_!" said Edwin curtly and yet -appealingly to Maggie, who opened the door for him at Auntie Hamps's. - -It was nearly eight o'clock. He had been to the hospital again, and, -having reported in three words to Ingpen, whose condition was unchanged, -had remained there some time. But he had said nothing to Ingpen about -the woman. At six o'clock the matron had come into the room, and the -nurse thenceforward until seven o'clock, when she went off duty, was a -changed girl. Edwin slightly knew the matron, who was sympathetic but -strangely pessimistic--considering her healthy, full figure. - -"The water's boiling," answered Maggie, in a comforting tone, and -disappeared instantly into the kitchen. - -Edwin thought: - -"There are some things that girl understands!" - -She had shown no curiosity, no desire to impart news, because she had -immediately comprehended that Edwin was, or imagined himself to be, at -the end of his endurance. Maggie, with simple and surpassing wisdom had -just said to herself: "He's been out all night, and he's not used to -it." For a moment he felt that Maggie was wiser, and more intimately -close to him, than anybody else in the world. - -"In the dining-room," she called out from the kitchen. - -And in the small dining-room there was a fire! It was like a living, -welcoming creature. The cloth was laid, the gas was lighted. On the -table was beautiful fresh bread and butter. A word, a tone, a glance of -his on the previous evening had been enough to bring back the -dining-room into use! Happily the wind suited the chimney. He had -scarcely sat down in front of the fire when Maggie entered with the -teapot. And at the sight of the teapot Edwin felt that he was saved. -Before the tea was out of the teapot it had already magically alleviated -the desperate sensations of physical fatigue and moral weariness which -had almost overcome him on the way from the hospital in the chill and -muddy dawn. - -"What will you have to eat?" said Maggie. - -"Nothing. I couldn't eat to save my life." - -"Perhaps you'll have a bit of bread-and-butter later," said Maggie -blandly. - -He shook his head. - -"How is she?" - -"Worse," said Maggie. "But she's slept." - -"Who's up with her now? Minnie?" - -"No. Clara." - -"Oh! She's come?" - -"She came at seven." - -Edwin was drinking the divine tea. After a few gulps he told Maggie -briefly about Tertius Ingpen, saying that he had had to go "on business" -for Ingpen to Hanbridge. - -"Are you all right for the present?" she asked after a few moments. - -He nodded. He was eating bread-and-butter. - -"You had any sleep at all?" he mumbled, munching. - -"Oh yes! A little," she answered cheerfully, leaving the room. - -He poured out more tea, and then sat down in the sole easy-chair for a -minute's reflection before going upstairs and thence to the works. - -Not until he woke up did he realise that there had been any danger of -his going to sleep. The earthenware clock on the mantelpiece (a -birthday gift from Clara and Albert) showed five minutes past eleven. -Putting no reliance on the cheap, horrible clock, he looked at his -watch, which had stopped for lack of winding up. The fire was very low. -His chief thought was: "It can't possibly be eleven o'clock, because I -haven't been down to the works, and I haven't sent word I'm not coming -either!" He got up hurriedly and had reached the door when a sound of a -voice on the stairs held him still like an enchantment. It seemed to be -the voice, eloquent, and indeed somewhat Church-of-England, of the Rev. -Christian Flowerdew, the new superintendent of the Bursley Wesleyan -Methodist Circuit. The voice said: "I do hope so!" and then offered a -resounding remark about the weather being the kind of weather that, bad -as it was, people must expect in view of the time of year. Maggie's -voice concurred. - -As soon as the front-door closed, Edwin peeped cautiously out of the -dining-room. - -"Who was that?" he murmured. - -"Mr. Flowerdew. She wanted him. Albert sent for him early this -morning." - -Maggie came into the room and shut the door. - -"I've been to sleep," said Edwin. - -"Yes, I know. I wasn't going to have you disturbed. They're all here." - -"Who are all here?" - -"Clara and the children. Auntie asked to see all of them. They waited -in the drawing-room for Mr. Flowerdew to go. Bert didn't go to school -this morning, in case--because it was so far off. Clara fetched the -others out of school, except Rupy of course--he doesn't go--" - -"Good heavens! I never came across such a morbid lot in my life. I -believe they like it." - -Clara could be heard marshalling the brood up the stairs. - -"You'd better go up," said Maggie persuasively. - -"I'd better go to the works--I'm no use here. What time is it?" - -"After eleven. I think you'd better go up." - -"Does she ask for me?" - -"Oh yes. All the time sometimes. But she forgets for a bit." - -"Well, anyhow I must wash myself and change my collar." - -"All right. Wash yourself, then." - -"How is she now?" - -"She isn't taking anything." - -When Edwin nervously pushed open the bedroom door, the room seemed to be -crowded. Over the heads of clustering children towered Clara and -Albert. As soon as the watchful Albert caught sight of Edwin, he made a -conspiratorial sign and hurried to the door, driving Edwin out again. - -"Didn't know you were here," Edwin muttered. - -"I say," Albert whispered. "Has she made a will?" - -"I don't know." - -The bedroom door half opened, and Clara in her shabby morning dress -glidingly joined them. - -"He doesn't know," said Albert to Clara. - -Clara's pretty face scowled a little as she asked sharply and -resentfully: - -"Then who does know?" - -"I should ha' thought _you'd_ know," said Edwin. - -"Me! I like that! She hasn't spoken to me for months, has she, Albert? -And she was always frightfully close about all these things." - -"About what things?" - -"Well, you know." - -It was a fact. Auntie Hamps had never discussed her own finance, or her -testamentary dispositions, with anybody. And nobody had ever dared to -mention such subjects to her. - -"Don't you think you'd better ask her?" said Clara. "Albert thinks you -ought." - -"No, I don't," said Edwin, with curt disdain. - -"Well, then I shall," Albert decided. - -"So long as you don't do it while I'm there!" Edwin said menacingly. -"If you want to ask people about their wills you ought to ask them -before they're actually dying. Can't you see you can't worry her about -her will now?" - -He was intensely disgusted. He thought of Mrs. Hamps's bed, and of -Tertius Ingpen's bed, and of the woman at dead of night in Ingpen's -room, and of Minnie's case; and the base insensibility of Albert and -Clara made him feel sick. He wondered whether any occasion would ever -have solemnity enough for them to make them behave with some -distinction, some grandeur. For himself, if he could have secured a -fortune by breathing one business word to Auntie Hamps just then, he -would have let the fortune go. - -"There's nothing more to be said," Clara murmured. - -In the glance of both Clara and Albert Edwin saw hatred and envy. Clara -especially had never forgiven him for preventing their father from -pouring money into that sieve, her husband, nor for Hilda's wounding -tongue, nor for his worldly success. And they both suspected that -either Maggie or Auntie Hamps had told him of Albert's default in the -payment of interest, and so fear was added to their hatred and envy. - -They all entered the bedroom, the children having been left alone only a -few seconds. Rupert, wearing a new blue overcoat with gilt buttons, had -partially scrambled on to the bed; the pale veiled hands of Auntie Hamps -could be seen round his right hand; Rupert had grown enormous, and had -already utterly forgotten the time when he was two years old. The -others, equally altered, stood two on either side of the bed,--Bert and -young Clara to the right, and Amy and Lucy to the left. Lucy was crying -and Amy was benignantly wiping her eyes. Bert, a great lump of a boy, -was to leave school at Christmas, but he was still ranked with the other -children as a child. Young Clara sharply and Bert heavily turned round -to witness the entrance of their elders. - -"Oh! Here's Uncle Edwin!" - -"Edwin!" - -"Yes, Auntie!" - -The moral values of the room were instantly changed by the tone in which -Auntie Hamps had murmured "Edwin." All the Benbows knew, and Edwin -himself knew, that a personage of supreme importance in Auntie Hamps's -eyes had come into the scene. The Benbows became secondary, and even -Auntie Hamps's grasp of Rupert's hand loosened, and, having already -kissed her, the child slipped off the bed. Edwin approached, and over -the heads of the children, and between the great darkening curtains, he -could at last see the face of the dying woman like a senile doll's face -amid the confusion of wrappings and bedclothes. The deep-set eyes -seemed to burn beneath the white forehead and sparse grey hair; the -cheeks, still rounded, were highly flushed over a very small part of -their surface; the mouth, always open, was drawn in, and the chin, still -rounded like the cheeks, protruded. The manner of Auntie Hamps's noisy -breathing, like the puzzled gaze of her eyes, indicated apprehension of -the profoundest, acutest sort. - -"Eh!" said she, in a somewhat falsetto voice, jerky and excessively -feeble. "I thought--I'd--lost you." Her hand was groping about. - -"No, no," said Edwin, leaning over between young Clara and Rupert. - -"She's feeling for your hand, Edwin," said Clara. - -He quickly took her hot, brittle fingers; they seemed to cling to his -for essential support. - -"Have you--been to the works?" Auntie Hamps asked the question as though -the answer to it would end all trouble. - -"No," he said. "Not yet." - -"Eh! That's right! That's right!" she murmured, apparently much -impressed by a new proof of Edwin's wisdom. - -"I've had a sleep." - -"What?" - -"I've been having a sleep," he repeated more loudly. - -"Eh! That's right! That's right.... I'm so glad--the children have -been to see me.... Amy--did you kiss me?" Auntie Hamps looked at Amy -hard, as if for the first time. - -"Yes, Auntie." - -And then Amy began to cry. - -"Better take them away," Edwin suggested aside to Albert. "It's as much -as she can stand. The parson's only just gone, you know." - -Albert, obedient, gave the word of command, and the room was full of -movement. - -"Eh, children--children!" Auntie Hamps appealed. - -Everybody stood stockstill, gazing attendant. - -"Eh, children, bless you all for coming. If you grow up--as good as -your mother--it's all I ask--all I ask.... Your mother and I--have -never had a cross word--have we, mother?" - -"No, auntie," said Clara, with a sweet, touching smile that accentuated -the fragile charm of her face. - -"Never--since mother was--as tiny as you are." - -Auntie Hamps looked up at the ceiling during a few strained breaths, and -then smiled for an instant at the departing children, who filed out of -the room. Rupert loitered behind, gazing at his mother. The mere -contrast between the infant so healthy and the dying old woman was -pathetic to Edwin. Clara, with an exquisite reassuring gesture and -smile picked up the stout Rupert and kissed him and carried him to the -door, while Auntie Hamps looked at mother and son, ecstatic. - -"Edwin!" - -"Yes, Auntie?" - -They were alone now. She had not loosed his hand. Her voice was very -faint, and he bent over her still lower in the alcove of the curtains, -which seemed to stretch very high above them. - -"Have you heard from Hilda?" - -"Not yet. By the second post, perhaps." - -"It's about George's eyes--isn't it?" - -"Yes." - -"She's done quite right--quite right. It's just--like Hilda. I do -hope--and pray--the boy's eyesight--is safe." - -"Oh yes!" said Edwin. "Safe enough." - -"You really think so?" She had the air of hanging on his words. - -He nodded. - -"What a blessing!" She sighed deeply with relief. - -Edwin thought: - -"I believe her relations must have been her passion." And he was -impressed by the intensity of that passion. - -"Edwin!" - -"Yes, Auntie." - -"Has--that girl--gone yet?" - -"Who?" he questioned, and added more softly: "Minnie d'you mean?" His -own voice sounded too powerful, too healthy and dominating, in -comparison with her failing murmurs. - -Auntie Hamps nodded. "Yes--Minnie." - -"Not yet." - -"She's going?" - -"Yes." - -"Because I can't trust--Maggie--to see to it." - -"I'll see to it." - -"Has she done--the silvers--d'you know?" - -"She's doing them," answered Edwin, who thought it would be best to -carry out the deception with artistic completeness. - -"She needn't have her dinner before she goes." - -"No?" - -"No." Auntie Hamps's face and tone hardened. "Why should she?" - -"All right." - -"And if she asks--for her wages--tell her--I say there's nothing -due--under the circumstances." - -"All right, Auntie," Edwin agreed, desperate. - -Maggie, followed by Clara, softly entered the room. Auntie Hamps glanced -at them with a certain cautious suspicion, as though one or other of -them was capable of thwarting her in the matter of Minnie. Then her eyes -closed, and Edwin was aware of a slackening of her hold on his hand. -The doctor, who called half an hour later, said that she might never -speak again, and she never did. Her last conscious moments were moments -of satisfaction. - -Edwin slowly released his hand. - -"Where's Albert?" he asked Clara, merely for the sake of saying -something. - -"He's taking the children home, and then he's going to the works. He -ought to have gone long ago. There's a dreadful upset there." - -"I suppose there is," said Edwin, who had forgotten that the fly-wheel -accident must have almost brought Albert's manufactory to a standstill. -And he wondered whether it was the family instinct, or anxiety about -Auntie Hamps's will, that had caused Albert to absent himself from -business on such a critical morning. - -"I ought to go too," he muttered, as a full picture of a lithographic -establishment masterless swept into his mind. - -"Have you telegraphed to Hilda?" Clara demanded. - -"No." - -"Haven't you!" - -"What's the use?" - -"Well, I should have thought you would." - -"Oh, no!" he said, falsely mild. "I shall write." He was immensely -glad that Hilda was not present in the house to complicate still further -the human equation. - -Maggie was silently examining the face obscured in the gloom of the -curtains. - -Instead of remaining late that night at the works, Edwin came back to -the house before six o'clock. He had had word that the condition of -Tertius Ingpen was still unchanged. Clara had gone home to see to her -children's evening meal. Maggie sat alone in the darkened bedroom, -where Auntie Hamps, her features a mere pale blur between the -over-arching curtains, still withheld the secret of her soul's reality -from the world. Even in the final unconsciousness there was something -grandiose which lingered from her crowning magnificent deceptions and -obstinate effort to safeguard the structure of society. The sublime -obstinacy of the woman had transformed hypocrisy into a virtue, and not -the imminence of the infinite unknown had sufficed to make her apostate -to the steadfast principles of her mortal career. - -"What about to-night?" Edwin asked. - -"Oh! Clara and I will manage." - -There was a tap at the door. Edwin opened it. Minnie, abashed but -already taking courage, stood there blinking with a letter in her hand. -"Ah!" he breathed. Hilda's scrawling calligraphy was on the envelope. - -The letter read: "Darling boy. George has influenza, Charlie says. -Temp. 102 anyway. So of course he can't go out to-morrow. I knew this -morning there was something wrong with him. Janet and Charlie send -their love. Your ever loving wife, Hilda." - -He was exceedingly uplifted and happy and exhausted. Hilda's -handwriting moved him. The whole missive was like a personal emanation -from her. It lived with her vitality. It fought for the mastery of the -household interior against the mysterious, far-reaching spell of the -dying woman. "Your loving wife." Never before, during their marriage, -had she written a phrase so comforting and exciting. He thought: "My -faith in her is never worthy of her." And his faith leaped up and -became worthy of her. - -"George has got influenza," he said indifferently. - -"George! But influenza's very serious for him, isn't it?" Maggie showed -alarm. - -"Why should it be?" - -"Considering he nearly died of it at Orgreaves'!" - -"Oh! _Then_! ... He'll be all right." - -But Maggie had put fear into Edwin,--a superstitious fear. Influenza -indeed might be serious for George. Suppose he died of it. People did -die of influenza. Auntie Hamps--Tertius Ingpen--and now George! ... All -these anxieties mingling with his joy in the thought of Hilda! And all -the brooding rooms of the house waiting in light or in darkness for a -decisive event! - -"I must go and lie down," he said. He could contain no more sensations. - -"Do," said Maggie. - - - - IV - - -At two o'clock in the afternoon of Auntie Hamps's funeral, a procession -consisting of the following people moved out of the small, stuffy -dining-room of her house across the lobby into the drawing-room:--the -Rev. Christian Flowerdew, the Rev. Guy Cliffe (second minister), the -aged Reverend Josiah Higginbotham (supernumerary minister), the chapel -and the circuit stewards, the doctor, Edwin, Maggie, Clara, Bert and -young Clara (being respectively the eldest nephew and the eldest niece -of the deceased), and finally Albert Benbow; Albert came last because he -had constituted himself the marshal of the ceremonies. In the -drawing-room the coffin with its hideous brass plate and handles lay -upon two chairs, and was covered with white wreaths. At the head of the -coffin was placed a small table with a white cloth; on the cloth a large -inlaid box (in which Auntie Hamps had kept odd photographs), and on the -box a black book. The drawn blinds created a beautiful soft silvery -gloom which solemnised everything and made even the clumsy carving on -the coffin seem like the finest antique work. The three ministers -ranged themselves round the small table; the others stood in an -irregular horseshoe about the coffin, nervous, constrained, and in dread -of catching each other's glances. Mr. Higginbotham, by virtue of his -age, began to read the service, and Auntie Hamps became "she," "her," -and "our sister,"--nameless. In the dining-room she had been the paragon -of all excellences,--in the drawing-room, packed securely and neatly in -the coffin, she was a sinner snatched from the consequences of sin by a -miracle of divine sacrifice. - -The interment thus commenced was the result of a compromise between two -schools of funebrial manners sharply divergent. Edwin, immediately -after the demise, had become aware of influences far stronger than those -which had shaped the already half-forgotten interment of old Darius -Clayhanger into a form repugnant to him. Both Albert and Clara, but -especially Albert, had assumed an elaborate funeral, with a choral -service at the Wesleyan chapel, numerous guests, a superb procession, -and a substantial and costly meal in the drawing-room to conclude. -Edwin had at once and somewhat domineeringly decided: no guests whatever -outside the family, no service at the chapel, every rite reduced to its -simplest. When asked why, he had no logical answer. He soon saw that -it would be impossible not to invite a minister and the doctor. He -yielded, intimidated by the sacredness of custom. Then not only the -Wesleyan chapel but its Sunday School sent dignified emissaries, who so -little expected a No to their honorific suggestions that the No was -unuttered and unutterable. Certain other invitations were agreed upon. -The Sunday School announced