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diff --git a/42531.txt b/42531.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ca1875..0000000 --- a/42531.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9111 +0,0 @@ - THE HONEY-POT - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: The Honey-Pot -Author: Countess Barcynska -Release Date: April 14, 2013 [EBook #42531] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONEY-POT *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - -[Illustration: SHE PUT ALEXANDRIA INTO THE MOST COMFORTABLE OF HER -CHAIRS AND DREW ANOTHER CLOSE TO IT. PAGE 103.] - - - - - THE HONEY-POT - - - BY - THE COUNTESS BARCYNSKA - - Author of "The Little Mother Who - Sits at Home." - - - - NEW YORK - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - 681 FIFTH AVENUE - 1916 - - - - - Copyright, 1916 - BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - FIRST IMPRESSION, FEBRUARY 1916 - SECOND IMPRESSION, FEBRUARY 1916 - - - - -_I am a traveler in the great World-path; my garments are dirty and my -feet are bleeding with thorns. Where should I achieve flower-beauty, -the unsullied loveliness of a moment's life? The gift that I proudly -bring you is the heart of a woman. Here have all pains and joys -gathered, the hopes and fears and shames of a daughter of the dust; here -love springs up struggling toward immortal life. Herein lies an -imperfection which yet is noble and grand. If the flower service is -finished, my master, accept this as your servant for the days to come_. - ---Rabindranath Tagore. - - - - - THE HONEY-POT - - - - I - - -In her petticoat, barefooted, because the morning was sultry, Miss Maggy -Delamere plied a well-worn hare's foot to her cheeks with the sure touch -of an artist. Professionally speaking and adding a final "e" to the -term, that is what she was--chorus-lady by courtesy, showgirl in the -vernacular of the stage. On her small dressing-table were ranged a -number of pots and bottles, unguents and creams. A battered make-up box -containing remnants and ends of variously colored grease sticks flanked -a looking-glass of inadequate size and small reflective power. A beam -of sunlight striking across a corner of the table danced with minute -particles of dust from a powder-puff. - -The astonishing amount of vigor she put into the process of facial -adornment, the prodigality with which she used pigments and washes, were -characteristic of her temperament, all generosity and recklessness. -Paint and powder were a habit with her, not an exigency. No girl of -nineteen could have needed them less. Her complexion, well-nigh -flawless, bloomed beneath the unnecessary veneer. Not even a cracked -mirror could mitigate her good looks nor detract anything from her -vivacious expression. It reflected a speaking face even when the lips -were still. - -She was taking unusual pains with her appearance this morning. A card -stuck in the edge of the looking-glass provided the reason. - - - _Memo. from A. Stannard, Dramatic Agent._ - PALL MALL THEATRE. - _Voice Trial, June 22nd, 10.45 a. m._ - - -As everybody knows, the Pall Mall is the one London Theater of all -others to which ladies of the chorus most aspire. In Maggy's case that -aspiration was intensified by real want of an engagement. She had -recently succumbed to an attack of that childish complaint, measles, and -was more than usually hard-up. Her choice of garments was as limited as -her means, yet twice she changed her mind about one or another of them -before she was satisfied that she looked her best. Her efforts to that -end finished with the tacking of several sheets of tissue paper to the -inside of her skirt to give it the rustle of a silk lining. The -rustle--deceptive and effective as stage thunder--convincingly -accomplished, she felt ready to present herself before any stage-manager -in existence. - -If her mood was serene vanity had no part in it. Unlike the average -chorus-girl she was quite free from conceit of any kind. She was too -good-looking to be unaware of it, but she did not trade on her -appearance further than professional principles strictly allowed. She -asked no more of it than that it should bring her in from thirty -shillings to two pounds a week for honest work behind the footlights. -Commercialism with her ended there. She was all heart, but free from -illusions. Her mother had been on the stage before her. Always on the -stage herself since childhood, familiarized with its careless, -hand-to-mouth existence, its trials and its exuberances, she had become -worldly-wise at ten and a woman at fifteen. But the life did not -demoralize her. The bad example of a mother's frailty and intemperance -had been her safeguard. She had never lost her head or her heart. She -did not rate herself very high, but she rated men lower. Apart from -this she had no hidebound views about life or morality. Since her -mother's unlovely death she had lived alone and kept her end up somehow. -She had often been penniless, gone hungry and cold; but so did many of -the people among whom she moved. So long as she was not quite penniless -she never worried. Cigale-like she lived in the present. If she ever -suffered from fits of depression it was when she realized that she was -more than usually shabby and needy, a condition, however, which she -preferred to put up with rather than descend to the acquisitive methods -of other girls. - -Through the rattle of the traffic in the street below she heard a church -clock booming. Incidentally, she regarded churches less as places of -worship than timepieces of magnitude, convenient when you do not possess -a watch. She counted the strokes, ten of them, darted to the glass for -a last survey of herself, gave a touch to her hat, another to her -waistbelt, and pattered in her now stockinged feet to the top of the -stairs. - -"Shoes, please, Mrs. Bell!" she sang out. "You don't want me to be late, -do you?" - -"Coming this moment, Miss Delamere!" shouted an answering voice. - -Mrs. Bell lumbered up the stairs with the shoes in her hand--high-heeled -ones of the sort that only last a fortnight before losing shape. - -"I just stopped to give them an extry polish," she panted. - -Maggy took them from her and hurriedly put them on. While she buttoned -them her landlady went on her knees and gave them a final rub up with -her apron. She meant well. - -"You'll have luck to-day," she said, regaining her feet and surveying -her lodger with approval. "I should look out for the butcher's black cat -on my way, if I was you. Back to dinner, dear?" - -"I'll have a cut off whatever you've got, if I am," Maggy answered. - -"Mine's hot Canterbury lamb and onion sauce." - -"All right." - -Maggy ran downstairs, slammed the hall door behind her and walked down -the street into the main thoroughfare, looking for the green motor-bus -that would take her within a stone's throw of the Pall Mall Theater. In -a quarter of an hour she had reached that imposing edifice. Going in at -the stage door she descended a flight of stone steps, traversed a long -passage, and found herself upon the stage. - -Gray daylight filtered down from the skylight above the flies, just -enough for the business of the moment, no more. Across the unlit -footlights was a gloomy void, pierced by an occasional gleam from an -open door at the back of the pit or dress-circle, and relieved by the -lighter hue of serried rows of dust-sheets hanging over the seats and -balcony edges. - -Close to the footlights was a table occupied by the stage-manager and -one of his satellites. In the corner to their left an upright piano was -set askew with the conductor of the orchestra seated at it. At the back -of the stage, standing about in groups, some thirty girls and a few men -were waiting to have their voices tried. - -They chattered noisily. Most of them seemed to know one another. One -or two called out a greeting to Maggy. Some were volubly discussing -their professional experiences, telling of late engagements and -prospective ones; the run of this piece, the closing down of that; -incidents on tour and in pantomime; suppers at restaurants and the -demerits of landladies. These topics ran into one another and -overlapped. Others, with giggles, imparted risky anecdotes in -undertones. Most of them appeared to be taking the situation with the -calmness of habit. Nervousness showed in a few faces; anxiety in one or -two. One pale-faced girl was in a condition of approaching maternity. -In other surroundings she would have attracted attention, perhaps called -up pathetic surprise that in the circumstances she should be attempting -to obtain employment. But here very few were affected by pathos at -sight of her, nor was she an object of much surprise. - -After Maggy had exchanged a word or two with those whom she knew she -took very little notice of the people about her. She stood apart, -humming a tune, and every now and again her feet broke into a subdued -dance step. But this state of abstraction did not last long. That she -was a creature of impulse showed in an abrupt change from it to close -attention of what was going on around her. Her fine eyes went alertly -over those present and came to rest on a girl of about her own age whose -quiet manner and dress of severe black singled her out from the rest. -She was tall and slight, very much in the style of the women in -Shepperson's drawings. Her small features and graceful figure gave her -a distinguished appearance. She looked what she was, a lady, and a -stranger to her surroundings. She held a roll of music and glanced -nervously about her until she became aware of Maggy's smiling regard. -It seemed to encourage her. She returned the smile and advanced. - -"At which end will they begin?" she asked nervously, making it clear -that she was an amateur. - -"Anywhere," replied Maggy with friendly cheerfulness. "You're not a -pro.?" - -"No." - -"I thought not. I shouldn't let on if I were you. Managers fight shy -of beginners. First thing they'll ask you at the table is what -experience you've had. Haven't you been on the stage at all before?" - -"No, I've never appeared in public. I'm new to it all." - -"Been looking for a shop--an engagement--long?" - -"For five weeks. Ever since I came to London." - -The girl in black could not hide the note of disappointment that came -into her voice. Maggy gave her an encouraging tap on the arm. - -"Five weeks!" she scoffed. "That's nothing. Lots of us are out for -months. You'll know that if you ever hit real bad luck." - -"I can't wait months." - -"Hard up?" Maggy asked with quick understanding. - -"I shall be soon." - -"Same here. Tell me, where are you living? You're different to the -crowd. I like you." - -The girl in black hesitated and got a little red. - -"I'm not living anywhere at present," she confessed. "I was in a -boarding-house until to-day. I had to leave. I shall have to find rooms -before night. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me where to look?" - -They had moved away from those nearest them. Each felt attracted to the -other without knowing why. - -"Did they keep your box?" - -"No. Why should they?" - -"I thought you meant you couldn't pay." - -"No, it wasn't that. But I can't go back. A man came into my room last -night--one of the men staying there. I rang the bell and called the -landlady. I don't understand why, but she blamed me and was very -offensive. I didn't go to bed again. I sat up, waiting for the -morning." - -"The beast!" - -The cheery look left Maggy's face, giving place to one of deep -resentment. "The man, I mean," she said, "though I've no doubt the -woman was just as bad. There are houses like that. Fancy you not -knowing it. I should have ... Here, they're going to begin. Keep by -me. I'll see you through." - -The stage-manager rapped on the table. - -"Silence, please! We'll commence now." - -An immediate hush followed. The groups broke up, spreading across the -stage, facing the footlights. Such indifference to the occasion as many -of them had hitherto evinced was gone now. They were there to be -engaged. Even the most self-assured became serious, made so by the -competitive equation. Only twelve girls and three men were wanted to -complete the ranks of the chorus, and here were nearly forty applicants -for the vacancies. - -"Come on, come on. Who's first? You with the boa," proceeded the -stage-manager. "What's your song?" - -The girl indicated handed her music to the pianist. He rattled off the -prelude without the waste of a moment. The girl sang a few bars, and -was interrupted by: "That'll do. Next!" - -Nothing more was said or asked. The girl took her sheet of music, and -effaced herself. With equal celerity the next dozen were disposed of. -Not more than one out of four was called to the table for her or his -name to be recorded. All the while the singing was going on the -stage-manager kept up a running fire of remarks at the expense of the -singer. Generally they were merely sarcastic; some were rude. - -The girl in black kept close to Maggy who looked on unperturbed, now and -then jerking out a subdued comment on the proceedings, partly to -herself, partly for the information of her companion. - -"Now it's Dickson, poor kid! Look at the state she's in. Silly of her -to come. Powell won't let her open her mouth.... There you are! Off -she goes. She's crying. The brute! He needn't have _said_ it! ... -That's Mortimer. She'll get taken on.... Knew it at once. Down goes her -name--address 'Makehaste Mansions!' Don't they get through us quick? -We're not human beings, only voices and figures. My turn!" - -She walked confidently down to the table, ignoring the piano. - -"Where's your song?" inquired the stage-manager. - -"Won't you take my voice on trust, Mr. Powell?" was her jaunty reply. -"It's like a bird's." - -"Nightingale, I suppose?" he jeered. - -"No, bird of Paradise. Aren't I good enough to look at?" - -After a momentary hesitation, during which he appraised her face and -figure, he said: - -"Got a photo of yourself in fleshings?" - -"Not here. Plenty at my agent's--Stannard's." - -"All right. Name, please. Next." - -The girl in black was next. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast as she -moved down. Had she to pitch her voice to fill that gaping void across -the footlights? She shrank from singing to these blase-looking men who -gave the impression of damning before they heard. Then she saw that -Maggy was still standing by the table and nodding encouragingly to her. -It gave her heart. She handed her song to the pianist and commenced to -sing. - -"Louder, please," said some one. - -She sang louder and lost her nervousness. It was not so difficult to -fill that huge auditorium, after all. So far, she was the only one of -them that had been allowed to sing her song half through. - -"Shouldn't mind hearing the rest of that another day," said the -stage-manager, stopping her at last. "Not half bad, my dear. Name, -please." - -She gave her name, Alexandra Hersey. - -"What have you been in?" came the query. - -Before she could answer Maggy chimed in. - -"She was with me on tour in 'The Camera Girl.' No. 2 Company." - -"Address?" - -Again Maggy came to the rescue. - -"Put her down to mine. 109 Sidey Street. Then you'll remember us -both--p'r'aps!" - -She hooked her arm in Alexandra's and made for the wings. When they -were in the passage facing the stage-door she said: - -"I'll help you find rooms if you like. I've nothing to do. I say, you -can sing!" - -"If it hadn't been for you--" - -"Oh, rats!" - -"But it was awfully good of you," Alexandra maintained. "Is there a -room in the house where you live?" she asked, actuated by a strong -desire not to lose sight of her new acquaintance. - -"There's room in my room, that's all. I pay ten shillings a week. My -landlady charges fifteen for two in it. That would be seven-and-six -each. But"--she made a wry face--"you wouldn't like it. It's slummy. -There's a smell of fried fish and a beastly row half the night. Still, -you can have a look at it if you like." - -There was invitation in the tone. - -"I'd like to come," said Alexandra. - -"Right-O. Here's my motor car. The green one." She held up her hand -to a 'bus driver. "My chauffeur doesn't like stopping, except for -policemen." - -She gave Alexandra a push up and sprang on the footboard after her. -They climbed to the top, and were rattled and jerked in the direction of -the King's Cross Road. - - - - - II - - -One Hundred and Nine Sidey Street was not an attractive apartment house, -but it was cheap and respectable. Mrs. Bell, an "old pro" herself, by -reason of having, in some distant past, earned twelve shillings a week -as a "local girl" in pantomime, preferred the lesser lights of the stage -for tenants. She knew their ways, their freedom from "side," their -unexacting habits. When she could not secure them she took in -"respectable young men." At the present juncture the young men -predominated. Maggy Delamere was the sole representative of "the -professional" in her house. She occupied the third-floor front, and -owed three weeks' rent. - -She threw open the door for Alexandra to enter. It was the sort of room -that many a domestic servant would have considered inadequate. The only -compensating feature about it on this hot June day was that it had two -windows. Both stood open, and on the sill of each a pot of flowers, -mignonette in the one, sweet peas in the other, helped to create an -impression of freshness. This was strengthened by the paucity of its -furniture and the chilly look which an unrelieved expanse of linoleum -invariably gives. A single iron bedstead occupied one angle. A clean -but faded nightdress case, trimmed with crochet work, lay on the pillow. -This and the flowers in the windows were the only things that gave -evidence of the room being occupied by a young girl. - -Maggy made a comprehensive gesture with her hand. - -"The chorus lady at home!" she declaimed humorously. "Living in the lap -of luxury. There's her voluptuous couch, her Louis the what's-his-name -chest of drawers, her exquisite bric-a-bric washstand and--My dear, be -careful of the chair! It's a real antique, only three legs and a -swinger! Sit on the bed, it's safer. Pretty little place, isn't it? -We'll have lunch in a minute or two. Can you eat hot New Zealand -mutton? I told the old woman I'd have a cut off her joint to-day. I'll -just shout down to let her know there's two of us." - -After her voice had echoed down the three flights and been duly -answered, she came back and poured out water for her new friend to wash -her hands in. Common yellow soap was all she could offer for this -purpose. She was only able to afford the fancy variety and cheap -perfumes when she was in an engagement. She took off her hat while -Alexandra dried her hands and then, as they sat side by side on the bed, -she suddenly blurted out: - -"What the dickens makes you want to go in for the stage? Don't