that it would "walk," and it prepared to -"walk." - -All the emissaries spoke of Auntie Hamps as a saint; they all averred -with restrained passion that her death was an absolutely irreparable -loss to the circuit; and their apparent conviction was such that Edwin's -whole estimate of Auntie Hamps and of mankind was momentarily shaken. -Was it conceivable that none of these respectable people had arrived at -the truth concerning Auntie Hamps? Had she deceived them all? Or were -they simply rewarding her in memory for her ceaseless efforts on behalf -of the safety of society? - -Edwin stood like a rock against a service in the Wesleyan Chapel. Clara -cunningly pointed out to him that the Wesleyan Chapel would be heated -for the occasion, whereas the chapel at the cemetery, where scores of -persons had caught their deaths in the few years of its existence, was -never heated. His reply showed genius. He would have the service at -the house itself. The decision of the chief mourner might be regretted, -and was regretted, but none could impugn its correctitude, nor its -social distinction; some said approvingly that it was 'just like' Edwin. -Thenceforward the arrangements went more smoothly, the only serious -difficulty being about the route to the cemetery. Edwin was met by a -saying that "the last journey must be the longest," which meant that the -cortège must go up St. Luke's Square and along the Market Place past the -Town Hall and the Shambles, encountering the largest number of -sightseers, instead of taking the nearest way along Wedgwood Street. -Edwin chose Wedgwood Street. - -In the discussions, Maggie was neutral, thus losing part of the very -little prestige which she possessed. Clara and Albert considered Edwin -to be excessively high-handed. But they were remarkably moderate in -criticism, for the reason that no will had been found. Maggie and Clara -had searched the most secret places of the house for a will, in vain. -All that they had found was a brass and copper paper-knife wrapped in -tissue-paper and labelled "For Edwin, with Auntie's love," and a set of -tortoise-shell combs equally wrapped in tissue-paper and labelled "For -Maggie, with Auntie's love." Naught for Clara! Naught for the chicks. - -Albert (who did all the running about) had been to see Mr. Julian -Pidduck, the Wesleyan solicitor, who had a pew at the back of the chapel -and was famous for invariably arriving at morning service half an hour -late. Mr. Pidduck knew of no will. Albert had also been to the -Bank--that is to say, the Bank, at the top of St. Luke's Square, whose -former manager had been a buttress of Wesleyanism. The new manager -(after nearly eight years he was still called the "new" manager, because -the previous manager, old Lovatt, had been in control for nearly thirty -years), Mr. Breeze, was ill upstairs on the residential floor with one -of his periodic attacks of boils; the cashier, however, had told Albert -that certain securities, but no testament, were deposited at the Bank; -he had offered to produce the securities, but only to Edwin, as the -nearest relative. Albert had then secretly looked up the pages entitled -"Intestates' Estates" in Whitaker's Almanac and had discovered that -whereas Auntie Hamps being intestate, her personal property would be -divided equally between Edwin, Maggie, and Clara, her real property -would go entirely to Edwin. (Edwin also had secretly looked up the same -pages.) This gross injustice nearly turned Albert from a Tory into a -Land Laws reformer. It accounted for the comparative submissiveness of -Clara and Albert before Edwin's arrogance as the arbiter of funerals. -They hoped that, if he was humoured, he might forego his rights. They -could not credit, and Edwin maliciously did not tell them, that no -matter what they did he was incapable of insisting on such rights. - -While the ministers succeeded each other in the conduct of the service, -each after his different manner, Edwin scrutinised the coffin, and the -wreaths, and the cards inscribed with mournful ecstatic affection that -nestled amid the flowers, and the faces of the audience, and his thought -was: "This will soon be over now!" Beneath his gloomy and wearied -expression he was unhappy, but rather hopeful and buoyant, looking -forward to approaching felicity. His reflections upon the career of -Auntie Hamps were kind, and utterly uncritical; he wondered what her -spirit was doing in that moment; the mystery ennobled his mind. Yet he -wondered also whether the ministers believed all they were saying, why -the superintendent minister read so well and prayed with such a lack of -distinction, how much the wreaths cost, whether the Sunday School -deputation had silently arrived in the street, and why men in overcoats -and hatless looked so grotesque in a room, and why when men and women -were assembled on a formal occasion the women always clung together. - -Probing his left-hand pocket, he felt a letter. He had received it that -morning from Hilda. George was progressing very well, and Charlie -Orgreave had actually brought the oculist with his apparatus to see him -at Charlie's house. Charlie would always do impossibilities for Hilda. -It was Charlie who had once saved George's life--so Hilda was convinced. -The oculist had said that George's vision was normal, and that he must -not wear glasses, but that on account of a slight weakness he ought to -wear a shade at night in rooms which were lighted from the top. In a few -days Hilda and George would return. Edwin anticipated their arrival -with an impatience almost gleeful, so anxious was he to begin the new -life with Hilda. Her letters had steadily excited him. He pictured the -intimacies of their reunion. He saw her ideally. His mind rose to the -finest manifestations of her individuality, and the inconveniences of -that individuality grew negligible. Withal, he was relieved that -George's illness had kept her out of Bursley during the illness, death, -and burial of Auntie Hamps. Had she been there, he would have had three -persons to manage instead of two, and he could not have asserted himself -with the same freedom. - -And then there was a sound of sobbing outside the door. Minnie, sharing -humbly but obstinately in the service according to her station, had -broken down in irrational grief at the funeral of the woman whose dying -words amounted to an order for her execution. Edwin, though touched, -could have smiled; and he felt abashed before the lofty and -incomprehensible marvels of human nature. Several outraged bent heads -twisted round in the direction of the door, but the minister intrepidly -continued with the final prayer. Maggie slipped out, the door closed, -and the sound of sobbing receded. - -After the benediction Albert resumed full activity, while the remainder -of the company stared and cleared their throats without exchanging a -word. The news that the hearse and coaches had not arrived helped them -to talk a little. The fault was not that of the undertaker, but -Edwin's. The service had finished too soon, because in response to Mr. -Flowerdew's official question: "How much time do you give me?" he had -replied: "Oh! A quarter of an hour," whereas Albert the organiser had -calculated upon half an hour. The representatives of the Sunday School -were already lined up on the pavement and on the opposite pavement and -in the roadway were knots of ragged, callously inquisitive spectators. -The vehicles could at length be described on the brow of Church Street. -They descended the slope in haste. The four mutes nipped down with -agility from the hammer cloths, hung their greasy top-hats on the -ornamental spikes of the hearse, and sneaked grimly into the house. In -a second the flowers were shifted from the coffin, and with startling -accomplished swiftness the coffin was darted out of the room without its -fraudulent brass handles even being touched, and down the steps into the -hearse, and the flowers replaced. The one hitch was due to Edwin -attempting to get into the first coach instead of waiting for the last -one. Albert, putting on his new black gloves, checked him. The -ministers and the doctor had to go first, the chapel officials next, and -the chief mourners--Edwin, Albert, and Bert--had the third coach. The -women stayed behind at the door, frowning at the murmurous crowd of -shabby idlers. Albert gave a supreme glance at the vehicles and the -walkers, made a signal, and joined Edwin and Bert in the last coach, -buttoning his left hand glove. Edwin would only hold his gloves in his -hand. The cortège moved. Rain was threatening, and the street was -muddy. - -At the cemetery it was raining, and the walkers made a string of -glistening umbrellas; only the paid mutes had no umbrellas. Near the -gates, under an umbrella, stood a man with a protruding chin and a wiry -grey moustache. He came straight to Edwin and shook hands. It was Mr. -Breeze, the Bank manager. His neck, enveloped in a white muffler, showed -a large excrescence behind, and he kept his head very carefully in one -position. - -He said, in his defiant voice: - -"I only had the news this morning, and I felt that I should pay the last -tribute of respect to the deceased. I had known her in business and -privately for many years." - -His greeting of Albert was extremely reserved, and Albert showed him a -meek face. Albert's overdraft impaired the cordiality of their -relations. - -"Sorry to hear you've got your old complaint!" said Edwin, astounded at -this act of presence by the terrible bank-manager. - -Vehicles, by some municipal caprice, were forbidden to enter the -cemetery. And in the rain, between the stone-perpetuated great names of -the town's history--the Boultons, the Lawtons, the Blackshaws, the -Beardmores, the Dunns, the Longsons, the Hulmes, the Suttons, the -Greenes, the Gardiners, the Calverts, the Dawsons, the Brindleys, the -Baineses, and the Woods--the long procession preceded by Auntie Hamps -tramped for a third of a mile along the asphalted path winding past the -chapel to the graveside. And all the way Mr. Breeze, between Edwin and -Albert, with Bert a yard to the rear, talked about boils, and Edwin said -"Yes" and "No," and Albert said nothing. And at the graveside the three -ministers removed their flat round hats and put on skull-caps while -skilfully holding their umbrellas aloft. - -And while Mr. Flowerdew was reading from a little book in the midst of -the large encircling bare-headed crowd with umbrellas, and the -gravedigger with absolute precision accompanied his words with three -castings of earth into the hollow of the grave, Edwin scanned an -adjoining tombstone, which marked the family vault of Isaac Plant, a -renowned citizen. He read, chased in gilt letters on the Aberdeen -granite, the following lines: - -"Sacred to the memory of Adelaide Susan, wife of Isaac Plant, died 27th -June, 1886, aged 47 years. And of Mary, wife of Isaac Plant, died 11th -December, 1890, aged 33 years. And of Effie Harriet, wife of Isaac -Plant, died 9th December, 1893, aged 27 years. _The Flower Fadeth_. -And of Isaac Plant, died 9th February, 1894, aged 79 years. _I know -that my Redeemer Liveth_." And the passionate career of the aged and -always respectable rip seemed to Edwin to have been a wondrous thing. -The love of life was in Isaac Plant. He had risen above death again and -again. After having detested him, Edwin now liked him on the tombstone. - -And even in that hilly and bleak burial ground, with melancholy -sepulchral parties and white wind-blown surplices dotted about the -sodden slopes, and the stiff antipathetic multitude around the pit which -held Auntie Hamps, and the terrible seared, harsh, grey-and-brown -industrial landscape of the great smoking amphitheatre below, Edwin felt -happy in the sensation of being alive and of having to contend with -circumstance. He was inspired by the legend of Isaac Plant and of -Auntie Hamps, who in very different ways had intensely lived. And he -thought in the same mood of Tertius Ingpen, who was now understood to be -past hope. If he died,--well, he also had intensely lived! And he -thought too of Hilda, whose terrific vitality of emotion had caused him -such hours of apprehension and exasperation. He exulted in all those -hours. It seemed almost a pity that, by reason of his new-found -understanding of Hilda, such hours would not recur. His heart flew -impatiently forward into the future, to take up existence with her -again. - -When the ministers pocketed their skull-caps and resumed their hats, -everybody except Edwin appeared to feel relief in turning away from the -grave. Faces brightened; footsteps were more alert. In the -drawing-room Edwin had thought: "It will soon be over," and every face -near him was saying, "It is over"; but now that it was over Edwin had a -pang of depression at the eagerness with which all the mourners -abandoned Auntie Hamps to her strange and desolate grave amid the -sinister population of corpses. - -He lingered, glancing about. Mr. Breeze also lingered, and then in his -downright manner squarely approached Edwin. - -"I'll walk down with ye to the gates," said he. - -"Yes," said Edwin. - -Mr. Breeze moved his head round with care. Their umbrellas touched. In -front of them the broken units of a procession tramped in disorder, -chatting. - -"I've got that will for you," said Mr. Breeze in a confidential tone. - -"What will?" - -"Mrs. Hamps's." - -"But your cashier said there was no will at your place!" - -"My cashier doesn't know everything," remarked Mr. Breeze. And in his -voice was the satisfied grimness of a true native of the district, and a -Longshaw man. "Mrs. Hamps deposited her will with me as much as a friend -as anything else. The fact is I had it in my private safe. I should -have called with it this morning, but I knew that you'd be busy, and -what's more I can't go paying calls of a morning. Here it is." - -Mr. Breeze drew an endorsed foolscap envelope from the breast pocket of -his overcoat, and handed it to Edwin. - -"Thanks," said Edwin very curtly. He could be as native as any native. -But beneath the careful imperturbability of his demeanour he was not -unagitated. - -"I've got a receipt for you to sign," said Mr. Breeze. "It's slipped -into the envelope. Here's an ink-pencil." - -Edwin comprehended that he must stand still in the rain and sign a -receipt for the will as best he could under an umbrella. He complied. -Mr. Breeze said no more. - -"Good-bye, Mr. Breeze," said Edwin at the gates. - -"Good-day to you, Mr. Clayhanger." - -The coaches trotted down the first part of the hill into Bursley but as -soon as the road became a street, with observant houses on either side, -the pace was reduced to a proper solemnity. Edwin was amused and even -uplifted by the thought of the will in his pocket; his own curiosity -concerning it diverted him; he anticipated complications with a light -heart. To Albert he said nothing on the subject, which somehow he could -not bring himself to force bluntly into the conversation. Albert talked -about his misfortunes at the works, including the last straw of the -engine accident; and all the time he was vaguely indicating reasons--the -presence of Bert in the carriage necessitated reticence--for his default -in the interest-paying to Maggie. At intervals he gave out that he was -expecting much from Bert, who at the New Year was to leave school for -the works--and Bert taciturn behind his spectacles had to seem loyal, -earnest, and promising. - -As they approached the Clowes Hospital Edwin saw a nurse in a bonnet, -white bow, and fluent blue robe emerging from the shrubbery and putting -up an umbrella. She looked delightful,--at once modest and piquant, -until he saw that she was the night-nurse; and even then she still -looked delightful. He thought: "I'd no idea she could look like that!" -and began to admit to himself that perhaps in his encounters with her in -the obscurity of the night he had not envisaged the whole of her -personality. Involuntarily he leaned forward. Her eyes were -scintillant and active, and they caught his. He saluted; she bowed, -with a most inviting, challenging and human smile. - -"There's Nurse Faulkner!" he exclaimed to Albert. "I must just ask her -how Ingpen is. I haven't heard to-day." He made as if to lean out of -the window. - -"But you can't stop the procession!" Albert protested in horror, unable -to conceive such an enormity. - -"I'll just slip out!" said Edwin, guiltily. - -He spoke to the coachman and the coach halted. - -In an instant he was on the pavement. - -"Drive on," he instructed the coachman, and to the outraged Albert: -"I'll walk down." - -Nurse Faulkner, apparently flattered by the proof of her attractiveness, -stopped and smiled upon the visitor. She had a letter in one hand. - -"Good afternoon, nurse." - -"Good morning, Mr. Clayhanger. I'm just going out for my morning walk -before breakfast," said she. - -She had dimples. These dimples quite ignored Edwin's mourning and the -fact that he had quitted a funeral in order to speak to her. - -"How is Mr. Ingpen to-day?" Edwin asked. He could read on the envelope -in her hand the words "The Rev." - -She grew serious, and said in a low, cheerful tone: "I think he's going -on pretty well." - -Edwin was startled. - -"D'you mean he's getting better?" - -"Slowly. He's taking food more easily. He was undoubtedly better this -morning. I haven't seen him since, of course." - -"But the matron seemed to think----" He stopped, for the dimples began -to reappear. - -"Matron always fears the worst, you know," said Nurse Faulkner, not -without irony. - -"Does she?" - -The matron had never held out hope to Edwin; and he had unquestioningly -accepted her opinion. It had not occurred to him that the matron of a -hospital could be led astray by her instinctive unconscious appetite for -gloom and disaster. - -The nurse nodded. - -"Then you think he'll pull through?" - -"I'm pretty sure he will. But of course I've not seen the doctor--I -mean since the first night." - -"I'm awfully glad." - -"His brother came over from Darlington to see him yesterday evening, you -know." - -"Yes. I just missed him." - -The nurse gave a little bow as she moved up the road. - -"Just going to the pillar-box," she explained. "Dreadful weather we're -having!" - -He left her, feeling that he had made a new acquaintance. - -"She's in love with a parson, I bet," he said to himself. And he had to -admit that she had charm--when off duty. - -The news about Ingpen filled him with bright joy. Everything was going -well. Hilda would soon be home; George's eyes were not seriously wrong; -the awful funeral was over; and his friend was out of -danger--marvellously restored to him. Then he thought of the will. He -glanced about to see whether anybody of importance was observing him. -There was nobody. The coaches were a hundred yards in front. He drew -out the envelope containing the will, managed to extract the will from -the envelope, and opened the document,--not very easily because he was -holding his umbrella. - -A small printed slip fluttered to the muddy pavement. He picked it up; -it was a printed form of attestation clause, seemingly cut from -Whitaker's Almanac:--"Signed by the testator (or testatrix as the case -may be) in the presence of us, both present at the same time," etc. - -"She's got that right, anyhow," he murmured. - -Then, walking along, he read the will of Auntie Hamps. It was quickly -spotted with raindrops. - -At the house the blinds were drawn up, and the women sedately cheerful. -Maggie was actually teasing Bert about his new hat, and young Clara, -active among the preparations for tea for six, was intensely and -seriously proud at being included in the ceremonial party of adults. -She did not suspect that the adults themselves had a novel sensation of -being genuinely adult, and