tell me -if you'd rather not." - -"There's no reason why I shouldn't," said Alexandra. "I've longed to -ever since I was quite small." - -"Goodness! And I've wanted to get off it ever since I can remember. -Not that I ever had the chance. I don't know how to do anything useful. -I suppose you got cracked about the stage, same as most girls, because -you didn't know anything about it. You belong to a swell family, I -suppose?" - -"No," was the smiling reply; "only Anglo-Indians." - -"What are they? Half-castes? You're fooling!" - -"English people who live or have lived in India. My father was in the -army." - -"What, an officer?" - -"Yes." - -Maggy was impressed. She had once met a Sergeant-Major, and, superior -being as she thought him, knew that his glory was reflected from the -commissioned ranks. - -"That's something to be proud of, anyway." - -Alexandra's people had been in the Army and Civil Service for -generations. It had not occurred to her to think of them unduly on this -account. She said as much. - -"Well," observed Maggy sententiously, "I should say your father and the -rest of your relations must be either dead or dreaming to let you go on -the stage." - -"Nearly all my near relations _are_ dead. I have an aunt and uncle--" - -"What does he do?" - -"He's a retired colonel. He--they wanted me to live with them." -Alexandra gave the information with a touch of reluctance. - -"Why didn't you?" - -To give a stranger adequate and convincing reasons why one prefers not -to live with uncongenial relations is not always easy. Alexandra put it -briefly. - -"We have nothing in common," she said. - -"And what do you think you have in common with this life and the people -you'll meet in it?" propounded Maggy. "If I were you I'd go back and -say: 'Nunky old dear, I've changed my mind. I'll come and live with you -and be your loving niece, amen.' Fancy! a retired -colonel--Anglo-Indian--and you think twice about it!" - -"Nothing would induce me to change my mind," said Alexandra with -decision. "There are three girls, and they find it a tight fit without -me. They're not rich.... When my mother died I had to do something. -Besides, I'm really ambitious to get on." - -Maggy snapped her fingers. - -"Oh, ambition! Do you know what the ambition of every chorus girl is? -It isn't to become a star-actress. That's clean beyond her. It's to -find a man who'll take her away from a room like this and treat her -decently." - -Alexandra found it difficult to reconcile such a statement with one so -beaming and joyous-looking as Maggy. - -"But you--you don't think like that?" she rejoined. - -"Sometimes I do. I've kept straight so far because I like being on my -own. I hate men, with their nasty thoughts and their prowling ways. But -I haven't met any that I liked. If I had, perhaps I shouldn't be here -now. If we get taken on at the Pall Mall it'll be nothing but men, men, -men. We shall get no peace." - -"You paint everything in such somber colors. There must be light as well -as shade." - -"There's a lot of limelight, if that's what you mean; but the shade's -all the darker for it. Oh, I can tell you the stage is a rotten place -if you've got no money or no friends or no chap at the back of you. I'm -not saying that for the sake of talking. It's good enough for any one -like me. But when I see a blind man crossing the road I always wish I -could make him see, and as I'm not God Almighty the only thing I can do -is to give him a hand. That's how I feel about you. The traffic's -dangerous enough when you've got eyes in your head, like I have. It's -all traffic on the stage. I suppose you think you'll be able to look -after yourself? Well, you wait and see. There'll be Mr. Johnnie at the -stage-door asking you to hop into his landaulette because the road's -slippery or some such nonsense. But what's the use of trying to -convince anybody? I can see I shan't put you off the stage.... I'll -help you to look for a room, unless--" Maggy's volubility checked for a -moment. "--unless you'd like to chum with me. I'm just what you see. -Nothing hidden up my sleeve; no drink and no boy." - -She saw Alexandra wince at her plain language, and watched her -anxiously. Hardly ever before had she sought the companionship of -another girl, nor could she quite understand the motive that was making -her do so now. - -Her extreme candor certainly had a startling effect on Alexandra. She -had never met any one so outspoken. But she put the right construction -on Maggy's frankness, recognized it as a manifestation of genuineness -and honesty, and succumbed to it as she had to the girl's fascinating -vivacity. She was altogether drawn towards her. Again, Maggy stood to -her as the personification of the new life she had elected to make her -own. - -Maggy was looking at her expectantly, looking and smiling. There was -something very compelling in her smile. - -"I'd like to chum," said Alexandra impulsively. - - - - - III - - -When Maggy spoke of the stage she generally meant the Pall Mall Theater. -Just now it was in her thoughts more than any other, perhaps because she -had met Alexandra there, but also because she was inclined to think that -Alexandra and she had made a favorable impression on its stage-manager. - -The Pall Mall, De Freyne, its lessee and manager, and the Pall Mall -chorus are a trinity known the world over. Productions at the Pall Mall -invariably enjoy success. Long runs prevail there. That was one of the -reasons why Maggy looked forward to an engagement at that theater. -Another was the pay, rather more than was obtainable elsewhere. In -other respects it offered her no advantages and some drawbacks. She -had, for instance no aspiration to become one of a chorus whose -unrivaled attractions marked it out as a sort of human _delicatessen_ -for the consumption of epicurean males. On the other hand, De Freyne -was indifferent to expense on the question of costume, and that had had -considerable weight with Maggy. Like any other pretty girl she reveled -in beautiful clothes, even though they should only be on loan to her for -an hour or two out of the twenty-four. On tour the dresses were often -effective enough at a distance, but either of inferior material or their -pristine freshness considerably depreciated by having seen previous -service in a London theater. That militated against the pleasure of -wearing them. At the Pall Mall everything would be new and the best -that money could buy. - -That De Freyne's object in dressing his chorus regardless of cost was a -licentious one, the desire to make his two-score of attractive-looking -girls still more attractive in the eyes of the _jeunesse doree_, who -filled his stalls, was no deterrent to Maggy on her own account. She -did think of it in regard to Alexandra. She wondered whether Alexandra -would be affected by the demoralizing influence of those beautiful -clothes which at the Pall Mall were fashioned to display a girl's -physical charms to the very limit of decency. It ended in her being -almost sorry that Alexandra's innocence and the callousness of an agent -should have sent her to the voice trial. - -How Alexandra was to make a good impression on the public by posturing -in the chorus was not explained to her. It was the expression of an -opinion which she could take or leave. In her innocence she made the -common error of imagining that the public chooses its plays, its novels, -its pictures, its music and its actors and actresses for itself. She -did not stop to think that there might be gradations in that public or -that the vast majority of it is deprived of selective taste by the -interested parties who cater for it. Generalizing by the noise the -public makes with its hands when it approves of anything, she argued -that everything it applauds must be good. The noise is there right -enough and the approval is genuine; but that has to be discounted by the -fact that the public has nothing better to approve of. For the -public--the crowd--is a led horse most of the time. It is enormously -manageable. It does what it is told and goes where it is taken. Its -taste has never been given a chance of becoming educated because of the -fare that has been forced upon it. Its purveyors feed it as injuriously -as an ignorant man will a horse. For the want of anything better the -horse will eat what is given it. So with the public. Obviously the -public never has anything to do with the choice of a play. Nobody has -except the man who buys it and puts it on the stage. - -Following the simile of the led horse and the proverb that, though you -may take it to the water you cannot make it drink, the public likewise -will once in a way evince the same sort of stubbornness. Then the play -that failed to "go down" is unostentatiously withdrawn, or the pretender -to histrionic laurels unable to obtain them will try his or her luck -again in another piece with another's money behind it. - -After all, it is but a question of credulity. Even Alexandra had to -conform to it. She was advised to apply for a place in the chorus and -she did so. With her necessarily vague ideas about the chorus she did -not think of it as anything very dreadful. It did not offer so good a -footing on the stage as she desired, that was all. She did not, for -instance, believe all the disparaging things Maggy said about the stage. -She appreciated that on the stage a girl might be unduly exposed to -temptation, but in her austerity that was no reason for yielding to it. -In her Arcadian purity she could not conceive of circumstances, however -degrading, having any adverse effect on herself. Nor could she credit -Maggy's insistent assertion that without money or influence an actress -must remain in the depths. She believed, as inexperience always does, -that talent is bound to be recognized sooner or later. The creed of the -chorus girl, unspoken, unwritten, was yet hers to learn. - -For ten days the two girls heard nothing from the Pall Mall Theater. It -was possible, if not probable, that they might not hear at all. -Meanwhile Maggy went about with Alexandra looking for an engagement in -some other direction. It was a matter of urgency to both of them to get -something to do. Maggy had been out of an engagement for two months. -She was in Mrs. Bell's debt, and she owed money to a doctor. Alexandra -was little better off. As the orphaned daughter of an officer she had a -pension of L40 a year so long as she remained unmarried. But with the -expense she had been put to in coming to town and in spite of the -strictest economy it was not enough to live on. - -She could not help being anxious about the future; more so than Maggy. -Maggy, though she chafed at them, was accustomed to bad times: Alexandra -had never struck them before. Hardly had she got over the illusion of -imagining that a small part in a London theater was obtainable than she -found herself in no request even for the chorus. It was terribly -disappointing. They were forever haunting stage-doors and the crowded -waiting rooms of theatrical agencies. For hours every day they wandered -about the Strand and its environs. - -But for the prospect of sheer want confronting them they would have been -quite happy. The bond that united them was based on mutual respect as -well as affection. Disappointment and privation only cemented it. In -these days when the stale breakfast egg was a comestible to be shared, -when anything better than canned food became a luxury, their friendship -remained free from any of the pettinesses which generally characterize -the intimacy of people living under conditions of hardship. - -The stoicism of a family of soldiers supported Alexandra. She had the -pride of race that refuses to surrender to misfortune. Her grit, -astonishing in one so delicately reared, surprised Maggy. She began to -look up to Alexandra as a being of a superior world in which the -virtues, being Anglo-Indian, were of a particularly high order. She had -a very nebulous conception of the meaning of the term. - -Just as Alexandra found it absorbing to listen to Maggy's stage talk, -even though it was humorously misogynistic, so nothing pleased Maggy so -much as to listen to Alexandra's narration of life in an Indian military -station. It sounded to her like a history of the high gods: a medley of -color, warmth and ease, good living and brass bands. She loved to hear -of parades and polo, of the troops of servants, the gymkhanas and -dances, all the social amusements and advantages of the sahib caste. -From habit, Alexandra would use native words when talking of these -things, and Maggy's unaccustomed brain never quite differentiated -between syce, hazari, maidan, ayah, chit, durzi, kitmagar, butti, -tikka-gari and such-like terms in common use with Anglo-Indians. But -they impressed her immensely. - -The amount of talk they got through in these early days of their -friendship was stupendous. It helped to relieve the harassing search -after employment and its invariable ill-success. - -One morning, three weeks after their first meeting, Maggy sprang out of -bed to gather up two letters which their landlady had pushed under the -door. On the flaps were inspiring words in red lettering. - -"Pall Mall Theater! Hooroo! One for each of us!" she cried, and danced -about in her nightdress. - -Alexandra, behind an improvised screen formed of a shawl over the towel -rail, was having her morning bath in a zinc tub of inadequate size. - -"Open mine," she called. "I'm wet." - -She waited anxiously. There came the sound of tearing paper and then -Maggy's voice, raised excitedly: - -"Pull that old shawl down, Lexie! If you don't practise on me you'll -die of shyness and no clothes at the Pall Mall. We're engaged! -Rehearsal Thursday. Eleven o'clock!" - - - - - IV - - -It was past one o'clock. For over two hours without a pause the chorus -had been going through their "business" in the new play with the -reiteration that exasperates the teacher and the taught. The girls had -relapsed into sulkiness, the stage-manager's temper was ruffled. Even -the pianist in the O.P. corner by the footlights felt the reaction. His -hands rested on the keys without energy. - -Powell, the stage-manager, faced the forty girls standing in a -semi-circle, three-deep. The majority of them were dressed in the -ultra-fashionable style of the moment, some very expensively, a few with -taste. The exceptions were Maggy and Alexandra. He knew they were all -tired and rebellious; but he was concerned only with their recalcitrant -feet. - -"Now then, girls. Once more." - -The pianist's hands came down heavily on the opening chords of a dance -movement. - -"La-la-la--da-di-dum--point! Step it out. Don't mince!" - -A tall girl, gorgeously arrayed, brought the dance to a stop by leaving -her position in the front row. - -"I'm not going to stick here all day," she announced defiantly. "I'm -lunching with my boy, and he won't wait." - -"Get back to your place, Miss Mortimer," snapped Powell. - -"Not me. I'm going." - -As she began to cross the stage on her way out a voice came from the -depths of the auditorium: - -"Miss Mortimer, we're not concerned with your private appointments. If -they're to interfere with your work here you can look for another -engagement somewhere else." - -The show-girl glanced in the direction of the voice and shrugged. - -"Mean you'll fire me, Mr. De Freyne? Well, I don't care. Pa's rich!" - -She walked off jauntily, her high heels clicking on the boards, a costly -plume streaming over her left ear. The lessee of the Pall Mall Theater -said nothing. He was mildly amused. He stood in the dark at the back -of the dress circle complacently regarding his theatrical seraglio. All -the girls were pretty, or if not pretty, showy. Some had been selected -for their figures, some for their faces, some for both. No duchess, not -even a fashionable duchess, was arrayed like one of these. Solomon in -all his glory might perhaps have competed with them, but not the lilies -of the field. Presently De Freyne's gimlet eyes picked out Maggy and -Alexandra. Their appearance disturbed his equanimity. - -He watched them attentively for ten minutes or so, at the end of which -period the tired stage-manager dismissed the chorus for the morning. De -Freyne's authoritative voice again made itself heard. - -"Miss Delamere and Miss Hersey. Step up to my room before you go, -please. I want to speak to you." - -The girls exchanged scared glances. A special interview with De Freyne -was sufficiently unusual to fill them with dismay. He was not in the -habit of detaining members of his chorus for the fun of the thing. - -They groped their way along dim, soft-carpeted passages to the front of -the house and entered the managerial office. De Freyne was blunt to a -degree. He wasted no time. - -"You two girls have got to make more of a show," he told them. "I can't -have shabby dresses at the Pall Mall." - -Alexandra was too taken aback by this curt rebuke to make any reply; but -Maggy lost her temper. - -"Meaning flash clothes and jewelry?" she bit out. "How do you expect us -to do it on thirty-five shillings a week, Mr. De Freyne?" - -"I'm not interested in your resources," was De Freyne's cold answer. - -"You ought to be. You ought to get a pencil and slate and write down -the cost of lodgings, food, boots, and all the rest of it, and figure -out how little we've got left to buy clothes with--unless we don't care -who buys them for us. _We're_ not that sort--not yet." - -"You must look smarter," reiterated De Freyne, showing no resentment at -this tirade. "You silly creatures, don't you want to attract attention?" - -"We'll attract attention on the night. Don't worry," said Maggy. She -was afraid of De Freyne, but she did not let her voice show it. - -"That's all very well, but you know the unwritten clause of my agreement -with you all. The ladies of my chorus have got to be dressed decently -off the stage as well as on.... Anyhow, there it is. Take it or leave -it." He dismissed them with a nod. - -Neither said anything until they had passed out of the stage-door and -were in the street. - -"That means new clothes," said Alexandra in a tone of deep depression. - -"Or Dick Whittington!" Maggy rejoined dryly. "Turn and turn again--our -dresses. I'll have a go at yours to-night, Lexie. Look, there's -Mortimer and her boy." - -A big car slid past them, ridiculously upholstered in white velvet. An -effete-looking youth and the girl who had stated that her "pa" was rich -lolled in the back seat. - -Maggy's eyes followed them speculatively. - -"Wonder if there's anything in it?" she remarked. - -"In what?" - -"In that sort of a good time. Flat, money, pet dog, car, week-ends at -Brighton--enough to eat." - -"I don't want to think about it." - -"Neither do I. But I have lately. I'm wondering what on earth we're -standing out for. No one thinks any the better of us for it. The girls -all think us fools, and the men just grin and wait." - -"Don't talk about