that the last representative of the older -generation was gone, and that this common sensation drew them together -rather wistfully. - -"Oh! By the way, there's a telegram for you," said Maggie, as Minnie -left the dining-room after serving the last trayful of hot dishes and -pots. - -Edwin took the telegram. It was from Hilda, to say that she and George -would return on the morrow. - -"But what about the house being cleaned, and what about servants?" cried -Edwin, affecting, in order to conceal his pleasure, an annoyance which -he did not in the least feel. - -"Oh! Mrs. Tams has been looking after the house--I shall go round and -see her after tea. I've got one servant for Hilda." - -"You never told me anything about it," said Edwin, who was struck, by no -means for the first time, by the concealment which all the women -practised. - -"Didn't I?" Maggie innocently murmured. "And then Minnie can go and -help if necessary until you're all settled again. Hadn't we better have -the gas lighted before we begin?" - -And in the warm cosiness of the small, ugly, dining-room shortly to be -profaned by auctioneers and furniture-removers, amid the odours of tea -and hot tea-cakes, and surrounded by the family faces intimate, beloved, -and disdained, Edwin had an exciting vision of the new life with Hilda, -and the vision was shot through with sharp flitting thoughts of the once -gorgeous Auntie Hamps forlorn in the cemetery and already passing into -oblivion. - -After tea, immediately the children had been sent home, he said, -self-consciously to Albert: - -"I've got something for you." - -And offered the will. Maggie and Clara were upstairs. - -"What is it?" - -"It's Auntie's will. Breeze had it. He gave it to me in the cemetery. -It seems he only knew this morning Auntie was dead. I think that was -why he came up." - -"Well, I'm----!" Albert muttered. - -His hand trembled as he opened the paper. - -Auntie Hamps had made Edwin sole executor, and had left all her property -in trust for Clara's children. Evidently she had reasoned that Edwin and -Maggie had all they needed, and that the children of such a father as -Albert could only be effectually helped in one way, which way she had -chosen. The will was seven years old, and the astounding thing was that -she had drawn it herself, having probably copied some of the wording -from some source unknown. It was a wise if a rather ruthless will; and -its provisions, like the manner of making it, were absolutely -characteristic of the testatrix. Too mean to employ a lawyer, she had -yet had a magnificent gesture of generosity towards that Benbow brood -which she adored in her grandiose way. And further she had been clever -enough not to invalidate the will by some negligent informality. It was -as tight as if Julian Pidduck himself had drawn it. - -And she had managed to put Albert in a position highly exasperating. -For he was both very pleased and very vexed. In slighting him, she had -aggrandized his children. - -"What of it?" he asked nervously. - -"It's all right so far as I'm concerned," said Edwin, with a short -laugh. And he was sincere, for he had no desire whatever to take a -share of his aunt's modest wealth. He shrank from the trusteeship, but -he knew that he could not avoid it, and he was getting accustomed to -power and dominion. Albert would have to knuckle down to him, and Clara -too. - -Maggie and Clara came back together into the room, noticeably sisterly. -They perceived at once from the men's faces that they were in the -presence of a historic event. - -"I say, Clary," Albert began; his voice quavered. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - THE DISCOVERY - - - I - - -Hilda showed her smiling, flattering face at the door of Edwin's private -office at a few minutes to one on Saturday morning, and she said: - -"I had to go to the dressmaker's after my shopping, so I thought I might -as well call for you." She added with deference: "But I can wait if -you're busy." - -True that the question of mourning had taken her to the dressmaker's, -and that the dressmaker lived in Shawport Lane, not four minutes from -the works; but such accidents had nothing to do with her call, which, -being part of a scheme of Hilda's, would have occurred in any case. - -"I'm ready," said Edwin, pleased by the vision of his wife in the -stylish wide-sleeved black jacket and black hat which she had bought in -London. "What have you got in that parcel?" - -"It's your new office-coat," Hilda replied, depositing on the desk the -parcel which had been partly concealed behind her muff. "I've mended -the sleeves." - -"Aha!" Edwin lightly murmured. "Let's have a look at it." - -His benevolent attitude towards the new office-coat surprised and -charmed her. Before her journey to London with George he would have -jealously resented any interfering hand among his apparel, but since her -return he had been exquisitely amenable. She thought, proud of herself: - -"It's really quite easy to manage him. I never used to go quite the -right way about it." - -Her new system, which was one of the results of contact with London and -which had been inaugurated a week earlier on the platform of Knype -station when she stepped down from the London train, consisted chiefly -in smiles, voice-control, and other devices to make Edwin believe in any -discussion that she fully appreciated his point of view. Often (she was -startled to find) this simulation had the unexpected result of causing -her actually to appreciate his point of view. Which was very curious. - -London indeed had had its effect on Hilda. She had seen the Five Towns -from a distance, and as something definitely provincial. Having lived -for years at Brighton, which is almost a suburb of London, and also for -a short time in London itself, she could not think of herself as a -provincial, in the full sense in which Edwin, for example, was a -provincial. She had gone to London with her son, not like a staring and -intimidated provincial, but with the confidence of an initiate returning -to the scene of initiation. And once she was there, all her old -condescensions towards the dirty and primitive ingenuous Five Towns had -very quickly revived. She discovered Charlie Orgreave, the fairly -successful doctor in Ealing (a suburb rich in doctors), to be the -perfect Londoner, and Janet, no longer useless and forlorn, scarcely -less so. These two, indeed, had the air of having at length reached -their proper home after being born in exile. The same was true of -Johnnie Orgreave, now safely through the matrimonial court and married -to his blonde Adela (formerly the ripping Mrs. Chris Hamson), whose -money had bought him a junior partnership in an important architectural -firm in Russell Square. Johnnie and Adela had come over from Bedford -Park to Ealing to see Hilda, and Hilda had dined with them at Bedford -Park at a table illuminated by crimson-shaded night-lights,--a repast -utterly different in its appointments and atmosphere from anything -conceivable in Trafalgar Road. The current Five Towns notion of Johnnie -and his wife as two morally ruined creatures hiding for the rest of -their lives in shame from an outraged public opinion, seemed merely -comic in Ealing and Bedford Park. These people referred to the Five -Towns with negligent affection, but with disdain, as to a community -that, with all its good qualities, had not yet emerged from barbarism. -They assumed that their attitude was also Hilda's, and Hilda, after a -moment's secret resentment, had indeed made their attitude her own. -When she mentioned that she hoped soon to move Edwin into a country -house, they applauded and implied that no other course was possible. -Withal, their respect, to say nothing of their regard, for Edwin, the -astute and successful man of business, was obvious and genuine. The two -brothers Orgreave, amid their possibly superficial splendours of -professional men, hinted envy of the stability of Edwin's trade -position. And both Janet and Adela, shopping with Hilda, showed her, by -those inflections and eyebrow-liftings of which women possess the -secret, that the wife of a solid and generous husband had quite as much -economic importance in London as in the Five Towns. - -Thus when Hilda got into the train at Euston, she had in her head a plan -of campaign compared to which the schemes entertained by her on the -afternoon of the disastrous servants episode seemed amateurish and -incomplete. And also she was like a returning adventurer, carrying back -to his savage land the sacred torch of civilisation. She had perceived, -as never before, the superior value of the suave and refined social -methods of the metropolitan middle-classes, compared with the manners of -the Five Towns, and it seemed to her, in her new enthusiasm for the art -of life, that if she had ever had a difficulty with Edwin, her own -clumsiness was to blame. She saw Edwin as an instrument to be played -upon, and herself as a virtuoso. In such an attitude was necessarily a -condescension. Yet this condescension somehow did not in the least -affect the tenderness and the fever of her longing for Edwin. Her -excitement grew as the train passed across the dusky December plain -towards him. She thought of the honesty of his handshake and of his -wistful glance. She knew that he was better than any of the people she -had left,--either more capable, or more reliable, or more charitable, or -all three. She knew that most of the people she had left were at heart -snobs. "Am I getting a snob?" she asked herself. She had asked herself -the question before. "I don't care if it is snobbishness. I want -certain things, and I will have them, and they can call it what they -like." Like the majority of women, she was incapable of being -frightened by the names of her desires. She might be snobbish in one -part of her, but in another she had the fiercest scorn for all that -Ealing stood for. And in Edwin she admired nothing more than the fact -that success had not modified his politics, which were as downright as -they had ever been; she could not honestly say the same for herself; and -assuredly the Orgreaves could not say the same for themselves. In -politics, Edwin was an inspiration to her. - -And when the train entered the fiery zone of industry, and slackened -speed amid the squalid twilit streets, and stopped at Knype station in -front of a crowd of local lowering faces and mackintoshed and gaitered -forms, and the damp chill of the Five Towns came in through the opened -door of the compartment, her heart fell, and she regretted the elegance -of Ealing. But simultaneously her heart was beating with ecstatic -expectation. She saw Edwin's face. It was a local face. He wore -mourning. He saw her; his eye lighted; his wistful smile appeared. -"Yes," she thought, "he is the same as my image of him. He is better -than any of them. I am safe. What a shame to have left him all alone! -He was quite right--there was no need for it. But I am so impulsive. He -must have suffered terribly with those Benbows, and shut out of his own -house too." ... His hand thrilled her. In the terrible sincerity and -outpouring of her kiss she sought to compensate him for all wrongs past -and future. Her joy in being near him again made her tingle. His -matter-of-fact calmness pleased her. She thought: "I know him, with his -matter-of-fact calmness!" "Hello, kid," Edwin addressed George with -man-to-man negligence. "Been looking after your mother?" George -answered like a Londoner. She had them side by side. It was the fact -that George had looked after her. London had matured him; he had picked -up a little Ealing. He was past Edwin's shoulder. Indeed he was -surprisingly near to being a man. She had both of them. On the -platform they surrounded her with their masculine protection. George's -secret deep respect for Edwin was not hidden from her. - -And yet, all the time, in her joy, reliance, love, admiration, eating -him with her eyes, she was condescending to Edwin,--because she had -plans for his good. She knew better than he did what would be for his -good. And he was a provincial and didn't suspect it. "My poor boy!" she -had said gleefully in the cab, pulling suddenly at a loose button of the -old grey coat which he wore surreptitiously under his new black -overcoat. "My poor boy, what a state you are in!" implying in her tone -of affectionate raillery that without her he was a lost man. Through -this loose button, she was his mother, his good angel, his saviour. The -trifle had led to a general visitation of his wardrobe, conducted by her -with metropolitan skill in humouring his susceptibilities. - -Edwin now tried on the new office-coat with the self-consciousness that -none but an odious dandy can avoid on such occasions. - -"It seems warmer than it used to be," he said, pleased to have her -beholding him and interesting herself in him, especially in his office. -Her presence there, unless it happened to arouse his jealousy for his -business independence, always pleasurably excited him. Her muff on the -desk had the air of being the muff of a woman who was amorously -interested in him, but his relations with whom were not regularised by -the law or the church. - -"Yes," said she. "I've put some wash-leather inside the lining at the -back." - -"Why?" - -"Well, didn't you say you felt the cold from the window, and it's bad -for your liver?" - -Her glance said: - -"Am I not a clever woman?" - -And his replied: - -"You are." - -"That's the end of that, I hope, darling," she remarked, picking up the -old office-coat and dropping it with charming affected disgust into the -waste-paper basket. - -He shouted for the clerk, who entered with some letters for signature. -Under the eyes of his wife Edwin signed them with the demeanour of a -secretary of state signing the destiny of provinces, while the clerk -respectfully waited. - -"I've asked Maggie to come up for the week-end," said Hilda carelessly, -when they were alone together, and Edwin was straightening the desk -preparatory to departure. - -Since her return she had become far more friendly with Maggie than ever -before,--not because Maggie had revealed any new charm, but because she -saw in Maggie a victim of injustice. Nothing during the week had more -severely tested Hilda's new methods of intercourse with Edwin than the -disclosure of the provisions of Auntie Hamps's will, which she had at -once and definitely set down as monstrous. She simply could not -comprehend Edwin's calm acceptance of them, and a month earlier she -would have been bitter about it. It was not (she was convinced) that -she coveted money, but that she hated unfairness. Why should the -Benbows have all Auntie Hamps's possessions, and Edwin and Maggie, who -had done a thousand times more for her than the Benbows, nothing? -Hilda's conversation implied that the Benbows ought to be ashamed of -themselves, and when Edwin pointed out that their good luck was not -their fault, only a miracle of self-control had enabled her to say -nicely: "That's quite true," instead of sneering: "That's you all over, -Edwin!" When she learnt that Edwin would receive not a penny for his -labours as executor and trustee for the Benbow children, she was -speechless. Perceiving that he did not care for her to discourse upon -what she considered to be the wrong done to him, she discoursed upon the -wrong done to Maggie--Maggie who was already being deprived by the -wicked Albert of interest due to her. And Edwin had to agree with her -about Maggie's case. It appeared that Maggie also agreed with her about -Maggie's case. As for the Benbows, Hilda had not deigned to say one word -to them on the matter. A look, a tone, a silence, had sufficed to -express the whole of Hilda's mind to those Benbows. - -"Oh!" said Edwin. "So Maggie's coming for the week-end, is she? Well, -that's not a bad scheme." He knew that Maggie had been very helpful -about servants, and that, the second servant having not yet arrived, she -would certainly do much more work in the house than she "made." He -pictured her and Hilda becoming still more intimate as they turned -sheets and blankets and shook pillows on opposite sides of beds, and he -was glad. - -"Yes," said Hilda. "I've called there this morning." - -"And what's she doing with Minnie?" - -"We've settled all that," said Hilda proudly. Edwin had told her in -detail the whole story of Minnie, and she had behaved exactly as he had -anticipated. Her championship of Minnie had been as passionate as her -ruthless verdict upon Minnie's dead mistress. "The girl's aunt was there -when I called. We've settled she is to go to Stone, and Maggie and I -shall do something for her, and when it's all over I may take her on as -housemaid. Maggie says she probably wouldn't make a bad housemaid. -Anyhow it's all arranged for the present." - -"Then Maggie'll be without a servant?" - -"No, she won't. We shall manage that. Besides, I suppose Maggie won't -stay on in that house all by herself for ever! ... It's just the right -size, I see." - -"Just!" said Edwin. - -He was spreading over his desk a dust-sheet with a red scolloped edging -which Hilda had presented to him three days earlier. - -She gazed at him with composed and justifiable self-satisfaction, as if -saying: "Leave absolutely to me everything in my department, and see how -smooth your life will be!" - -He would never praise her, and she had a very healthy appetite for -praise, which appetite always went hungry. But now, instead of -resenting his niggardly reserve, she said to herself: "Poor boy! He -can't bring himself to pay compliments; that's it. But his eyes are -full of delicious compliments." She was happy, even if apprehensive for -the immediate future. There she was, established and respected in his -office, which was his church and the successful rival of her boudoir. -Her plans were progressing. - -She approached the real business of her call: - -"I was thinking we might have gone over to see Ingpen this afternoon." - -"Well, let's." - -Ingpen, convalescent, had insisted, two days earlier, on being removed -to his own house, near the village of Stockbrook, a few miles south of -Axe. The departure was a surprising example of the mere power of -volition on the part of a patient. The routine of hospital life had -exasperated the recovering soul of this priest of freedom to such a -point that doctor, matron, and friends had had to yield to a mere -instinct. - -"There's no decent train to go, and none at all to come back until -nearly nine o'clock. And we can't cycle in this weather--at least I -can't, especially in the dark." - -"Well, what about Sunday?" - -"The Sunday trains are worse." - -"What a ghastly line!" said Edwin. "And they have the cheek to pay five -per cent! I remember Ingpen telling me there was one fairish train into -Knype in the morning, and one out in the afternoon. And there wouldn't -be that if the Locomotive Superintendent didn't happen to live at Axe." - -"It's a pity you haven't got a dog-cart, isn't it?" said Hilda, lightly -smiling. "Because then we could use the works horse now and then, and -it wouldn't really cost anything extra, would it?" - -Her heart was beating perceptibly. - -Edwin shook his head, agreeably, but with firmness. - -"Can't mix up two different things like that!" he said. - -She knew it. She was aware of the whole theory of horse-owning among -the upper trading-class in the Five Towns. A butcher might use his cob -for pleasure on Sundays--he never used it for pleasure on any other -day--but traders on a higher plane than butchers drew between the works -and the house a line which a works horse was not permitted to cross. -One or two, perhaps,--but not the most solid--would put a carter into a -livery overcoat and a shabby top-hat and describe him as a coachman -while on rare afternoons he drove a landau or a