it. Talking makes it all seem worse." - -"One day I shall do more than talk. I shall walk off." - -Alexandra said nothing. She knew Maggy's mood. Maggy was hungry, -tired, and cross. Motives of economy impelled them towards their -lodgings, where half a tin of sardines was waiting to be consumed. -Neither had had anything to eat since early morning. And when they had -lunched they would have to walk back to the theater for rehearsal again -at three. Maggy suddenly halted before a Lyons' depot. - -"Come on in, Lexie," she said. "We can't wait. We shan't be home till -past two. And if we're late back we'll be fined." - -"There's the tin of--" Alexandra began and stopped. - -Maggy had pushed open the swing doors. The grateful smell of hot and -well-made coffee and savory, nourishing food, cheapness notwithstanding, -made her surrender to temptation. Deprivation has this effect. De -Freyne, lunching expensively at the Savoy, recognizing here and there -approved members of his chorus and their cavaliers, could not be -expected to know anything of empty stomachs. Besides, it was their own -fault if the girls did not know which side their bread was buttered. - -They sat down at one of the marble-topped tables. A waitress came -towards them. - -"Two cups of coffee, rolls and butter--" - -This was Alexandra's order. - -"Coffee, rolls, and two steak-and-kidney puddings," augmented Maggy -recklessly. - -Unmoved, the attendant went off to execute the order. - -Maggy met Alexandra's startled eyes. Her own were defiant. - -"Don't tell me," she said. "It'll cost us nearly eighteenpence. I -don't care. _I'm_ going to pay, and if I don't go bust that way I shall -do something worse. We're going to feed, dear!" - - - - - V - - -"Damn! She's turned off the gas!" - -Maggy stopped machining. The small room was plunged in darkness. -Alexandra groped for matches and lit the candles. It was not easy to -work by the flickering light, but both girls went on with what they were -doing. There was something grim about the task. One associates the -alteration of frills and furbelows with some small pleasure to the -adapter; but there was none here. Necessity impelled them, kept them -out of their beds. They were heavy with sleep. The air of the room was -close and unpleasant. - -Maggy had all but finished turning Alexandra's coat and skirt. -Alexandra had adapted two Indian shawls into an effective dress for -Maggy. The work was too hastily done to bear inspection at close -quarters or much strain by its wearer. They had been steadily at it for -five hours. - -It was Maggy who gave in first. She finished machining with a savage -jerk, leaving the handle to revolve by itself. - -"Let's go to bed," she said. "I'll get up half an hour earlier and -finish that." - -Alexandra went on. She was not going to be beaten for the sake of half -an hour. Besides, she knew that Maggy in the cashmere shawl arrangement -would please De Freyne. She, at any rate, would pass muster. - -"I'm not so very tired now," she answered without looking up, "and I may -be in the morning." - -Maggy shook her hair down and slipped out of her clothes with the -celerity that comes of practise between the acts. She did not even -trouble to take the paint off her face. She got into bed and lay -watching Alexandra working by the guttering candle-light. She did not -talk. She was too utterly tired. - -At last Alexandra's work was done. She hung up the dress and put away -the needles and cotton. She had a strong inclination to get into bed -without more ado than Maggy had shown; but habit was not to be denied. -She knew she would not be able to rest properly unless she was clean and -cool. She brushed her hair, washed her face and hands, brushed her -teeth. A huge sigh from Maggy's bed made her turn. - -"Am I keeping you awake?" - -"No. I sighed because you're so different to me. _I_ couldn't wash -to-night. And I knew my hair'd be a mat in the morning and the pillow -pink from my cheeks." - -"I wish you didn't paint. There's no harm in girls doing it if they -need it, but you spoil yourself." - -"Force of habit. Mother made up my face from the time I was ten." - -Alexandra in her nightdress knelt down at the side of her bed. Maggy -never said prayers. To see Alexandra say them, she said, was the -nearest she would ever get to such things. She had never been taught to -pray when a child. - -"Might as well drop Him a hint that we're at the end of our tether," she -suggested presently. - -When Alexandra rose from her knees Maggy was sitting up in bed watching -her, her hands clasping her legs. - -"And you mean to say that you believe somebody hears you!" she said -wonderingly. - -"Yes." - -"And does what you ask?" - -"Yes--in the end." - -"Then He must be pretty deaf.... You look nice saying your prayers. If -I were God I couldn't refuse you anything. P'raps He's a woman-hater. -Women get the worst of it everywhere, I think. If we do wrong, we have -to pay for it. If we don't do wrong, we have to pay just the same. -We're made so that we're not fit to be working all the time. Oh, it's a -hell of a world for women! I can stand anything when I feel it's fair -and just. I can't see any justice where we're concerned. They have an -inspector Johnnie to see that the scales in the grocery-shops are fair, -but if a woman wants to make a bargain she's got to do it on the heavy -side." - -"The law courts are the scales." - -"The law? Aren't the scales against us there too? If we want a divorce -we've got to be knocked about as well as--other things. If we're -deserted and ruined before we're married we can get so many shillings a -week until the kid's in his teens. And if there's no kid or it dies, -well, p'raps your God'll help us, but the law won't. It's all too hard -to fight against, and one can't make head or tail of it. Look at the -White Slave Traffic. They'll flog a man if they catch him at it, but -they won't flog De Freyne and give him hard labor for the dirty work -he's doing every day of his life, though everybody knows about it. Why, -he's only a--what's it called?--procurer for the nobility and gentry and -all the rich bounders. And we're not all in yet, but we shall be. My -word, one hears a lot about the chorus-girl being on the make-haste and -living you-know-how. One doesn't hear how she's driven into it, like -cattle into a dirty pen. I'm done, Lexie. I shan't hold out long." - -Alexandra blew out the remaining candle. In the darkness one could just -make out the two narrow beds and the glimmer of the window. - -"You mustn't give in, Maggy," came Alexandra's voice after a pause. -"When one meets the man one cares about one doesn't want to come to him -with nothing to give." - -"Why not? There isn't a man in a hundred who comes to a woman with a -clean slate. Why should they expect us to have nothing written on -ours?" - -"Because when a man marries nature makes him want a pure woman, not for -his own sake but because of the children she will probably have. For -myself, I know I would rather show a clean slate to the man I loved and -who loved me in a decent way whatever his life had been, than let a man -who was nothing to me write his name there first. That must be wrong -because it's against nature." - -"Is it? I don't know. You can argue better than I can. You don't lose -your temper. Let's bring it down to ourselves and our difficulties. The -stage is a honey-pot and we girls are the honey in it, and the men are -the flies buzzing round. They won't leave us alone. They make it -almost impossible for us to live a decent life. And if it's decent it -isn't beautiful. You can't call it beautiful, Lexie. This room's the -limit. Think of the food we eat. Generally beastly. And our clothes. -Everything's ugly and makeshift, and yet we've only got to stretch out -our little fingers--" - -"More than our little fingers." - -"Well, if you like. Anyway, what are we waiting for? There's no sense -in it. It won't get us any forrader. Why don't you leave me alone? -I'd almost made up my mind to give in when I met you. I should rather -enjoy cutting a dash and having everything I want and going one better -than the other girls who crow over us, and snapping my fingers at the -management like Mortimer did to-day. If a man was going to marry me and -give me a nice broad ring and a little home there'd be some reason for -going on like this and keeping good; but men don't ask chorus-girls to -marry them, as a rule--not by a long chalk! Oh, goodnight!" - -She twisted on to her side, and the bedsprings groaned. - -From neighboring churches clocks began striking twelve. The noises from -the street subsided. Only an occasional footfall was heard or a cart -rumbling past. Sometimes a shrill voice broke the stillness, sometimes -a drunken song. - -The girls slept. - -At dawn a cool breeze moved the dingy window curtain. Maggy woke and -peered through the gray light at Alexandra, sleeping. - -She looked as though she were dead and at peace. - -Maggy wondered if that was the better fate. - - - - - VI - - -De Freyne did not seem to notice the efforts of the two girls in obeying -his instructions to smarten up their appearance: he said nothing. But -for all that, the change did not escape him. Maggy, in the draped -cashmere affair struck him as likely to appeal to a Jew or a gentleman -from Manchester. He had a particular individual of each type in his -mind, and awaited a propitious moment for exploiting her to one or the -other. For the next few days the attention of the girls would have to -be devoted to rehearsals, not men. - -De Freyne's exploitation of his chorus naturally had it roots in -commercialism and self-interest. The girls themselves very seldom -thanked him for his introductions. They were astute enough to -understand that the advantage was at least mutual. Not that De Freyne -expected any thanks. It was a trite observation of his that theatrical -people were the most ungrateful lot in the world. He himself was a -shining illustration of the dictum, but that did not lessen its truth. -He got his "turn" from his wealthy stage-door dilettanti. It might be a -social one in the shape of admittance to elevated circles; a select -club, a shooting party, a cruise on a big yacht. Sometimes it was an -invitation by a young and indiscreet member of the peerage to his -country house and a photograph in the illustrated papers to proclaim it. -De Freyne was very partial to reading beneath the group: "From left to -right: The Marquis of Perth, Lady Angela Coniston, Sir Francis -Manningtree, Mr. De Freyne...." This was prestige dear to his heart. -He toed the line successfully between Society and Bohemianism. Most of -the rich rascals and all the rich fools of the world were at his -service. - -But what gave him most satisfaction was to be able to put an important -City man under an obligation. It often resulted in special information -concerning stocks and shares that brought him large profits. He would -have sacrificed any girl's reputation for a one-fourth per cent. turn of -the market, and frequently did so. - -In this regard he mentally pigeon-holed Maggy. It would not be difficult -to find her a partner in the dance to which he should set the -Mephistophelean measure. Alexandra he looked at with a cold eye. He -wasn't sure of her. He had nothing to say against her looks, but he had -no use for prudish high-steppers. Quick of apprehension where girls -were concerned, he put her down in that category. The chorus would bear -thinning out a bit. As a matter of policy, De Freyne always engaged -more girls than he wanted. - -For another week rehearsals went on, growing more frequent and longer. -The clever stage-manager goes nearer creating silk purses out of sows' -ears than any human being. No one in the early days of rehearsal would -associate the pouting, obtuse, wooden young woman with the airy fairy -sylphs who ravish the eye on a first night; yet they are one and the -same, trained by methods similar to those used in schooling performing -animals, by coaxing, bullying and inexhaustible patience. - -When the chorus were at last up to concert pitch and the principals -letter-perfect, the dress rehearsal took place. Maggy was in the front -row, looking big and beautiful in a Futurist creation of rose fleshings -and black chiffon. The front row girls were very carefully chosen for -opulence of figure. Alexandra had been relegated to the back. She was -disappointing in tights, which means nothing more than that if a butcher -did not approve her an artist might. - - -It was over at last, the long performance with its glitter, glare and -gaiety. There was nothing in it, but all London would flock to see it -because the music was catchy and the girls so pretty and the whole show -so symbolical of the light side of life. For several days afterwards -rehearsals were frequent. The usual "cuts" and alterations had to be -made, the show licked into shape. - -On one of these occasions Maggy received a message from De Freyne. He -wanted to see her. Leaving Alexandra in the dressing room she went up to -the managerial office. It was nearly one o'clock. - -"I'm glad you took my advice," he said in a friendly tone. "You've been -turning yourself out much better." - -"Thanks," Maggy answered. "Is that all?" - -"No. I'm going to put you in the way of dressing really well. A very -decent chap wants to know you. You'll be lucky if he likes you." - -"That's your opinion. Well, he can like me as much as he likes. But -I'm straight." - -De Freyne chewed the end of his mustache. - -"You get these silly notions from the girl you live with," he said -impatiently. "I'll mix advice with a bit of prophecy. If you don't try -and make yourselves more agreeable you'll find you're in--" - -"Queer Street?" - -"It's equivalent--Garrick Street and Maiden Lane--out of a shop. It -doesn't hurt you to be nice to a fellow, does it? He may ask you to -lunch. Duchesses lunch." - -"I'm not a duchess, and I'm particular who I lunch with." - -At the end of her sentence the door opened and a man looked in. He had -heard her, and was amused. - -Maggy's look as she turned to acknowledge De Freyne's introduction was -inimical. She knew perfectly well what that introduction portended. She -must be hard. She had repulsed other men. She could take care of -herself. But this man--what was his name--Woolf?--loomed tall and big -over her, big as Fate, possessive. He exercised a spell: he appealed to -her. She knew it in the first moment that she looked at him. She knew -she would like to lunch with him, and that she would inwardly be -disappointed if she had the strength of mind to refuse. When the -invitation came she accepted it with cheeky reservation. - -"All right, Mr. Woolf, so long as you don't think I'm Little Red -Riding-hood and included in the menu." - -The capitulation satisfied her conscience. Then she remembered -Alexandra. - -"I must go and tell my friend not to wait for me," she said. - -"Miss Hersey?" supplied De Freyne. "You might also ask her to come in -here in ten minutes, will you?" - -"My car's outside," said Woolf. "You'll find me at the stage-door." - -Maggy ran along to the dressing room where she had left Alexandra. The -other girls had gone. - -"Lexie, I'm going out to lunch," she began breathlessly. "I wish you -were coming too. Do you mind? I shan't be long. I'll cut home as -quickly as I can." - -She could not hide her excitement. It showed in an added sparkle of the -eyes, a catch in the voice. Alexandra wondered what else besides an -invitation to lunch could have created this effect. It caused her vague -uneasiness. But prospective enjoyment was so clearly written all over -Maggy's face that she refrained from expressing it. - -"Of course I don't mind," she said. "I hope you will enjoy yourself." - -"You are a dear!" Maggy felt awkward. "You--you don't think it's wrong?" - -"There's nothing wrong in going to lunch with anybody. Especially if -he's--all right, and knows you are, too." - -"He's nice, I think." - -"I'm glad. But be careful, Maggy." - -"Rather!" - -Maggy moved to one of the mirrors and took up a powder-puff. - -"You've got heaps on already," deprecated Alexandra. - -"Have I?" She powdered over the rouge. "I do look rather like puff -pastry--in layers, don't I? Well, I haven't time to take any of it off. -Lexie, De Freyne wants to see you in a minute or two. I don't think -it's anything important. He seems in a good temper. Ta-ta, dear." - -She ran out and made for the stage-door where Woolf was waiting for her. -His car, a big open one, was drawn up opposite it. Maggy wished the -girls had not all gone. They had twitted her so often about her lack of -a male escort. Now there was no one to see her get in. - -"Where are we going?" she asked. "The Savoy?" - -"Not this time," said Woolf. "My house is not far off." - -"I'd prefer the Savoy," she persisted, although she had never actually -been to that restaurant. - -Woolf was the sort of man who invariably gets his own way with women. -In addition to being characteristically obstinate he was indifferent to -any opinion that clashed with his own. If it was one that suited him so -much the better; if not, he ignored it. So long as he paid the piper he -considered he had the right to call the tune. But before paying he -scanned the bill carefully. He was not a gentleman. He met gentlemen -sometimes, and was adaptive enough to be mistaken for one. He belonged -to one or two nearly-good clubs. He was a man about town in the sense -that he was to be seen wherever money could purchase an entrance. - -"You'll be quite chaperoned at my place," he assured Maggy. "I've a man -and his wife." - -"I don't need a man and his wife to look after me," she retorted -sharply. - -He gave her an attentive stare. "Who does look after you?" His meaning -was obvious. - -"Myself, of course. Why don't we go to the Savoy?" - -"How persistent you are. Do you want to know why, really? Promise you -won't be offended?" - -"If I am I'll hop out." - -"Well ... when you let me buy you some pretty clothes I'll take you -there." - -He half expected she might "hop out," especially as the car had come to -a standstill in a traffic block. She looked hot-tempered. But Maggy -was too level-headed to be sensitive on the score of clothes. - -"I suppose that king in the story wouldn't have been seen with his -beggar maid at the Savoy until he'd dressed her out," she remarked -ironically. "Well, you won't go there with me any time, anyway." - -"Why not?" - -"Because this young woman provides her own wardrobe." - -"We shall see." - -Woolf liked her spirit, otherwise her independence might have irritated -him. - -Arrived at his house he gave her in charge of his man's wife. Maggy -disliked the woman on sight. There was something furtive about her. She -gave the impression of being one who was used to waiting on ladies in a -single man's house. Sly and secret amusement lurked in her eyes. She -lingered, unostentatiously, while Maggy prinked