victoria picked up cheap -at Axe or Market Drayton. But the majority had no pretensions to the -owning of private carriages. The community was not in fact a carriage -community. Even the Orgreaves had never dreamed of a carriage. Old -Darius Clayhanger would have been staggered into profanity by the -suggestion of such a thing. Indeed, until some time after old -Clayhanger's death the printing business had been content to deliver all -its orders in a boy-pushed handcart. Only when Edwin discovered that, -for instance, two thousand catalogues on faced clay paper could not be -respectably delivered in a handcart, had he steeled himself to the -prodigious move of setting up a stable. He had found an entirely -trustworthy ostler-carter with the comfortable name of Unchpin, and, an -animal and a tradesman's covered cart having been bought, he had left -the affair to Unchpin. Naturally he had never essayed to drive the -tradesman's cart. And Edwin Clayhanger could not be seen on the -insecure box of a tradesman's cart. He had learnt nothing about horses -except that a horse should be watered before, and not after, being fed, -that shoeing cost a shilling a week and fodder a shilling a day, and -that a horse driven over a hundred and fifty miles a week was likely to -get "a bit over" at the knees. At home the horse and cart had always -been regarded as being just as exclusively a works item as the -printing-machines or the steam-engine. - -"I suppose," said Hilda carefully, "you've got all the work one horse -can do?" - -"And more." - -"Well, then, why don't you buy another one?" She tried to speak -carelessly, without genuine interest. - -"Yes, no doubt!" Edwin answered drily. "And build fresh stables, too." - -"Haven't you got room for two?" - -"Come along and look, and then perhaps you'll be satisfied." - -Buzzers, syrens, and whistles began to sound in the neighbourhood. It -was one o'clock. - -"Shall I? ... Your overcoat collar's turned up behind. Let me do it." - -She straightened the collar. - -They went out, through the clerk's office. Edwin gave a sideways nod to -Simpson. In the passage some girls and a few men were already hurrying -forth. None of them took notice of Edwin and Hilda. They all plunged -for the street as though the works had been on fire. - -"They are in a hurry, my word!" Hilda murmured, with irony. - -"And why shouldn't they be?" the employer protested almost angrily. - -In the small yard stood the horseless cart, with "Edwin Clayhanger, -Lithographer and Steam Printer, Bursley," on both its sides. The stable -and cart-shed were in one penthouse, and to get to the stable it was -necessary to pass through the cart-shed. Unchpin, a fat man of forty -with a face marked by black seams, was bending over a chaff-cutter in -the cart-shed. He ignored the intruders. The stable consisted of one -large loose-box, in which a grey animal was restlessly moving. - -"You see!" Edwin muttered curtly. - -"Oh! What a beautiful horse! I've never seen him before." - -"Her," Edwin corrected. - -"Is it a mare?" - -"So they say!" - -"I never knew you'd got a fresh one." - -"I haven't--yet. I've taken this one for a fortnight's trial, from -Chawner.... How's she doing, Unchpin?" he called to the cart-shed. - -Unchpin looked round and stared. - -"Bit light," he growled and turned back to the chaff-cutter, which he -seemed to be repairing. - -"I thought so," said Edwin. - -"But her's a good 'un," he added. - -"But where's the old horse?" asked Hilda. - -"With God," Edwin replied. "Dropped down dead last week." - -"What of?" - -Edwin shook his head. - -"It's a privilege of horses to do that sort of thing," he said. -"They're always doing it." - -"You never told me." - -"Well, you weren't here, for one thing." - -The mare inquisitively but cautiously put her muzzle over the door of -the box. Hilda stroked her. The animal's mysterious eyes, her -beautiful coat, her broad back, her general bigness relatively to Hilda, -the sound of her feet among the litter on the paving stones, the smell -of the stable,--these things enchanted Hilda. - -"I should adore horses!" she breathed, half to herself, ecstatically; -and wondered whether she would ever be able to work her will on Edwin in -the matter of a dog-cart. She pictured herself driving the grey mare, -who had learnt to love her, in a flashing dog-cart, Edwin by her side on -the front-seat. Her mind went back enviously to Tavy Mansion and -Dartmoor. But she felt that Edwin had not enough elasticity to -comprehend the rapture of her dream. She foresaw nearly endless trouble -and altercation and chicane before she could achieve her end. She was -ready to despair, but she remembered her resolutions and took heart. - -"I say, Unchpin," said Edwin. "I suppose this box couldn't be made into -two stalls?" - -Unchpin on his gaitered legs clumped towards the stable, and gazed -gloomily into the box. When he had gazed for some time, he touched his -cap to Hilda. - -"It could," he announced. - -"Could you get a trap into the shed as well as the cart?" - -"Ay! If ye dropped th' shafts o' th' trap under th' cart. What of it, -mester?" - -"Nothing. Only missis is going to have this mare." - -After a pause, Unchpin muttered: - -"Missis, eh!" - -Hilda had moved a little away into the yard. Edwin approached her, -flushing slightly, and with a self-consciousness which he tried to -dissipate with one wink. Hilda's face was set hard. - -"I must just go back to the office," she said, in a queer voice. - -She walked quickly, Edwin following. Simpson beheld their return with -gentle surprise. In the private office Hilda shut the door. She then -ran to the puzzled Edwin, and kissed him with the most startling -vehemence, clasping her arms--in one hand she still held the muff--round -his neck. She loved him for being exactly as he was. She preferred his -strange, uncouth method of granting a request, of yielding, of -flattering her caprice, to any politer, more conventional methods of the -metropolis. She thought that no other man could be as deeply romantic -as Edwin. She despised herself for ever having been misled by the -surface of him. And even the surface of him she saw now as it were, -through the prism of passionate affection, to be edged with the blending -colours of the rainbow. And when they came again out of the office, -after the sacred rite, and Edwin, as uplifted as she, glanced back -nevertheless at the sheeted desk and the safe and the other objects in -the room with the half-mechanical habitual solicitude of a man from whom -the weight of responsibility is never lifted, she felt saddened because -she could not enter utterly into his impenetrable soul, and live through -all his emotions, and comprehend like a creator the always baffling -wistfulness of his eyes. This sadness was joy; it was the aura of her -tremendous satisfaction in his individuality and in her triumph and in -the thought: "I alone stand between him and desolation." - - - - II - - -"Wo!" exclaimed Hilda broadly, bringing the mare and the vehicle to a -standstill in front of the "Live and Let Live" inn in the main street of -the village of Stockbrook, which lay about a mile and a half off the -high road from the Five Towns to Axe. And immediately the mare stopped -she was enveloped in her own vapour. - -"Ha!" exclaimed Edwin, with faint benevolent irony. "And no bones -broken!" - -A man came out from the stable-yard. - -The village of Stockbrook gave the illusion that hundreds of English -villages were giving that Christmas morning,--the illusion that its name -was Arcadia, that finality had been reached, and that the forces of -civilisation could go no further. More suave than a Dutch village, -incomparably neater and cleaner and more delicately finished than a -French village, it presented, in the still, complacent atmosphere of -long tradition, a picturesque medley of tiny architectures nearly every -aspect of which was beautiful. And if seven people of different ages -and sexes lived in a two-roomed cottage under a thatched roof hollowed -by the weight of years, without drains and without water, and also -without freedom, the beholder was yet bound to conclude that by some -mysterious virtue their existence must be gracious, happy, and in fact -ideal--especially on Christmas Day, though Christmas Day was also -Quarter Day--and that they would not on any account have it altered in -the slightest degree. Who could believe that fathers of families drank -away their children's bread in the quaint tap-room of that creeper-clad -hostel--a public-house fit to produce ecstasy in the heart of every -American traveller--"The Live and Let Live"? Who could have believed -that the Wesleyan Methodists already singing a Christmas hymn inside the -dwarf Georgian conventicle, and their fellow-Christians straggling under -the lych into the church-yard, scorned one another with an immortal -detestation, each claiming a monopoly in knowledge of the unknowable? -But after all the illusion of Arcadia was not entirely an illusion. In -this calm, rime-decked, Christmas-imbued village, with its motionless -trees enchanted beneath a vast grey impenetrable cloud, a sort of -relative finality had indeed been reached,--the end of an epoch that was -awaiting dissolution. - -Edwin had not easily agreed to the project of shutting up house for the -day and eating the Christmas dinner with Tertius Ingpen. Although -customarily regarding the ritual of Christmas, with its family visits, -its exchange of presents, its feverish kitchen activity, its somewhat -insincere gaiety, its hours of boredom, and its stomachic regrets, as an -ordeal rather than a delight, he nevertheless abandoned it with -reluctance and a sense of being disloyal to something sacred. But the -situation of Ingpen, Hilda's strong desire and her teasing promise of a -surprise, and the still continuing dearth of servants had been good -arguments to persuade him. - -And though he had left Trafalgar Road moody and captious, thinking all -the time of the deserted and cold home, he had arrived in Stockbrook -tingling and happy, and proud of Hilda,--proud of her verve, her -persistency, and her success. She had carried him very far on the wave -of her new enthusiasm for horse-traction. She had beguiled him into -immediately spending mighty sums on a dog-cart, new harness, rugs, a -driving-apron, and a fancy whip. She had exhausted Unchpin, upset the -routine of the lithographic business, and gravely overworked the mare, -in her determination to learn to drive. She had had the equipage out at -night for her lessons. On the other hand she had not in the least -troubled herself about the purchase of a second horse for mercantile -purposes, and a second horse had not yet been bought. - -When she had announced that she would herself drive her husband and son -over to Stockbrook, Edwin had absolutely negatived the idea; but Unchpin -had been on her side; she had done the double journey with Unchpin, who -judged her capable and the mare (eight years old) quite reliable, and -who moreover wanted Christmas as much as possible to himself. And Hilda -had triumphed. Walking the mare uphill--and also downhill--she had -achieved Stockbrook in safety; and the conquering air with which she -drew up at the "Live and Let Live" was delicious. The chit's happiness -and pride radiated out from her. It seemed to Edwin that by the mere -strength of violition she had actually created the dog-cart and its -appointments, and the mare too! And he thought that he himself had not -lived in vain if he could procure her such sensations as her glowing -face then displayed. Her occasionally overbearing tenacity, and the -little jars which good resolutions several weeks old had naturally not -been powerful enough to prevent, were forgotten and forgiven. He would -have given all his savings to please her caprice, and been glad. A -horse and trap, or even a pair of horses and a landau, were a trifling -price to pay for her girlish joy and for his own tranquillity in his -beloved house and business. - -"Catch me, both of you!" cried Hilda. - -Edwin had got down, and walked round behind the vehicle to the footpath, -where George stood grinning. The stableman, in classic attitude, was at -the mare's head. - -Hilda jumped rather wildly. It was Edwin who countered the shock of her -descent. The edge of her velvet hat knocked against his forehead, -disarranging his cap. He could smell the velvet, as for an instant he -held his wife--strangely acquiescent and yielding--in his arms, and -there was something intimately feminine in the faint odour. All Hilda's -happiness seemed to pass into him, and that felicity sufficed for him. -He did not desire any happiness personal to himself. He wanted only to -live in her. His contentment was profound, complete, rapturous. - -And yet in the same moment, reflecting that Hilda would certainly have -neglected the well-being of the mare, he could say to the stableman: - -"Put the rug over her, will you?" - -"Hello! Here's Mr. Ingpen!" announced George, as he threw the coloured -rug on the mare. - -Ingpen, pale and thickly enveloped, came slowly round the bend of the -road, waving and smiling. He had had a relapse, after a too early -sortie, and was recovering from it. - -"I made sure you'd be about here," he said, shaking hands. "Merry -Christmas, all!" - -"Ought you to be out, my lad?" Edwin asked heartily. - -"Out? Yes. I'm as fit as a fiddle. And I've been ordered mild -exercise." He squared off gaily against George and hit the stout -adolescent in the chest. - -"What about all your parcels, Hilda?" Edwin enquired. - -"Oh! We'll call for them afterwards." - -"Afterwards?" - -"Yes. Come along--before you catch a chill." She winked openly at -Ingpen, who returned the wink. "Come along, dear. It's not far. We -have to walk across the fields." - -"Put her up, sir?" the stableman demanded of Edwin. - -"Yes. And give her a bit of a rub down," he replied absently, -remembering various references of Hilda's to a surprise. His heart -misgave him. Ingpen and Hilda looked like plotters, very intimate and -mischievous. He had a notion that living with a woman was comparable to -living with a volcano--you never knew when a dangerous eruption might -not occur. - -Within three minutes the first and minor catastrophe had occurred. - -"Bit sticky, this field path of yours," said Edwin, uneasily. - -They were all four slithering about in brown clay under a ragged hedge -in which a few red berries glowed. - -"It was as hard as iron the day before yesterday," said Hilda. - -"Oh! So you were here the day before yesterday, were you? ... What's -that house there?" Edwin turned to Ingpen. - -"He's guessed it in one!" Ingpen murmured, and then went off into his -characteristic crescendo laugh. - -The upper part of a late eighteenth-century house, squat and square, -with yellow walls, black uncurtained windows, high slim chimney, and a -blue slate roof, showed like a gigantic and mysterious fruit in a clump -of variegated trees, some of which were evergreen. - -"Ladderedge Hall, my boy," said Ingpen. "Seat of the Beechinors for -about a hundred years." - -"'Seat', eh!" Edwin murmured sarcastically. - -"It's been empty for two years," remarked Hilda brightly. "So we -thought we'd have a look at it." - -And Edwin said to himself that he had divined all along what the -surprise was. It was astounding that a man could pass with such -rapidity as Edwin from vivid joy to black and desolate gloom. She well -knew that the idea of living in the country was extremely repugnant to -him, and that nothing would ever induce him to consent to it. And yet -she must needs lay this trap for him, prepare this infantile surprise, -and thereby spoil his Christmas, she who a few moments earlier had been -the embodiment of surrender in his arms! He said no word. He hummed a -few notes and glanced airily to right and left with an effort after -unconcern. The presence of Ingpen and the boy, and the fact of -Christmas, forbade him to speak freely. He could not suddenly stop and -drive his stick into the earth and say savagely: - -"Now listen to me! Once for all, I won't have this country house idea! -So let it be understood,--if you want a row, you know how to get it." - -The appearance of amity--and the more high-spirited the better--must be -kept up throughout the day. Nevertheless in his heart he challenged -Hilda desperately. All her good qualities became insignificant, all his -benevolent estimates of her seemed ridiculous. She was the impossible -woman. He saw a tremendous vista of unpleasantness, for her obstinacy -in warfare was known to him, together with her perfect lack of scruple, -of commonsense, and of social decency. He had made her a present of a -horse and trap--solely to please her--and this was his reward! The more -rope you gave these creatures, the more they wanted! But he would give -no more rope. Compromise was at an end. The battle would be joined that -night.... In his grim and resolute dejection there was something almost -voluptuous. He continued to glance airily about, and at intervals to -hum a few notes. - -Over a stile they dropped into a rutty side-road, and opposite was the -worn iron gate of Ladderedge Hall, with a house-agent's board on it. A -short curved gravel drive, filmed with green, led to the front-door of -the house. In front were a lawn and a flower-garden, beyond a paddock, -and behind a vegetable garden and a glimpse of stabling; a compact -property! Ingpen drew a great key from his pocket. The plotters were -all prepared; they took their victim for a simpleton, a ninny, a lamb! - -In the damp echoing interior Edwin gazed without seeing, and heard as in -a dream without listening. This was the hall, this the dining-room, this -the drawing-room, this the morning-room.... White marble mantelpieces, -pre-historic grates, wall-paper hanging in strips, cobwebs, uneven -floors, scaly ceilings, the invisible vapour of human memories! This -was the kitchen, enormous; then the larder, enormous, and the scullery -still more enormous (with a pump-handle flanking the slopstone)! No -water. No gas. And what was this room opening out of the kitchen? Oh! -That must be the servants' hall.... Servants' hall indeed! Imagine -Edwin Clayhanger living in a "Hall," with a servants' hall therein! -Snobbishness unthinkable! He would not be able to look his friends in -the face.... On the first floor, endless bedrooms, but no bath-room. -Here, though, was a small bedroom that would make a splendid -bath-room.... Ingpen, the ever expert, conceived a tank-room in the -roof, and traced routes for plumbers' pipes. George, excited, and -comprehending that he must conduct himself as behoved an architect, ran -up to the attic floor to study on the spot the problem of the tank-room, -and Ingpen followed. Edwin stared out of a window at the prospect of -the Arcadian village lying a little below across the sloping fields. - -"Come along, Edwin," Hilda coaxed. - -Yes, she had pretended a deep concern for the welfare of the suffering -feckless bachelor, Tertius Ingpen. She had paid visit after visit in -order to watch over his convalescence. Choosing to ignore his scorn for -all her sex, she had grown more friendly with him than even Edwin had -ever been. Indeed by her sympathetic attentions she had made Edwin seem -callous in comparison. And all the time she had merely been pursuing a -private design--with what girlish deceitfulness. - -In the emptiness of the house the voices of Ingpen and George echoed -from above down the second flight of stairs. - -"No good going to the attics," muttered Edwin, on the landing. - -Hilda, half cajoling, half fretful, protested: - -"Now, Edwin, don't be disagreeable." - -He followed her on high, martyrised. The front wall of the house rose -nearly to the top of the attic windows, screening and darkening them. - -"Cheerful view!" Edwin growled. - -He heard Ingpen saying that the place could be had on a repairing lease -for sixty-five pounds a year, and that perhaps £1,200 would buy it. -Dirt cheap. - -"Ah!" Edwin murmured. "I know those repairing leases. £1,000 wouldn't -make this barn fit to live in." - -He knew that Ingpen and Hilda exchanged glances. - -"It's larger than Tavy Mansion," said Hilda. - -Tavy Mansion! There was the secret! Tavy Mansion was at the bottom of -her scheme. Alicia Hesketh had a fine house, and Hilda must have a -finer. She, Hilda, of all people, was a snob. He had long suspected it. - -He rejoined sharply: "Of course it isn't larger than Tavy Mansion! It -isn't as large." - -"Oh! Edwin. How can you say such things!" - -In the portico, as Ingpen was re-locking the door, the husband said -negligently, superiorly, cheerfully: - -"It's not so bad. I expect there's hundreds of places like this up and -down the country--going cheap." - -The walk back to the "Live and Let Live" was irked by constraint, -against which everyone fought nobly, smiling, laughing, making remarks -about cockrobins, the sky, the Christmas dinner. - -"So I hear it's settled you're going to London when you leave school, -kiddie," said Tertius Ingpen, to bridge over a fearful hiatus in the -prittle-prattle. - -George, so big now and so mannishly dressed as to be amused and not a -bit hurt by the appellation "kiddie," confirmed the statement in his -deepening voice. - -Edwin thought: - -"It's more than _I_ hear, anyway!" - -Hilda had told him that during the visit to London the project for -articling George to Johnnie Orgreave had been revived, but she had not -said that a decision had been taken. Though Edwin from careful pride -had not spoken freely--George being Hilda's affair and not his--he had -shown no enthusiasm. Johnnie Orgreave had sunk permanently in his -esteem--scarcely less so than Jimmie, whose conjugal eccentricities had -scandalised the Five Towns and were achieving the ruin of the Orgreave -practice; or than Tom, who was developing into a miser. Moreover, he -did not at all care for George going to London. Why should it be -thought necessary for George to go to London? The sagacious and -successful provincial in Edwin was darkly jealous of London, as a rival -superficial and brilliant. And now he learnt from Ingpen that George's -destiny was fixed.... A matter of small importance, however! - -Did "they" seriously expect him to travel from Ladderedge Hall to his -works, and from his works to Ladderedge Hall every week-day of his life? -He laughed sardonically to himself. - -Out came the sun, which George greeted with a cheer. And Edwin, to his -own surprise, began to feel hungry. - - - - III - - -"I shan't take that house, you know," said Edwin, casually and yet -confidentially, in a pause which followed a long analysis, by Ingpen, of -Ingpen's sensations in hospital before he was out of danger. - -They sat on opposite sides of a splendid extravagant fire in Ingpen's -dining-room. - -Ingpen, sprawling in a shabby, uncomfortable easychair, and flushed with -the activity of digestion, raised his eyebrows, squinted down at the -cigarette between his lips, and answered impartially: - -"No. So I gather. Of course you must understand it was Hilda's plan to -go up there. I merely fell in with it,--simplest thing to do in these -cases!" - -"Certainly." - -Thus they both condescended to the feather-headed capricious woman, -dismissed her, and felt a marked access of sincere intimacy on a plane -of civilisation exclusively masculine. - -In the succeeding silence of satisfaction and relief could be heard -George, in the drawing-room above, practising again the piano part of a -Haydn violin sonata which he had very nervously tried over with Ingpen -while they were awaiting dinner. - -Ingpen said suddenly: - -"I say, old chap! Why have you never mentioned that you happened to -meet a certain person in my room at Hanbridge that night you went over -there for me?" He frowned. - -Edwin had a thrill, pleasurable and apprehensive, at the prospect of a -supreme confidence. - -"It was no earthly business of mine," he answered lightly. But his tone -conveyed: "You surely ought to be aware that my loyalty and my -discretion are complete." - -And Ingpen, replying to Edwin's tone, said with a simple directness that -flattered Edwin to the heart: - -"Naturally I knew I was quite safe in your hands.... I've reassured the -lady." Ingpen smiled slightly. - -Edwin was too proud to tell Ingpen that he had not said a word to Hilda, -and Ingpen was too proud to tell Edwin that he assumed as much. - -At that moment Hilda came into the room, murmuring a carol that some -children of Stockbrook had sung on the doorstep during dinner. - -"Don't be afraid--I'm not going to interrupt. I know you're in the -thick of it," said she archly, not guessing how exactly truthful she -was. - -Ingpen, keeping his presence of mind in the most admirable manner, -rejoined with irony: - -"You don't mean to say you've finished already explaining to Mrs. Dummer -how she ought to run my house for me!" - -"How soon do you mean to have this table cleared?" asked Hilda. - -The Christmas dinner, served by a raw girl in a large bluish-white -pinafore, temporarily hired to assist Mrs. Dummer the housekeeper, had -been a good one. Its only real fault was that it had had a little too -much the air of being a special and mighty effort; and although it owed -something to Hilda's parcels, Ingpen was justified in the -self-satisfaction which he did not quite conceal as a bachelor host. -But now, under Hilda's quizzing gaze, not merely the table but the room -and the house sank to the tenth-rate. The coarse imperfections of the -linen and the cutlery grew very apparent; the disorder of bottles and -glasses and cups recalled the refectory of an inferior club. And the -untidiness of the room, heaped with accumulations of newspapers, -magazines, documents, books, boxes and musical-instrument cases, loudly -accused the solitary despot whose daily caprices of arrangement were -perpetuated and rendered sacred by the ukase that nothing was to be -disturbed. Hilda's glinting eyes seemed to challenge each corner and -dark place to confess its shameful dirt, and the malicious poise of her -head mysteriously communicated the fact that in the past fortnight she -had spied out every sinister secret in the whole graceless, primitive -wigwam. - -"This table," retorted Ingpen bravely, "is going to be cleared when it -won't disturb me to have it cleared." - -"All right," said Hilda. "But Mrs. Dummer does want to get on with her -washing-up." - -"Look here, madam," Ingpen replied. "You're a little ray of sunshine, -and all that, and I'm the first to say so; but I'm not your husband." -He made a warning gesture. "Now don't say you'd be sorry for any woman -I was the husband of. Think of something more original." He burst out -laughing. - -Hilda went to the window and looked out at the fading day. - -"Please, I only popped in to say it's nearly a quarter to three, and -George and I will go down to the inn and bring the dog-cart up here. I -want a little walk. We shan't get home till dark as it is." - -"Oh! Chance it and stop for tea, and all will be forgiven." - -"Drive home in the dark? Not much!" Edwin murmured. - -"He's afraid of my driving," said Hilda. - -When Edwin and Ingpen were alone together once more, Ingpen's expression -changed back instantly to that which Hilda had disturbed, and Edwin's -impatience, which had uneasily simmered during the interruption, began -to boil. - -"Her husband's in a lunatic asylum, I may tell you," said Ingpen. - -"Whose?" - -"The young woman's in question." - -For Edwin, it was as if a door had opened in a wall and disclosed a vast -unsuspected garden of romance. - -"Really!" - -"Yes, my boy," Ingpen went on, quietly, with restraint, but not without -a naïve and healthy pride in the sudden display of the marvellous -garden. "And I didn't meet her at a concert, or on the Grand Canal, or -anything of that sort. I met her in a mill at Oldham while I was doing -my job. He was the boss of the mill; I walked into an office and he was -lying on the floor on the flat of his back, and she was wiping her feet -on his chest. He was saying in a very anxious tone: 'You aren't half -wiping them. Harder! Harder!' That was his little weakness, you see. -He happened to be convinced that he was a doormat. She had been hiding -the thing for weeks, coming with him to the works, and so on, to calm -him." Ingpen spoke more quickly and excitedly: "I never saw a more -awful thing in my life! I never saw a more awful thing in my life! And -coming across it suddenly, you see.... There was something absolutely -odious in him lying down like that, and her trying to soothe him in the -way he wanted. You should have seen the serious expression of his face, -simply bursting with anxiety for her to wipe her boots properly on him. -And her face when she caught sight of me. Oh! Dreadful! Dreadful!" -Ingpen paused, and then continued calmly: "Of course I soon tumbled to -it. For the matter of that, it didn't want much tumbling to. He went -raving mad the same afternoon. And he's been more or less raving mad -ever since." - -"What a ghastly business.... Any children?" - -"No, thank God!" Ingpen answered with fresh emotion. "But don't you -forget that she's still the wife of that lunatic, and he'll probably -live for ever. She's tied up to him just as if she was tied up to a -post. Those are our Divorce Laws! Isn't it appalling? Isn't it -inconceivable? Just think of the situation of that woman!" Ingpen -positively glared at Edwin in the intensity of his indignation. - -"Awful!" Edwin murmured. - -"Quite alone in the world, you know!" said Ingpen. "I'm hanged if I know -what she'd have done without me. She hadn't a friend--at any rate she -hadn't a friend with a grain of sense. Astonishing how solitary some -couples are! ... It aged her frightfully. She's much younger than she -looks. Happily there was a bit of money--enough in fact." - -Deeply as Edwin had been impressed by his romantic discovery of a woman -in Ingpen's room at Hanbridge, he was still more impressed by it now. -He saw the whole scene again, and saw it far more poetically. He accused -himself of blindness, and also of a certain harshness of attitude -towards the woman. He endowed her now with wondrous qualities. The -adventure, in its tragicalness and its clandestine tenderness, was -enchanting. How exquisite must be the relations between Ingpen and the -woman if without warning she could go to his lair at night and wait -confidently for his return! How divine the surprise for him, how ardent -the welcome! He envied Ingpen. And also he admired him, for Ingpen had -obviously conducted the affair with worthy expertise. And he had known -how to win devotion. - -With an air of impartiality Ingpen proceeded: - -"You wouldn't see her quite at her best, I'm afraid. She's very shy--and -naturally she'd be more shy than ever when you saw her. She's quite a -different woman when the shyness has worn off. The first two or three -times I met her I must say I didn't think she was anything more than a -nice well-meaning creature,--you know what I mean. But she's much more -than that. Can't play, but I believe she has a real feeling for music. -She has time for reading, and she does read. And she has a more -masculine understanding than nearly any other woman I've ever come -across." - -"You wait a bit!" thought Edwin. This simplicity on the part of a -notable man of the world pleased him and gave him a comfortable sense of -superiority. - -Aloud he responded sympathetically: - -"Good! ... Do I understand she's living in the Five Towns now?" - -"Yes," said Ingpen, after a hesitation. He spoke in a peculiar, -significant voice, carefully modest. The single monosyllable conveyed -to Edwin: "I cannot deny it. I was necessary to this woman, and in the -end she followed me!" - -Edwin was impressed anew by the full revelation of romance which had -concealed itself in the squalid dailiness of the Five Towns. - -"In fact," said Ingpen, "you never know your luck. If she'd been free I -might have been fool enough to get married." - -"Why do you say a thing like that?" - -"Because I think I should be a fool to marry." Ingpen tapping his front -teeth with his finger-nail, spoke reflectively, persuasively, and with -calm detachment. - -"Why?" asked Edwin, persuasively also, but nervously, as though the -spirit of adventure in the search for truth was pushing him to fatal -dangers. - -"Marriage isn't worth the price--for me, that is. I daresay I'm -peculiar." Ingpen said this quite seriously, prepared to consider -impartially the proposition that he was peculiar. "The fact is, my boy, -I think my freedom is worth a bit more than I could get out of any -marriage." - -"That's all very well," said Edwin, trying to speak with the same -dispassionate conviction as Ingpen, and scarcely succeeding. "But look -what you miss! Look how you live!" Almost involuntarily he glanced -with self-complacence round the unlovely, unseemly room, and his glance -seemed to penetrate ceilings and walls, and to discover and condemn the -whole charmless house from top to bottom. - -"Why? What's the matter with it?" Ingpen replied uneasily; a slight -flush came into his cheeks. "Nobody has a more comfortable bed or more -comfortable boots than I have. How many women can make coffee as good -as mine? No woman ever born can make first-class tea. I have all I -want." - -"No, you don't. And what's the good of talking about coffee, and tea, -and beds?" - -"Well, what else is there I want that I haven't got? If you mean fancy -cushions and draperies, no, thanks!" - -"You know what I mean all right.... And then 'freedom' as you say. -What do you mean by freedom?" - -"I don't specially mean," said Ingpen, tranquil and benevolent, "what I -may call physical freedom. I'd give that up. I like a certain amount -of untidiness, for instance, and I don't think an absence of dust is the -greatest thing in the world; but I wouldn't in the least mind giving all -that up. It wouldn't really matter to me. What I won't give up is my -intellectual freedom. Perhaps I mean intellectual honesty. I'd give up -even my intellectual freedom if I could be deprived of it fairly and -honestly. But I shouldn't be. There's almost no intellectual honesty in -marriage. There can't be. The entire affair is a series of compromises, -chiefly base on the part of the man. The alternative is absolute -subjection of the woman, which is offensive. No woman not absolutely a -slave ever hears the truth except in anger. You can't say the same -about men, and you know it. I'm not blaming; I'm stating. Even -assuming a married man gets a few advantages that I miss, they're all -purely physical----" - -"Oh no! Not at all." - -"My boy," Ingpen insisted, sitting up, and gazing earnestly at Edwin. -"Analyse them down, and they're all physical--all! And I tell you I -won't pay the price for them. I won't. I've no grievance against -women; I can enjoy being with women as much as anybody, but I won't--I -will not--live permanently on their level. That's why I say I might -have been fool enough to get married. It's quite simple." - -"Hm!" - -Edwin, although indubitably one of those who had committed the vast -folly of marriage, and therefore subject to Ingpen's indictment, felt -not the least constraint, nor any need to offer an individual defence. -Ingpen's demeanour seemed to have lifted the argument above the -personal. His assumption that Edwin could not be offended was -positively inspiring to Edwin. The fear of truth was exorcised. -Freedom of thought existed in that room in England. Edwin reflected: -"If he's right and I'm condemned accordingly,--well, I can't help it. -Facts are facts, and they're extremely interesting." - -He also reflected: - -"Why on earth can't Hilda and I discuss like that?" - -He did not know why, but he profoundly and sadly knew that such -discussion would be quite impossible with Hilda. - -The red-hot coals in the grate subsided together. - -"And I'll tell you another thing----" Ingpen commenced. - -He was stopped by the entrance of Mrs. Dummer, a fat woman, with an old -japanned tray. Mrs. Dummer came in like a desperate forlorn hope. Her -aged, grim, and yet somewhat hysterical face seemed to say: "I'm going -to clear this table and get on with my work, even if I die for it at the -hands of a brutal tyrant." Her gestures as she made a space for the -tray and set it down on the table were the formidable gestures of the -persecuted at bay. - -"Mrs. Dummer," said Ingpen, in a weak voice, leaning back in his chair, -"would you mind fetching me my tonic off my dressing-table? I've -forgotten it." - -"Bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Dummer. - -As she had hurried out, Ingpen winked placidly at Edwin in the room in -which the shadows were already falling. - -Nevertheless, when the dog-cart arrived at the front-door, Ingpen did -seem to show some signs of exhaustion. Hilda would not get down. She -sent word into the house by George that the departure must occur at -once. Ingpen went out with Edwin, plaintively teased Hilda about the -insufferable pride of those who sit in driving-seats, and took leave of -her with the most punctilious and chivalrous ceremonial, while Hilda -inscrutably smiling bent down to him with condescension from her perch. - -"I'll sit behind going home, I think," said Edwin. "George, you can sit -with your mother." - -"Tchik! Tchik!" Hilda signalled. - -The mare with a jerk started off down the misty and darkening road. - - - - IV - - -The second and major catastrophe occurred very soon after the arrival in -Trafalgar Road. It was three-quarters of an hour after sunset and the -street lamps were lighted. Unchpin, with gloomy fatalism, shivered -obscurely in the dark porch, waiting to drive the dog-cart down to the -stable. Hilda had requested his presence; it was she also who had got -him to bring the equipage up to the house in the morning. She had -implied, but not asserted, that to harness the mare and trot up to -Bleakridge was the work of a few minutes, and that a few minutes' light -labour could make no real difference to Unchpin's Christmas Day. Edwin, -descrying Unchpin in the porch, saw merely a defenceless man who had -been robbed of the most sacred holiday of the year in order to gratify -the selfish caprice of an overbearing woman. When asked how long he had -been in the porch, Unchpin firmly answered that he had been there since -three o'clock, the hour appointed by Mrs. Clayhanger. Edwin knew -nothing of this appointment, and in it he saw more evidence of Hilda's -thoughtless egotism. He perceived that he would be compelled to stop -her from using his employees as her private servants, and that the -prohibition would probably cause trouble. Hilda demanded curtly of -Unchpin why he had not waited in the warm kitchen, according to -instructions, instead of catching his death of cold in the porch. The -reply was that he had rung and knocked fifteen times without getting a -response. - -At this Hilda became angry, not only with Emmie, the defaulting servant, -but with the entire servant class and with the world. Emmie, the new -cook, and temporarily the sole resident servant, was to have gone to -Maggie's for her Christmas dinner, and to have returned at half past two -without fail in order to light the drawing-room fire and prepare for -tea-making. But, Maggie at the last moment having decided to go to -Clara's for the middle of the day, Emmie was told to go with her and be -as useful as she could at Mrs. Benbow's until a quarter past two. - -"I hope you've got your latch-key, Edwin," said Hilda threateningly, as -if ready to assume that with characteristic and inexcusable negligence -he