herself in front of the -glass. After a minute or two she turned, and intimated that she was -ready. - -"Wouldn't you like to take off your hat, miss?" - -There was something unpleasantly insinuating in the smooth tones. - -"No, thanks," said Maggy shortly. - -"You've left your purse on the table, miss." - -"Have I? There's nothing in it. It'll be quite safe." - -The woman led the way downstairs and ushered her into a room -half-library, half-drawing-room. - -"Find everything you wanted?" inquired Woolf, coming forward to meet -her. - -"Yes, thanks. What a swanky bed-room! Silver hair-brushes and face -powder and hairpins! Is it yours?" - -"No, it's the visitors' room. I'm glad you like it." - -"I didn't say I liked it. It looked as if you always had it ready for a -lady. I don't like the look of your man's wife either." - -Woolf laughed at the downright expression of opinion. - -"She's all right," he said significantly. "She's as quiet as the grave -and much deeper." - -"She's no good." - -"Who _is_! Are you?" He took her hand and tried to draw her to him. -Maggy's form grew rigid. - -"Hands off," she said coolly. "There's nothing doing here." - -"Won't you let me kiss you?" - -"No." - -"Why not?" - -"For the same reason that I keep my hat on, and you don't. One's out of -respect for me and the other's respect for myself." - -"You're a funny girl!" Woolf drew back and looked at her. "Why are you -on the defensive?" - -"Haven't I need to be?" - -"Not with me, surely. I want to be friends with you." - -"Friends!" She threw up her chin aggressively. "I've only got one in -the world." - -"And who is he?" Woolf asked with quick curiosity. - -"She's a girl. I chum with her." - -"Women can't be friends with each other," he asserted didactically. -"Especially when they're of the same profession. A Hottentot woman and -her civilized sister have only one occupation--the study and pursuit of -man. You're like doctors, all at each other's throats. Some of you -practise homeopathy, the others are allopaths. The first marry and take -their husbands in small doses, the allopaths believe in quantity. Your -friend would probably leave you to-morrow if she got a good enough -chance." - -"Talk about some one you know," Maggy responded. - -The contentious conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Woolf's -man announcing lunch. They went into the dining room. Maggy was hungry -and did justice to an excellent meal. But she refused to drink anything -stronger than lemon squash, and when Woolf pressed her for her reason -for such abstinence she gave him none. She had seen her mother suffer -from alcoholic excess. The smell of spirits always turned her sick. - -When they were alone Woolf leant towards her. - -"Now let's talk," he said. "What do you want me to do for you?" - -"Nothing," replied Maggy shortly. - -"Do you dislike me?" - -She looked at him and away again. - -"No. That doesn't mean you're fascinating. You're the sort of man who -might get round a girl like me if I was fool enough to listen to you. -Lexie--that's my chum--would tell you off at once." - -"I should think she's a man-hater." Woolf was beginning to feel a -distinct antipathy towards Maggy's friend. - -"No, she isn't. Only men aren't much in our line. You can see prowling -beasts without going to the Zoo." - -Maggy's conversational trick of generalizing led away from the point -Woolf wanted to press. - -"You doubt me," he said. "You'd believe in me if I wanted to marry -you--" - -"Oh, cut it! You don't!" she interjected. - -"Marriage is an institution for the protection of women who wear flannel -petticoats. It doesn't follow that a girl can't trust a man because he -offers her a lot more than most wives get." - -"He offers her a lot more because he knows it won't last for long. I'm -practical." - -"If you were practical you'd listen to my offer." - -"Oh, I'll listen." - -"Well, I'd like to make you really comfortable. You ought to have a -smart little place of your own, and dainty things, and money to spend." - -"It's as old as the hills. I daresay I'm not the only girl you've made -that proposition to. Try somebody else. I'm going now." - -"You mean you won't think about it?" - -Maggy was silent for a minute. - -"Oh, I shall think about it right enough, don't you worry," she said in -an odd voice. "I shall think about it when I'm hungry. I shall think -about it when I'm tired. It's a long way from the theater to King's -Cross Road. I shall think about it when I see the other girls sneering -at me because I haven't got a boy. I shall think about it in the summer -time when people go to the sea and take off their clothes, and I shall -think of it in the winter when I'd like a few more on. You needn't -think I don't know that you're tempting me." Her voice nearly broke. - -"Then be friends," urged Woolf again. "What's to prevent you?" - -"Lexie. Lexie would be cut up. Lexie has made me think more of myself -since I've known her than I ever did before. If it wasn't for her do -you think I'd traipse home night after night to that slummy little room -that's dear at fifteen shillings a week? _She's_ not used to the life, -and if she can hold out against it I ought to be able to who've never -known anything better. Well, thanks for a nice lunch. You've fed the -hungry. That's one good mark for you." - -Woolf led her back into the other room and shut the door. - -"You'll kiss me before you go," he said imperiously. - -He had her by the wrists. His strong grasp sent a thrill through her. -Though she resisted she wished there were no harm in letting him kiss -her, wished that his offer were not based on wrong-doing. It was not -only because he could give her material things that she was tempted. -She had stumbled across a man who made a direct call to her nature, and -she knew it. De Freyne, callously unselective, could not have -deliberately chosen an individual more likely to encompass Maggy's -surrender. Woolf was not young: nearly forty. But he was so blatantly -good-looking, so--so swaggering. Maggy knew he was selfish and probably -a little unkind, possibly bad-tempered, that he would never care for a -woman in the way that women crave to be cared for, tenderly, -protectively. All the same, she knew that she would get too fond of him -if she saw him often and that he would go to her head.... - -Even now she felt dizzy. Her habitual self-confidence deserted her. -She experienced an overmastering desire to fling herself into his arms -and cry and cry, to tell him how difficult everything was, and how she -had tried.... But she knew perfectly well that he would not understand. -He was a man who would never understand women's feelings because he did -not think them worth understanding. As long as there were women in the -world, plenty of pretty ones, their feelings did not matter. Flowers -did not feel when one picked them, or if they did, well, that was what -they were there for: to be picked. - -"You don't want to kiss me against my will, do you?" - -Maggy struggled free. As a matter of fact Woolf's grasp had relaxed. -He was quite ready for the interview to end. He had a business -appointment at three and did not want to be late for it. If Maggy had -offered him her soul at three that afternoon, or what interested him far -more, her substance, he would not have foregone his appointment. That -was the man. - -"Well, good-by," he said, without further persuasion. "You can go home -in my car. I'll 'phone to the garage now." - -Maggy went to get her purse and gloves. When she returned Woolf was no -longer in the room. It was five minutes to three. - -"The car is at the door, miss," the man told her. "Mr. Woolf had an -appointment to keep. He asked me to say would you ring him up any time -you wished to speak to him. This is his telephone number, miss." He -handed her a card. - -He helped her into the car and tucked the linen rug round her with just -that touch of familiarity which the good servant avoids. Maggy knew -perfectly well what he and his wife thought about her. Unused as she -was to servants, good or bad, she was quick enough to appreciate that -they took their tone from their employer and his habits. - -She leant back in the car and gave herself up to the luxury of being -driven in it. The celerity with which she was whirled from the -affluence of Piccadilly and Regent Street to the grimy purlieus of the -King's Cross Road had a disheartening effect upon her. When the -chauffeur stopped at her door she was sure she saw disparagement in his -face. He would return to his own place and tell Woolf's man and his -wife to what sort of a lodging-house he had taken her, and they would -make impertinent jokes at her expense. She despised herself for caring -what the man thought or said. Alexandra wouldn't have cared a button. -She would have scorned the man for scorning her. - -She went upstairs slowly. The period of reaction had arrived. It -depressed her. The lunch was over; the pleasant excitation Woolf's -company had aroused had died down. She felt "flat." - -To her surprise Alexandra was not in. She put the kettle on the -gas-ring and took out their tea-cups from the cupboard where they were -kept. She was rather glad she had got in before her friend. It would -show how she cared about her, to have hurried home and made tea.... -Good old Lexie! - -At the sound of steps outside she called out: - -"Hurry up, Lexie. Tea!" - -It was Mrs. Bell, not Alexandra. - -"I've brought the bill," she observed, depositing a half