had left his latch-key at home. - -"I have," he said drily, drawing the key from his pocket. - -"Oh!" she muttered, as if saying: "Well, after all, you're no better -than you ought to be." And took the key. - -While she opened the door, Edwin surreptitiously gave half a crown to -Unchpin, who was lighting the carriage-lamps. - -George, with the marvellous self-preserving instinct of a small animal -unprotected against irritated prowling monsters, had become invisible. - -The front-doorway yawned black like the portal of a tomb. The place was -a terrible negation of Christmas. Edwin felt for the radiator; it was -as cold to the touch as a dead hand. He lit the hall-lamp, and the -decorations of holly and mistletoe contrived by Hilda and George with -smiles and laughter on Christmas Eve stood revealed as the very symbol -of insincerity. Without taking off his hat and coat, he went into the -unlighted glacial drawing-room, where Hilda was kneeling at the grate -and striking matches. A fragment of newspaper blazed, and then the -flame expired. The fire was badly laid. - -"I'm sick of servants!" Hilda exclaimed with fury. "Sick! They're all -alike!" Her tone furiously blamed Edwin and everybody. - -And Edwin knew that the day was a pyramid of which this moment was the -dreadful apex. At intervals during the drive home Hilda had talked -confidentially to George of the wondrous things he and she could do if -they only resided in the country--things connected with flowers, -vegetables, cocks, hens, ducks, cows, rabbits, horses. She had sketched -out the life of a mistress of Ladderedge Hall, and she had sketched it -out for the benefit of the dull, hard man sitting behind. Her voice, so -persuasive and caressing to George, had been charged with all sorts of -accusations against the silent fellow whose back now and then collided -with hers. She had exasperated him. She had wilfully and deliberately -exasperated him.... Her treatment of Unchpin, her childish outburst -concerning servants, her acutely disagreeable demeanour, all combined -now to exhaust the poor remainder of Edwin's patience. Not one word had -been said about Ladderedge Hall, but Ladderedge Hall loomed always -between them. Deadly war was imminent. Let it come! He would prefer -war to a peace which meant for him nothing but insults and injustice. -He would welcome war. He turned brusquely and lit the chandelier. On -the table beneath it lay the writing-case that Hilda had given to -George, and the edition of Matthew Arnold that she had given to Edwin, -for a Christmas present. One of Edwin's Christmas presents to her, an -ermine stole, she was wearing round her neck. Tragic absurdities, these -false tokens of love.... There they were, both of them in full street -attire, she kneeling at the grate and he standing at the table, in the -dank drawing-room which now had no resemblance to a home. - -Edwin said with frigid and disdainful malevolence: - -"I wish you could control yourself, Hilda. The fact that a servant's a -bit late on Christmas Day is no reason for you to behave like a spoilt -child. You're offensive." - -His words, righteously and almost murderously resentful, seemed to -startle and frighten the very furniture, which had the air of waiting, -enchanted, for disaster. - -Hilda turned her head and glared at Edwin. She threw back her -shoulders, and her thick eyebrows seemed to meet in a passionate frown. - -"Yes," she said, with her clear, stinging articulation. "That's just -like you, that is! I lend my servant to your sister. She doesn't send -her back,--and it's my fault! I should have thought the Benbows twisted -you round their little finger enough, without you having to insult me -because of them. Goodness knows what tricks they didn't play to get -your Aunt's money--every penny of it! And now they make you do all the -work of the estate, for their benefit, and of course you do it like a -lamb! You can never spare a minute from the works for me, but you can -spare hours and hours for Auntie Hamps's estate and the Benbows! It's -always like that." She paused and spoke more thickly: "But I don't see -why you should insult me on the top of it!" - -Her features went awry. She sobbed. - -"You make me ill!" said Edwin savagely. - -He walked out of the room and pulled the door to. - -George was descending the stairs. - -"Where are you going to, uncle?" demanded George, as Edwin opened the -front-door. - -"I'm going down to see Auntie Maggie," Edwin answered, forcing himself -to speak very gently. "Tell your mother if she asks." The boy guessed -the situation. It was humiliating that he should guess it, and still -more humiliating to be compelled to make use of him in the fatal affair. - - - - V - - -He walked at a moderate pace down Trafalgar Road. He did not know where -he was going. Certainly he was not going to see Maggie. He had invented -the visit to Maggie instantly in answer to George's question, and he -could not understand why he had invented it. Maggie would be at -Clara's; and, in a misfortune, he would never go to Clara's; only when -he was successful and triumphant could he expose himself to the Benbows. - -The weather was damp and chill without rain. The chilliness was rather -tonic and agreeable to his body, and he felt quite warm, though on -getting down from the dog-cart a few minutes earlier he had been cold -almost to the point of numbness. He could not remember how, nor when, -the change had occurred. - -Every street lamp was the centre of a greenish-grey sphere, which -presaged rain as though the street-lamp were the moon. The pavements -were greasy with black slime, the road deep in lamp-reflecting mire -through which the tram-lines ran straight and gleaming. Far down the -slope a cage of light moving obscurely between the glittering avenue of -lamps indicated the steam-tram as it lifted towards the further hill -into the heart of the town. Where the lamps merged together and -vanished, but a little to the left, the illuminated dial of the clock in -the Town Hall tower glowed in the dark heavens. The street was -deserted; no _Signal_ boys, no ragged girls staring into sweet shops, no -artisans returning from work, no rattling carts, no vehicles of any kind -save the distant tram. All the little shops were shut; even the little -greengrocer's shop, which never closed, was shut now, and its customary -winter smell of oranges and apples withdrawn. The little inns, not yet -open, showed through their lettered plate windows one watching jet of -gas amid blue-and-red paper festoons and bunches of holly. The gloomy -fronts of nearly all the houses were pierced with oblongs of light on -which sometimes appeared transient shadows of human beings. A very few -other human beings, equally mysterious, passed furtive and baffling up -and down the slope. Melancholy, familiar, inexplicable, and -piteous--the melancholy of existence itself--rose like a vapour out of -the sodden ground, ennobling all the scene. The lofty disc of the Town -Hall clock solitary in the sky was somehow so heart-rending, and the -lives of the people both within and without the houses seemed to be so -woven of futility and sorrow, that the menace of eternity grew -intolerable. - -Edwin's brain throbbed and shook like an engine-house in which the -machinery was his violent thoughts. He no longer saw his marriage as a -chain of disconnected episodes; he saw it as a drama the true meaning of -which was at last revealed by the climax now upon him. He had had many -misgivings about it, and had put them away, and they all swept back -presenting themselves as a series of signs that pointed to inevitable -disaster. He had been blind, from wilfulness or cowardice. He now had -vision. He had arrived at honesty. He said to himself, as millions of -men and women have said to themselves, with awestruck calm: "My marriage -was a mistake." And he began to face the consequences of the admission. -He was not such a fool as to attach too much importance to the immediate -quarrel, nor even to the half-suppressed but supreme dissension -concerning a place of residence. He assumed, even, that the present -difficulties would somehow, with more or less satisfaction, be adjusted. -What, however, would not and could not be adjusted was the temperament -that produced them. Those difficulties, which had been preceded by -smaller difficulties, would be followed by greater. It was inevitable. -To hope otherwise would be weakly sentimental, as his optimism during -the vigil in Auntie Hamps's bedroom had been weakly sentimental. He -must face the truth: "She won't alter her ways--and I shan't stand -them." No matter what their relations might in future superficially -appear to be, their union was over. Or, if it was not actually over, it -soon would be over, for the forces to shatter it were uncontrollable and -increasing in strength. - -"Of course she can't help being herself!" he said impartially. "But -what's that got to do with me?" - -His indictment of his wife was terrific and not to be answered. She had -always been a queer girl. On the first night he ever saw her, she had -run after him into his father's garden, and stood with him in the -garden-porch that he had since done away with, and spoken to him in the -strangest manner. She was abnormal. The dismal and perilous adventure -with George Cannon could not have happened to a normal woman. She could -not see reason, and her sense of justice was non-existent. If she -wanted a thing she must have it. In reality she was a fierce and -unscrupulous egotist, incapable of understanding a point of view other -than her own. Imagine her bursting out like that about Auntie Hamps's -will! It showed how her mind ran. That Auntie Hamps had an absolute -right to dispose of her goods as she pleased; that there was a great -deal to be said for Auntie Hamps's arrangements; that in any case the -Benbows were not to blame; that jealousy was despicable and the mark of -a mean mind; that the only dignified course for himself was to execute -the trust imposed upon him without complaining,--these things were -obvious; but not to her! No human skill could ever induce her to grant -them. She did not argue,--she felt; and the disaster was that she did -not feel rightly.... Imagine her trying to influence Ingpen's -housekeeping, to worry the man,--she the guest and he the host! What -would she say if anybody played the same game on her?... - -She could not be moderate. She expected every consideration from -others, but she would yield none. She had desired a horse and trap. -She had received it. And how had she used the gift? She had used it in -defiance of the needs of the works. She had upset everybody and -everything, and assuredly Unchpin had a very legitimate grievance.... -She had said that she could not feel at home in her own house while the -house belonged to Maggie. Edwin had obediently bought the house,--and -now she wanted another house. She scorned her husband's convenience and -preferences, and she wanted a house that was preposterously -inaccessible. The satisfaction of her caprice for a dog-cart had not in -the slightest degree appeased her egotism. On the contrary it had -further excited her egotism and sharpened its aggressiveness. And by -what strange infantile paths had she gone about the enterprise of -shifting Edwin into the country! Not a frank word to Edwin of the house -she had found and decided upon! Silly rumours of a "surprise!" And she -had counted upon the presence of Ingpen to disarm Edwin and to tie his -hands. The conspiracy was simply childish. And because Edwin had at -once shown his distaste for her scheme, she had taken offence. Her -acrimony had gradually increased throughout the day, hiding for a time -under malicious silences and enigmatic demeanours, darting out in -remarks to third persons and drawing back, and at last displaying itself -openly, cruelly, monstrously. The injustice of it all passed belief. -There was no excuse for Hilda, and there never would be any excuse for -her. She was impossible; she would be still more impossible. He did -not make her responsible; he admitted that she was not responsible. But -at the same time, with a disdainful and cold resentment, he condemned -and hated her. - -He recalled Ingpen's: "I won't pay the price." - -"And I won't!" he said. "The end has come!" - -He envied Ingpen. - -And there flitted through his mind the dream of liberty--not the liberty -of ignorant youth, but liberty with experience and knowledge to use it. -Ravishing prospect! Marriage had advantages. But he could retain those -advantages in freedom. He knew what a home ought to be; he had the -instinct of the interior; he considered that he could keep house as well -as any woman, and better than most; he was not, in that respect, at all -like Ingpen, who suffered from his inability to produce and maintain -comfort.... He remembered Ingpen's historic habitual phrase about the -proper place for women,--"behind the veil." It was a phrase which -intensely annoyed women; but nevertheless how true! And Ingpen had put -it into practice. Ingpen, even in the banal Five Towns, had shown the -way.... He saw the existence of males, with its rationality and its -dependableness, its simplicity, its directness, its honesty, as -something ideal. And as he pictured such an existence--with or without -the romance of mysterious and interesting creatures ever modestly -waiting for attention behind the veil--further souvenirs of Hilda's -wilful naughtiness and injustice rushed into his mind by thousands; in -formulating to himself his indictment against her, he had overlooked -ninety per cent of them; they were endless, innumerable. He marshalled -them again and again, with the fiercest virulence, the most sombre -gloom, with sardonic, bitter pleasure. - -In the hollow where Trafalgar Road begins to be known as Duck Bank, he -turned to the left and, crossing the foot of Woodisun Bank, arrived at -one of the oldest quarters of the town, where St. Luke's Church stands -in its churchyard amid a triangle of little ancient houses. By the -light of a new and improved gas-lamp at the churchyard gates could be -seen the dark silhouette of the Norman tower and the occasional white -gleam of gravestones. - -One solitary couple, arm-in-arm, and bending slightly towards each -other, came sauntering in the mud past the historic National Schools -towards the illumination of the lamp. The man was a volunteer, with a -brilliant vermilion tunic, white belt, and black trousers; he wore his -hat jauntily and carried a diminutive cane; pride was his warm overcoat. -The girl was stout and short, with a heavily flowered hat and a dark -amorphous cloak; under her left arm she carried a parcel. They were -absorbed in themselves. Edwin discerned first the man's face, in which -was a gentle and harmless coxcombry, and then the girl's face, ecstatic, -upward-gazing, seeing absolutely naught but the youth.... It was Emmie's -face, as Edwin perceived after a momentary doubt due to his -unfamiliarity with the inhabitants of his own house. Emmie, so -impatiently and angrily awaited by her mistress, had lost her head about -a uniform. Emmie, whose place was in the kitchen among saucepans and -crockery, dish-clouts and brushes, had escaped into another realm, where -time is not. That she had no immediate intention of returning to her -kitchen was shown by the fact that she was moving deliberately in a -direction away from it. She was not pretty, for Hilda had perforce long -since ceased to insist upon physical charm in her servants. She was not -even young,--she was probably older than the adored soldier. But her -rapt ecstasy, her fearful bliss, made a marvellous sight, rendered -touching by the girl's coarse gawkiness. - -It seemed lamentable, pathetic, to Edwin that destiny should not permit -her to remain forever in that dream. "Can it be possible," he thought, -"that a creature capable of such surpassing emotion is compelled to cook -my bacon and black my boots?" - -The couple, wordless, strolled onwards, sticking close to the railings. -The churchyard was locked, but Emmie and the soldier were doing the best -they could to satisfy that instinct which in the Five Towns seems to -drive lovers to graves for their pleasure. The little houses cast here -and there a blind yellow eye on the silent and tranquil scene. Edwin -turned abruptly back into Woodisun Bank, feeling that he was a disturber -of the peace. - -Suddenly deciding to walk up to Hillport "for the sake of exercise," he -quickened his pace. After a mile and a half, when he had crossed the -railway at Shawport and was on the Hillport rise, and the Five Towns had -begun to spread out in a map behind him, he noticed that he was -perspiring. He very seldom perspired, and therefore he had the -conviction that the walk was "doing him good." He felt exhilarated, and -moved still faster. - -His mood was now changed. The spectacle of Emmie and the soldier had -thrown him violently out of resentment into wonder. His indignation was -somewhat exhausted, and though he tried again and again to flick it back -into full heat and activity, he could not. He kept thinking of the -moment in the morning when, standing ready to jump from the dog-cart, -his wife had said: "Catch me, both of you," and he recalled vividly the -sensation of her acquiescence, her momentary yielding--imperceptible yet -unforgettable--as he supported her strongly in his arms; and with this -memory was mingled the smell of velvet. Strange that a woman so harsh, -selfish and overbearing, could thus contradict her whole character in an -instant of surrender! Was she in that gesture confiding to him the -deepest secret? ... Rubbish! But now he no longer looked down on her -disdainfully. Honesty made him admit that it was puerile to affect -disdain of an individuality so powerful and so mysterious. If she was a -foe, she was at any rate a dangerous fighter, and not to be played with. -And yet she could be a trifle, a wisp of fragile flesh in his arms! - -He saw the beatific face of Emmie against the churchyard gates under the -lamp.... Why not humour Hilda? Why not let her plant their home -according to her caprice? ... Certainly not! Never would he do it! Why -should he? Time after time he angrily rejected the idea. Time after -time it returned. What did it matter to Hilda where she lived? And had -he not bought their present house solely in order to please her? The -first consideration in choosing a home ought to be and must be the -consideration of business convenience.... Yet, what did it matter to -him where his home was? (He remembered a phrase of Ingpen's: "I don't -live on that plane.") Could he not adapt himself? He dreamt of very -rapid transit between Ladderedge Hall and the works. Motor-cars had -just become lawful; but he had never happened to see one, though he had -heard of several in the district, or passing through. His imagination -could not rise so high as a motor-car. That he could ever use or -possess one did not even occur to him. He thought only of a -fast-trotting horse, and a trap with indiarubber tyres; himself the -driver; sometimes Hilda the driver.... An equipage to earn renown in -the district. "Clayhanger's trap,"--"He drives in from Ladderedge in -thirty-five minutes. The horse simply won't walk; doesn't know how to!" -And so on. He had heard such talk of others. Why should not others -hear it of him? ... Then, the pleasure, the mere pleasure--call it -sensual or what you like--of granting a caprice to the capricious -creature! If a thing afforded her joy, why not give it? ... To see her -in the rôle of mistress of a country-house, delicately horsey, excited -about charitable schemes, protecting the poor, working her will upon -gardeners and grooms, stamping her foot in the violence of her -resolution to have her own way, offering sugar to a horse, nursing a -sick dog! Amusing; Agreeable! ... And all that activity of hers a mere -dependence of his own! Flattering to his pride! ... He could afford it -easily, for he was richer even than his wife supposed. To let the -present house ought not to be difficult. To sell it advantageously -ought not to be impossible. In this connection, he thought, though not -seriously, of Tom Swetman, who had at last got himself engaged to one of -those Scandinavian women about whom he had been chaffed for years; Tom -would be wanting an abode, and probably a good one. - -He was carried away by his own dream. To realise that dream he had only -to yield, to nod negligently, to murmur with benevolent tolerance: "All -right. Do as you please." He would have nothing to withdraw, for he -had uttered no refusal. Not a word had passed between them as to -Ladderedge Hall since they had quitted it. He had merely said that he -did not like it,--"poured cold water on it" as the phrase was. True, -his demeanour had plainly intimated that he was still opposed in -principle to the entire project of living in the country; but a -demeanour need not be formally retracted; it could be negatived without -any humiliation.... - -No, he would never yield, though yielding seemed to open up a pleasant, -a delicious prospect. He could not yield. It would be wrong, and it -would be dangerous, to yield. Had he not already quite clearly argued -out with himself the whole position? And yet why not yield? ... He was -afraid as before a temptation. - -He re-crossed the railway, and crossed Fowlea Brook, a boundary, back -into the borough. The dark path lay parallel with the canal, but below -it. He had gone right through Hillport and round Hillport Marsh and -returned down the flank of the great ridge that protects the Five Towns -on the West. He could not recollect the details of the walk; he only -knew that he had done it all, that time and the miles had passed with -miraculous rapidity, and that his boots were very muddy. A change in -the consistency of the mud caused him to look up at the sky, which was -clearing and showed patches of faint stars. A frost had set in, despite -the rainy prophecy of street-lamps. In a few moments he had climbed the -short steep curving slope on to the canal-bridge. He was breathless and -very hot. - -He stopped and sat on the parapet. In his school-days he had crossed -this bridge twice a day on the journey to and from Oldcastle. Many -times he had lingered on it. But he had forgotten the little episodes -of his schooldays, which seemed now almost to belong to another -incarnation. He did, however, recall that as a boy he could not sit on -the parapet unless he vaulted up to it. He thought he must have been -ridiculously small and boyish. The lights of Bursley, Bleakridge, -Hanbridge and Cauldon hung round the eastern horizon in an arc. To the -north presided the clock of Bursley Town Hall, and to the south the -clock of Cauldon Church; but both were much too far off to be -deciphered. Below and around the Church clock the vague fires of -Cauldon Bar Ironworks played, and the tremendous respiration of the -blast-furnaces filled the evening. Beneath him gleamed the foul water -of the canal.... He trembled with the fever that precedes a supreme -decision. He trembled as though he was about to decide whether or not -he would throw himself into the canal. Should he accept the -country-house scheme? Ought he to accept it? The question was not -simply that of a place of residence,--it concerned all his life. - -He admitted that marriage must be a mutual accommodation. He was, and -always had been, ready to accommodate. But Hilda was unjust, -monstrously unjust. Of that he was definitely convinced.... Well, -perhaps not monstrously unjust, but very unjust. How could he excuse -such injustice as hers? He obviously could not excuse it.... On -previous occasions he had invented excuses for her conduct, but they -were not convincing excuses. They were compromises between his -intellectual honesty and his desire for peace. They were, at bottom, -sentimentalism. - -And then there flashed into his mind, complete, the great discovery of -all his career. It was banal; it was commonplace; it was what everyone -knew. Yet it was the great discovery of all his career. If Hilda had -not been unjust in the assertion of her own individuality, there could -be no merit in yielding to her. To yield to a just claim was not -meritorious, though to withstand it would be wicked. He was objecting -to injustice as a child objects to rain on a holiday. Injustice was a -tremendous actuality! It had to be faced and accepted. (He himself was -unjust. At any rate he intellectually conceived that he must be unjust, -though honestly he could remember no instance of injustice on his part.) -To reconcile oneself to injustice was the master achievement. He had -read it; he had been aware of it; but he had never really felt it till -that moment on the dark canal-bridge. He was awed, thrilled by the -realisation. He longed ardently to put it to the test. He did put it -to the test. He yielded on the canal-bridge. And in yielding, it -seemed to him that he was victorious. - -He thought confidently and joyously: - -"I'm not going to be beaten by Hilda! And I'm not going to be beaten by -marriage. Dashed if I am! A nice thing if I had to admit that I wasn't -clever enough to be a husband!" - -He was happy, but somewhat timorously so. He had the sense to suspect -that his discovery would scarcely transform marriage into an everlasting -Eden, and that serious trouble would not improbably recur. "Marriage -keeps on all the time till you're dead!" he said to himself. But he -profoundly knew that he had advanced a stage, that he had acquired new -wisdom and new power, and that no danger in the future could equal the -danger that was past. - -He thought: - -"I know where I am!" - -It had taken him years to discover where he was. Why should the -discovery occur just then? He could only suppose that the cumulative -battering of experience had at length knocked a hole through his thick -head, and let saving wisdom in. The length of time necessary for the -operation depended upon the thickness of the head. Some heads were -impenetrable and their owners came necessarily to disaster. His head -was probably of an average thickness. - -When he got into Trafalgar Road, at the summit of Bleakridge, he -hesitated to enter his own house, on account of the acute social -difficulties that awaited him there, and passed it like a beggar who is -afraid. One by one he went by all the new little streets of cottages -with drawing-rooms--Millett Street, Wilcox Street, Paul Street, Oak -Street, Hulton Street,--and the two old little streets, already partly -changed--Manor Street and Higginbotham Street. Those mysterious -newcoming families from nowhere were driving him out--through the agency -of his wife! The Orgreaves had gone, and been succeeded by excellent -people with whom it was impossible to fraternise. There were rumours -that in view of Tom Swetnam's imminent defection the Swetnam household -might be broken up and the home abandoned. The Suttons, now that -Beatrice Sutton had left the district, talked seriously of going. Only -Dr. Sterling was left on that side of the road, and he stayed because he -must. The once exclusive Terraces on the other side were losing their -quality. Old Darius Clayhanger had risen out of the mass, but he was -fiercely exceptional. Now the whole mass seemed to be rising, under the -action of some strange leaven, and those few who by intelligence, by -manners, or by money counted themselves select were fleeing as from an -inundation. - -Edwin had not meant to join in the exodus. But he too would join it. -Destiny had seized him. Let him be as democratic in spirit as he would, -his fate was to be cut off from the democracy, with which, for the rest, -he had very little of speech or thought or emotion in common, but in -which, from an implacable sense of justice, he was religiously and -unchangeably determined to put his trust. - -He braced himself, and, mounting the steps of the porch, felt in his -pocket for his latchkey. It was not there. Hilda had taken it and not -returned it. She never did return it when she borrowed it, and probably -she never would. He had intended to slip quietly into the house, and -prepare if possible an astute opening to minimise the difficulty of the -scenes which must inevitably occur. For his dignity would need some -protection. In the matter of his dignity, he wished that he had not -said quite so certainly to Ingpen: "I shan't take that house." - -With every prim formality, Emmie answered his ring. She was wearing the -mask and the black frock and the white apron and cap of her vocation. -Not the slightest trace of the beatified woman in the flowered hat under -the lamp at the gates of the churchyard! No sign of a heart or of -passion or of ecstasy! Incredible creatures--they were all incredible! - -He thought, nervous: - -"I shall meet Hilda in half a second." - -George ran into the hall, wearing his new green shade over his eyes. - -"Here he is, mother!" cried George. "I say, nunks, Emmie brought up a -parcel for you from Uncle Albert, and Auntie Clara. Here it is. It -wasn't addressed outside, so I opened it." - -He indicated the hall-table, on which, in a bed of tissue paper and -brown paper, lay a dreadful flat ink-stand of blue glass and bronze, -with a card: "Best wishes to Edwin from Albert and Clara." - -George and Edwin gazed at each other with understanding. - -"Just my luck isn't it, sonny?" said Edwin. "It's worse than last -year's." - -"You poor dear!" said Hilda, appearing, all smiles and caressing -glances. She was in a pale grey dress. "Whatever shall you do with it? -You know you'll have to put it on view when they come up. Emmie----" to -the maid vanishing into the kitchen--"We'll have supper now." - -"Yes," said Edwin to himself, with light but sardonic tolerance. "Yes, -my lady. You're all smiles because you're bent on getting Ladderedge -Hall out of me. But you don't know what a near shave you've had of -getting something else." - -He was elated. The welcome of his familiar home was beautiful to him. -And the incalculable woman with a single gesture had most unexpectedly -annihilated the unpleasant past and its consequences. He could yield -upon the grand contention how and when he chose. He had his -acquiescence waiting like a delightful surprise for Hilda. As he looked -at her lovingly, with all her crimes of injustice thick upon her, he -clearly realised that he saw her as no other person saw her, and that -because it was so she in her entirety was indispensable to him. And -when he tried to argue impartially and aloofly with himself about rights -and wrongs, asinine reason was swamped by an entirely irrational and -wise joy in the simple fact of the criminal's existence. - - - - VI - - -In the early spring of 1897 there was an evening party at the -Clayhangers'. But it was not called a party; it was not even called a -reception. The theory of the affair was that Hilda had "just asked a -few people to come in, without any fuss." The inhabitants of the Five -Towns had, and still have, an aversion for every sort of formal -hospitality, or indeed for any hospitality other than the impulsive and -the haphazard. One or two fathers with forceful daughters agitated by -newly revealed appetites in themselves, might hire a board-schoolroom in -January, and give a dance at which sharp exercise and hot drinks alone -kept bodies warm in the icy atmosphere. Also musical and dramatic -societies and games clubs would have annual conversaziones and dances, -which however were enterprises of coöperation rather than of -hospitality. Beyond these semi-public entertainments there was almost -nothing, in the evening, save card-parties and the small regular -reunions of old friends who had foregathered on a certain night of the -week for whiskey or tea and gossip ever since the beginning of time, and -would continue to do so till some coffin or other was ordered. Every -prearranged assemblage comprising more than two persons beyond the -family was a "function"--a term implying both contempt and respect for -ceremonial; and no function could be allowed to occur without an excuse -for it,--such as an anniversary. The notion of deliberately cultivating -human intercourse for its own sake would have been regarded as an -affectation approaching snobbishness. Hundreds of well-to-do and -socially unimpeachable citizens never gave or received an invitation to -a meal. The reason of all this was not meanness, for no community -outside America has more generous instincts than the Five Towns; it was -merely a primitive self-consciousness striving to conceal itself beneath -breezy disdain for those more highly developed manners which it read -about with industry and joy in the weekly papers, but which it lacked -the courage to imitate. - -The break-up of the Orgreave household had been a hard blow to the cult -of hospitality in Bleakridge. Lane End House in the old days was a -creative centre of hospitality; for the force of example, the desire to -emulate, and the necessity of paying in kind for what one has permitted -oneself to receive will make hosts of those who by their own initiative -would never have sent out an invitation. When the Orgreaves vanished, -sundry persons in Bleakridge were discouraged,--and particularly Edwin -and Hilda, whose musical evenings had never recovered from the effect of -the circumstances of the first one. They entertained only by fits and -starts, when Hilda happened to remember that she held a high position in -the suburb. Hilda was handicapped by the fact that she could not easily -strike up friendships with other women. She had had one friend, and -after Janet's departure she had fully confided in no woman. Moreover it -was only at intervals that Hilda felt the need of companionship. Her -present party was due chiefly to what Edwin in his more bitter moods -would have called snobbishness,--to-wit, partly a sudden resolve not to -be outshone by the Swetnams, who in recent years, as the younger -generation of the family grew up, had beyond doubt increased their -ascendancy; and partly the desire to render memorable the last months of -her residence in Bleakridge. - -The list of Hilda's guests, and the names absent from it, gave an -indication of the trend of social history. The Benbows were not asked; -the relations of the two families remained as friendly as ever they -were, but the real breach between them, caused by profound differences -of taste and intelligence, was now complete. Maggie would have been -asked, had she not refused in advance, from a motive of shyness. In all -essential respects Maggie had been annexed by Clara and Albert. She had -given up Auntie Hamps's house (of which the furniture had been either -appropriated or sold) and gone to live with the Benbows as a working -aunt,--this in spite of Albert's default in the matter of interest; she -forewent her rights, slept in a small room with Amy, paid a share of the -household expenses, and did the work of a nursemaid and servant -combined--simply because she was Maggie. She might, had she chosen, -have lived in magnificence with the Clayhangers, but she would not face -the intellectual and social strain of doing so. Jim Orgreave was not -invited; briefly he had become impossible, though he was still -well-dressed. More strange--Tom Orgreave and his wife had only been -invited after some discussion, and had declined! Tom was growing -extraordinarily secretive, solitary, and mysterious. It was reported -that Mrs. Tom had neither servant nor nursemaid, and that she dared not -ask her husband for money to buy clothes. Yet Edwin and Tom when they -met in the street always stopped for a talk, generally about books. -Daisy Marrion, who said openly that Tom and Mrs. Tom were a huge -disappointment to everybody, was invited and she accepted. Janet -Orgreave had arrived in Bursley on a visit to the Clayhangers on the -very day of the party. The Cheswardines were asked, mainly on account -of Stephen, whose bluff, utterly unintellectual, profound good-nature, -and whose adoration of his wife, were gradually endearing him to the -perceptive. Mr. and Mrs. Fearns were requested to bring their daughter -Annunciata, now almost marriageable, and also Mademoiselle Renée -Souchon, the French governess, newly arrived in the district, of the -Fearns younger children. Folks hinted their astonishment that Alma -Fearns should have been imprudent enough to put so exotic a woman under -the same roof with her husband. Ingpen needed no invitation; nothing -could occur at the Clayhangers' without him. Doctor Stirling was the -other mature bachelor. Finally in the catalogue were four Swetnams, the -vigorous and acute Sarah (who was a mere acquaintance), aged -twenty-five, Tom Swetnam, and two younger brothers. Tom had to bring -with him the prime excuse for the party,--namely, Miss Manna Höst of -Copenhagen, to whom Hilda intended to show that the Swetnams were not -the only people on earth. There were thus eight women, eight men (who -had put on evening dress out of respect for the foreigner), and George. - -At eleven o'clock, when the musical part of the entertainment was over, -Miss Höst had already fully secured for herself the position which later -she was to hold as the wife of Tom Swetnam. Bleakridge had been asked -to meet her and inspect her, and the opinion of Bleakridge was soon -formed that Copenhagen must be a wondrous and a romantic place and that -Tom Swetnam knew his way about. In the earliest years when the tourist -agencies first discovered the advertising value of the phrase "Land of -the Midnight Sun," Tom the adventurous had made the Scandinavian round -trip, and each subsequent Summer he had gone off again in the same -direction. The serpents of the Hanbridge and the Bursley Conservative -clubs, and of the bar of the Five Towns Hotel, had wagered that there -was a woman at the bottom of it. There was. He had met her at -Marienlyst, the watering-place near Helsingor (called by the tourist -agencies Elsinore). Manna Höst was twenty-three, tall and athletically -slim, and more blonde than any girl ever before seen in the Five Towns. -She had golden hair and she wore white. It was understood that she -spoke Danish, Swedish and Norwegian. She talked French with facility to -Renée Souchon. And Tom said that her knowledge of German surpassed her -knowledge of either French or English. She spoke English excellently, -with a quaint, endearing accent, but with correctness. Sometimes she -would use an idiom (picked up from the Swetnam boys), exquisitely -unaware that it was not quite suited to the lips of a young woman in a -strange drawing-room; her innocence, however, purified it. - -She sang classical songs in German, with dramatic force, and she could -play accompaniments. She was thoroughly familiar with all the music -haltingly performed by Ingpen, Janet, Annunciata, and young George. -Ingpen was very seriously interested in her views thereon. She knew -about the French authors from whose works Renée Souchon chose her -recitations. And standing up at the buffet table in the dining-room, she -had fabricated astounding sandwiches in the Danish style. She stated -that Danish cooks reckoned ninety-three sorts of sandwiches. She said -in her light, eager voice, apropos of cooking: "There is one thing I -cannot understand. I cannot understand why you English throw your -potatoes to melt in cold water for an hour before you boil them." "Nor -I!" interjected Renée Souchon. No other woman standing round the table -had ever conceived the propriety of boiling potatoes without first -soaking them in cold water, and Manna was requested to explain. -"Because," she said, "it--it lets go the salts of potassium which are so -necessary for the pheesical deve*lop*ment of the body." Whereupon -Tertius Ingpen had been taken by one of his long _crescendo_ laughs, a -laugh that ended by his being bent nearly double below the level of the -table. Everybody was much impressed, and Ingpen himself not the least. -Ingpen wondered what a girl so complex could see in a man like Tom -Swetnam, who, although he could talk about the arts, had no real feeling -for any of them. - -But what impressed the company even more than Miss Höst's -accomplishments was the candid fervour of her comprehensive interest in -life, which was absolutely without self-consciousness or fear. She -talked with the same disarming ingenuous eager directness to hard-faced -Charles Fearns, the secret rake; to his wife, the ageing and sweetly-sad -mother of a family; to Renée Souchon, who despite her plainness and her -rumoured bigotry seemed to attract all the men in the room by something -provocative in her eye and the carriage of her hips; to the simple and -powerful Stephen Cheswardine; to Vera, the delicious and elegant cat; to -Doctor Stirling with his Scotch mysticism, and to Tertius Ingpen the -connoisseur and avowed bachelor. She spoke to Hilda, Janet and Daisy -Marrion as one member of a secret sisterhood to other members, to -Annunciata as a young girl, and to George as an initiated sister. She -left them to turn to Edwin with a trustful glance as to one whose -special reliability she had divined from the first. "Have a liqueur, -Miss Höst," Edwin enjoined her. In a moment she was sipping Chartreuse. -"I love it!" she murmured. - -But somehow beneath all such freedoms and frankness she did not cease to -be a maiden with reserves of mystery. Her assumption that nobody could -misinterpret her demeanour was remarkable to the English observers, and -far more so to Renée Souchon. All gazed at her piquant blonde face, -scarcely pretty, with its ardent restless eyes, and felt the startling -compliment of her quick, searching sympathy. And she, tinglingly aware -of her success, proved easily equal to the ordeal of it. Only at rare -intervals did she give a look at the betrothed, as if for confirmation -of her security. As for Tom, he was positively somewhat unnerved by the -brilliance of the performance. He left her alone, without guidance, as -a ring-master who should stand aside during a turn and say: "See this -marvel! I am no longer necessary." When people glanced at him after -one of her effects, he would glance modestly away, striving to hide from -them his illusion that he himself had created the bewitching girl. At -half past eleven, when the entire assemblage passed into the -drawing-room, she dropped on to the piano-stool and began a Waldteufel -waltz with irresistible seductiveness. - -Hilda's heart leaped. In a minute the carpet was up, and the night, -which all had supposed to be at an end, began. - -At nearly one o'clock in the morning the party was moving strongly by -its own acquired momentum and needed neither the invigoration nor the -guidance which hosts often are compelled to give. Hilda, having -finished a schottische with Dr. Stirling, missed Janet from the -drawing-room. Leaving the room in search of her, she saw Edwin with Tom -Swetnam and the glowing Manna at the top of the stairs. - -"Hello!" she called out. "What are you folks doing?" - -Manna's light laugh descended like a shower of crystals. - -"Just taking a constitutional," Edwin answered. - -Hilda waved to them in passing. She was extremely elated. Among other -agreeable incidents was the success of her new black lace frock. -Edwin's voice pleased her,--it was so calm, wise, and kind, and at the -same time mysteriously ironical. She occasionally admitted, at the -sound of that voice when Edwin was in high spirits, that she had never -been able to explore completely the more withdrawn arcana of his nature. -He had behaved with perfection that evening. She admitted that he was -the basis of the evening, that without him she could never have such -triumphs. It was strange that a man by spending so many hours per day -at a works could create the complicated ease and luxury of a home. She -perceived how steadily and surely he had progressed since their -marriage, and how his cautiousness always justified itself, and how he -had done all that he had said he would do. And she had a vision of that -same miraculous creative force of his at work, by her volition, in the -near future upon Ladderedge Hall. Her mood became a strange compound of -humility before him and of self-confident pride in her own power to -influence him. - -In the boudoir Janet was reclining in the sole easy chair. Dressed in -grey (she had abandoned white), she was as slim as ever, and did not -look her age. With face flushed, eyes glinting under drooping lids, and -bosom heaving rather quickly, she might have passed in the half-light -for a young married woman still under the excitement of matrimony, -instead of a virgin of forty. - -"I was so done up I had to come and hide myself!" she murmured in a -dreamy tone. - -"Well, of course you've had the journey to-day and everything..." - -"I never did come across such a dancer as Charles Fearns!" Janet went -on. - -"Yes," said Hilda, standing with her back to the fire, with one hand on -the mantelpiece. "He's a great dancer--or at least he makes you think -so. But I'm sure he's a bad man." - -"Yes, I suppose he is!" Janet agreed with a sigh. - -Neither of the women spoke for a moment, and each looked away. - -Through the closed door came the muffled sound of the piano, played by -Annunciata. No melody was distinguishable,--only the percussion of the -bass chords beating out the time of a new mazurka. It was as if the -whole house faintly but passionately pulsed in the fever of the dance. - -"I see you've got a Rossetti," said Janet at last, fingering a blue -volume that lay on the desk. - -"Edwin gave it me," Hilda replied. "He's gradually giving me all my -private poets. But somehow I haven't been able to read much lately. I -expect it's the idea of moving into the country that makes me restless." - -"But is it settled, all that?" - -"Of course it's settled, my dear. I'm determined to take him away--" -Hilda spoke of her husband as of a parcel or an intelligent bear on a -chain, as loving wives may--"right out of all this. I'm sure it will be -a good thing for him. He doesn't mind, really. He's promised me. Only -he wants to make sure of either selling or letting this house first. -He's always very cautious, Edwin is. He simply hates doing a thing -straight off." - -"Yes, he is rather that way inclined," said Janet. - -"I wanted him to take Ladderedge at once, even if we didn't move into -it. Anyhow we couldn't move into it immediately, because of the repairs -and things. They'll take a fine time, I know. We can get it for sixty -pounds a year. And what's sixty pounds more or less to Edwin? It's no -more than what the rent of this house would be. But no, he wouldn't! -He must see where he stands with this house before he does anything -else! You can't alter him, you know!" - -The door was cautiously pushed, and Ingpen entered. - -"So you're discussing her!" he said, low, with a satiric grin. - -"Discussing who?" Hilda sharply demanded. - -"You know." - -"Tertius," said Hilda, "you're worse than a woman." - -He giggled with delight. - -"I suppose you mean that to be very severe." - -"If you want to know, we were talking about Ladderedge." - -"So apologise!" added Janet, sitting up. - -Ingpen's face straightened, and he began to tap his teeth with his -thumb. - -"Curious! That's just what I came in about. I've been trying to get a -chance to tell you all the evening. There's somebody else after -Ladderedge, a man from Axe. He's been to look over it twice this week. -I thought I'd tip you the wink." - -Hilda stood erect, putting her shoulders back. - -"Have you told Edwin?" she asked very curtly. - -"Yes." - -"What did he say?" - -"He said it was only a dodge of the house-agent's to quicken things up." - -"And do you think it is?" - -"Well, I doubt it," Ingpen answered apprehensively. "That's why I wanted -to warn you--his lordship being what he is." - -Voices, including Edwin's, could be heard in the hall. - -"Here, I'm not going to be caught conspiring with you!" Ingpen -whispered. "It's more than my place is worth." And he departed. - -The voices receded, and Hilda noiselessly shut the door. Everything was -now changed for her by a tremendous revulsion. The beating of the -measure of the mazurka seemed horrible and maddening. Her thought was -directed upon Edwin with the cold fury of which only love is capable. -It was not his fault that some rival was nibbling at Ladderedge, but it -was his fault that Ladderedge should still be in peril. She saw all her -grandiose plan ruined. She felt sure that the rival was powerful and -determined, and that Edwin would let him win, either by failing to bid -against him, or by mere shilly-shallying. Ladderedge was not the only -suitable country residence in the county; there were doubtless many -others; but Ladderedge was just what she wanted, and--more important -with her--it had become a symbol. She had a misgiving that if they did -not get Ladderedge they would remain in Trafalgar Road, Bursley, for -ever and ever. Yet, angry and desperate though she was, she somehow did -not accuse and arraign Edwin--any more than she would have accused and -arraigned a climate. He was in fact the climate in which she lived. A -moment ago she had said: "You can't alter him!" But now all the energy -of her volition cried out that he must be altered. - -"My girl," she said, turning to Janet, "do you think you can stand a -scene to-morrow?" - -"A scene?" Janet repeated the word guardedly. The look on Hilda's face -somewhat alarmed her. - -"Between Edwin and me. I'm absolutely determined that we shall take -Ladderedge, and I don't care how much of a row we have over it." - -"It isn't as bad as all that?" Janet softly murmured, with her skill to -soothe. - -"Yes it is!" said Hilda violently. - -"I was wondering the other day, after one of your letters," Janet -proceeded gently, "why after all you were so anxious to go into the -country. I thought you wanted Edwin to be on the Town Council or -something of that kind. How can he do that if you're right away at a -place like Stockbrook?" - -"So I should like him to be on the Town Council! But all I really want -is to get him away from his business. You don't know, Janet!" she spoke -bitterly, and with emotion. "Nobody knows except me. He'll soon be the -slave of his business if he keeps on. Oh! I don't mean he stays at -nights at it. He scarcely ever does. But he's always thinking about it. -He simply can't bear being a minute late for it, everything must give -way to it,--he takes that as a matter of course, and that's what annoys -me, especially as there's no reason for it, seeing how much he trusts -Big James and Simpson. I believe he'd do anything for Big James. He'd -listen to Big James far sooner than he'd listen to me.... Disagreeable -fawning old man, and quite stupid. Simpson isn't so bad. I tell you -Edwin only looks on his home as a nice place to be quiet in when he -isn't at the works. I've never told him so, and I don't think he -suspects it, but I will tell him one of these days. He's very good, -Edwin is, in all the little things. He always tries to be just. But he -isn't just in the big thing. He's most frightfully unjust. I sometimes -wonder where he imagines I come in. Of course he'd do any mortal thing -for me--except spare half a minute from the works.... What do I care -about money? I don't care that much about money. When there's money I -can spend it, that's all. But I'd prefer to be poor, and him to be rude -and cross and impatient--which he scarcely ever is--than have this -feeling all the time that it's the works first, and everything else -second. I don't mind for myself--no, really I don't, at least very -little! But I do mind for him. I call it humiliating for a man to get -like that. It puts everything upside down. Look at Stephen -Cheswardine, for instance. There's a pretty specimen! And Edwin'll be -as bad as him soon." - -"But everyone says how fond Stephen is of his wife!" - -"And isn't Edwin fond of me? Stephen Cheswardine despises his -wife--only he can't do without her. That's all. And he treats her -accordingly. And I shall be the same." - -"Oh! Hilda!' - -"Yes, I shall. Yes, I shall. But I won't have it. I'd as lief be -married to a man like Charles Fearns. He isn't a slave to his business -anyhow. I shall get Edwin further away. And when I've got him away I -shall see he doesn't go to the works on Saturdays, too. I've quite made -up my mind about that. And if he isn't on the Town Council he can be on -the County Council--that's quite as good, I hope!" - -Never before had Hilda spoken so freely to anyone, not even to Janet. -Fierce pride had always kept her self-contained. But now she had no -feeling of shame at her outburst. Tears stood in her eyes--and yet she -faced Janet, making no effort to hide them. - -"My dear!" breathed the deprecating Janet, shocked out of her tepid -virginal calm by a revelation of conjugal misery such as had never been -vouchsafed to her. She was thinking: "How can the poor thing face her -guests after this? Everybody will see that something's happened--it -will be awful! She really ought to think of her position." - -There was a silence. - -The door opened with a sharp sound, and Hilda turned away her head as -from the suddenly visible mouth of a cannon. The music could be heard -plainly, and beneath it the dull shuffling of feet on the bare boards of -the drawing-room. Manna Höst came in radiant, followed by Edwin and Tom -Swetnam. - -"Well, Hilda," said Edwin, with a slight timid constraint. "I've got -rid of your house for you. Here are the deluded victims." - -"We have seen every corner of it, Mrs. Clayhanger," said Manna Höst, -enthusiastically. "It is lovely. But how can you wish to leave it? It -is so practical!" - -Perceiving the agitation of Hilda's face, Edwin added in a lower voice -to his wife: - -"I thought I wouldn't say anything until it was settled, for fear you -might be let in for a disappointment. He'll buy it if I leave fifteen -hundred on mortgage. So I shall. But of course he wanted her to have a -good look at it first." - -"How unfair I am!" thought Hilda, as she made some banal remark to Miss -Höst. "Don't I know I can always rely on him?" - -"Mr. Clayhanger made us promise not to----" Miss Höst began to explain. - -"It was just like him!" Hilda interrupted, smiling. - -She had a strong desire to jump at Edwin and kiss him. She was saved. -Her grandiose plan would proceed. The house sold, Edwin was bound to -secure Ladderedge Hall against no matter what rival; and he would do it. -But it was the realisation of her power over her husband that gave her -the profoundest joy. - -About an hour later, when everyone felt that the party was over, the -guests, reluctant to leave, and excited afresh by the news that the -house had changed hands during the revel, were all assembled in the -drawing-room. A few were seated on the chairs which, with the tables, -had been pushed against the walls. George had squatted on the carpet -rolled up into the hearth, where the fire was extinct; he was not -wearing his green shade. The rest were grouped around Manna Höst in the -middle of the room. - -Miss Höst, the future mistress of the abode, was now more than ever the -centre of regard. Apparently as fresh as at the start, and picking -delicately at a sweet biscuit, the flushed blonde stood answering -questions about her views on England and especially on the Five Towns. -She was quite sure of herself, and utterly charming in her confidence. -Annunciata Fearns envied her acutely. The other women were a little -saddened by the thought of all the disillusions that inevitably lay -before her. It was touching to see her glance at Tom Swetnam, convinced -that she understood him to the core, and in him all the psychology of -his sex. - -"Everybody knows," she was saying, "that the English are the finest -nation, and I think the Five Towns are much more English than London. -That's why I adore the Five Towns. You do not know how English you are -here. It makes me laugh because you are so English, and you do not know -it. I love you." - -"You're flattering us," said Stephen Cheswardine, enchanted with the -girl. - -Everybody waited in eager delight for her next words. Such tit-bits of -attention and laudation did not often fall to the district. It occurred -to people that after all the local self-conceit might not be entirely -unjustified. - -"Ah!" Manna pouted. "But you have spots!" - -"Spots!" repeated young Paul Swetnam, amid a general laugh. - -She turned to him: "You said there were no spots on Knype Football Club, -did you not? Well, there is a spot on you English. You are dreadfully -exasperating to us Danes. Oh, I mean it! You are exasperating because -you will not show your feelings!" - -"Tom, that must be one for you," said Charlie Fearns. - -"We're too proud," said Dr. Stirling. - -"No," replied Manna maliciously. "It is not pride. You are afraid to -show your feelings. It is because you are cowards--in that!" - -"We aren't!" cried Hilda, inspired. And yielding to the temptation -which had troubled her incessantly ever since she left the boudoir, she -put her arms round Edwin and kissed him. "So there!" - -"Loud applause!" said young George on the roll of carpet. He said it -kindly, but with a certain superiority, perhaps due to the facts that he -was wearing a man's "long trousers" for the first time that night, and -that he regarded himself as already almost a Londoner. There was some -handclapping. - -Edwin's eyes had seduced Hilda. Looking at them surreptitiously she had -suddenly recalled another of his tricks,--tricks of goodness. When she -had told him one evening that Minnie was prematurely the mother of a -girl, he had said: "Well, we'll put £130 in the savings bank for the -kid." "£130? Whatever are you talking about?" "£130. I received it -from America this very morning as ever is." And he showed her a draft -on Brown, Shipley & Co. He said 'from America.' He was too delicate to -say 'from George Cannon.' It had been a triumphant moment for him. And -now, as before them all Hilda held him to her, the delicious thought -that she had power over him, that she was shaping the large contours of -his existence, made her feel solemn in her bliss. And yet -simultaneously she was reflecting with a scarcely perceptible hardness: -"It's each for himself in marriage after all, and I've got my own way." -And then she noticed the whiteness of his shirt-front under her chin, -and that reminded her of his mania for arranging his linen according to -his own ideas in his own drawer, and the absurd tidiness of his linen; -and she wanted to laugh. - -"What a romance she has made of my life!" thought Edwin, confused and -blushing, as she loosed him. And though he looked round with affection -at the walls which would soon no longer be his, the greatness of the -adventure of existence with this creature, to him unique, and the -eternal expectation of some new ecstasy, left no room in his heart for a -regret. - -He caught sight of Ingpen alone in a corner by the piano, nervously -stroking his silky beard. The memory of the secret woman in Ingpen's -room came back to him. Without any process of reasoning, he felt very -sorry for both of them, and he was aware of a certain condescension in -himself towards Ingpen. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THESE TWAIN *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40483 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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