sheet of paper -on the table. "I'd be glad to have it squared soon. You're still -one-ten behind." - -"We haven't got it yet." - -"You'll pay me soon? I shall have to let the room if you don't. -Letting's all I have to depend on, you know. By the way, I ought to -have told you, it'll be seventeen and six a week now instead of fifteen. -The rents of these houses have gone up." - -"Since I drove here in a car," snapped Maggy. "We'll pay you and clear." - -"No, don't do that, dearie. Can't you just give me a bit on account?" - -Maggy opened her purse and held it upside down. She had given -threepence to Woolf's woman, and the remaining threepence to the -chauffeur. They had despised the coppers, naturally, and barely thanked -her. They would not have thanked her at all but for the possibility -that they might see her again under more affluent circumstances. - -"Something'll happen soon," said the woman, thinking of the car. "I'll -treat you kind because I've a kind 'eart." - -She stood away from the door to let Alexandra, who had come up, pass -into the room. Maggy looked up quickly. Something was wrong. She saw -it at once. - -"So I'll let it stand over," went on Mrs. Bell. "The bill," she -explained to Alexandra. "It seems as it's not convenient for you to pay -it yet. It's disappointing, but I suppose--" - -"How much is it?" asked Alexandra in a dispirited voice. - -"Two pounds--five altogether with last week's bill." - -To Maggy's amazement Alexandra handed her the amount. - -"Write the receipt and go, please," she said. - -When they were alone Maggy stood still waiting for an explanation. - -"Where did you get it?" - -To add to her astonishment Alexandra began to cry brokenly. She had -never seen her give way before. - -"Lexie, darling, what is it?" Her voice was sharp with alarm. - -Alexandra stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. - -"A fortnight's salary in lieu of notice," she said. "I think I've been -walking ever since. The pavements were hot, and--my head." - -Maggy said nothing more. With a world of sympathy in her touch she -unpinned Alexandra's hat. Alexandra sat with her hands in her lap -staring in front of her. Maggy knelt on the floor and gently drew off -her friend's shoes, brought slippers and put them on, after which she -poured out a cup of tea and silently put it before her. - -This was dire news. Lexie would tell her more by and by. Maggy knew -she couldn't talk now. She couldn't have said a word herself without -breaking down. Tea would relieve the tension. - -There came an irresolute knock at the door, and their landlady thrust in -an arm and a plate. - -"Shrimps was passing so I've bought you a pint for a relish, dears," -came a conciliatory whine. - -To save argument Maggy took them and shut the door again. - -"W-what a mixture!" she gasped hysterically. "Temptation and tea, -t-tears and--shrimps!" - - - - - VII - - -Alexandra began to tell about her sudden dismissal. De Freyne had been -in a good temper and apparently had no grievance against her. Every one -in the chorus knew there was always the chance of not being kept on for -the run of the piece. He was the managerial autocrat of stageland and -he did what he liked. A fortnight's notice or a fortnight's salary in -lieu of notice discharged his obligations so far as his chorus was -concerned. - -Quite formally and with much the same stereotyped form of regret as an -editor employs in rejecting a suitable contribution, he told Alexandra -that he did not feel himself justified in retaining her services. - -"Are you--dissatisfied with me?" she faltered, utterly taken aback. - -"No, not exactly. You're a hard worker." - -"Then--?" - -"I simply find I don't need you. I'm sorry, but there it is." - -"Is it--because I didn't get a new dress when you spoke to us? I -couldn't afford to," she said simply. - -De Freyne fidgeted with some papers on his desk. - -"Oh, that's all finished and done with," he answered without looking at -her. - -"But I'd like to know where I've failed, please, Mr. De Freyne. It's -very important that I should know. I shall have to find another -engagement." - -De Freyne gave her a searching look. - -"You may get on all right elsewhere," he said. "I'll tell you the truth -for once in a way. You're not the right type. Don't you see you're not -the sort of material I've got to provide? Hang it all, it's my living. -Do you think I surround myself with the belles of Houndsditch and the -Lord knows where because I like it? The only kind of girl I've any use -for is the one who, besides working in business hours, makes a show in -smart places the rest of her time. Miss Mortimer was a good instance of -what I mean until she got swelled head. You're a lady and you won't do. -Forget you are one and you can stop on or come back again. I mean -that." - -She knew what he meant, and since she had no intention of modeling -herself on Miss Mortimer she also did not attempt to argue the matter. -De Freyne, for some unaccountable reason, tried to justify himself. - -"I daresay you think me a sort of understudy to Apollyon, but if you'll -look at things impartially I'm not as bad as all that. The girls I -engage come to me knowing I can find them the best market. I give them -far better chances than they can get anywhere else. You and your friend -are--accidents. You have either got to clear or--conform. In the case -of your friend, don't you think it's rather a shame to persuade her to -buck up against things? She's not like you. It's not doing her a good -turn. I've given her a chance to-day...." - -He let the words sink in. - -Alexandra left the theater, dismissed. - -Her luck looked desperately bad. It was unlikely that she would get -another engagement until the autumn, if then. It was a long time to -wait. True, she might go and stay with her nearest relatives, the -Anglo-Indian Colonel, his wife and daughters, but they lived in -Devonshire. Once in Devonshire it was morally certain that she would -have to remain there, dependent on people with whom she had nothing in -common. Her purse would not allow her to make frequent journeys to -London to find work. - -She did not want to give up the stage without a struggle. It would be -horribly humiliating to own herself beaten. She believed in her -dramatic ability. She was not afraid of roughing it, but she had not -seen the rocks ahead. When she turned over in her mind other ways of -earning a living difficulties presented themselves. She could not do -office work: she knew nothing of shorthand or typewriting. She might -apply for the post of children's governess or companion, but would she -be acceptable for either? There would be questions as to her previous -experience. All she would be able to cite would be a fortnight's -stage-work in the chorus, hardly the right qualification for a guardian -of youth or companionship to a lady! She could picture the instinctive -drawing-back of a prospective employer and the murmured "I'm afraid you -won't do...." - -No, she would have to go on as she had begun or drop by the way. - -She walked the sun-blistered pavements, hardly noticing where she was -going, trying to think what to do, where to go. The same old -heart-rending round would begin again--Denton's, Blackmoore's, Hart's, -the lesser known agencies, and "nothing for you to-day. Look in again, -dear." - -How she was going to live she simply did not know. A fortnight's -salary! ... She could not guess how many hundreds of men and women of -the same profession as herself were facing the same problem without even -the fortnight's salary between them and destitution. - -Then there was Maggy. Unless Maggy "conformed," she would be told to go -too. De Freyne's words stuck in her mind: "Isn't it rather a shame to -persuade her to buck up against things? It's not doing her a good turn." -"Things," of course, was a euphemism for Fate. She had never meant to -impose her own moral views on Maggy. She didn't want to spoil her -material prospects. Maggy had shown again and again that it was only on -her, Alexandra's, account that she had elected to make a stand. There -was ever a hint of irresolution behind her apparent firmness. Alexandra -was fairly sure that if Maggy found a man who would gain her affection -and treat her well she would be ready to be convinced that there was no -harm in an unlegalized union. That she had not succumbed in the past was -no argument that she would remain unassailable in the future. Alexandra -was perhaps standing in her light. In one sense she was protecting her, -in the other she was taking the bread out of her mouth. She did not -feel herself privileged to coerce the younger girl when she could not -help her or even help herself. Maggy was not fiercely virginal. Once -she had taken the initial step she would lose her sensitiveness. Nature -would demand that she take it sooner or later. She was frail, because -at heart she was so simple, so unhesitatingly unafraid to go where her -instincts led her. - -Alexandra made up her mind that she would not try to influence her. It -was not fair. But she hoped she would not yield to temptation. -Something in the thought of Maggy surrendering twisted her heartstrings. -It made her feel so dreadfully sorry. It was as though she dimly -foresaw that if Maggy snatched at the sham thing Joy, she would see it -turn to sorrow, to dust and ashes.... - -She found herself before the door of their lodging. She had walked -there mechanically with dragging steps. De Freyne had said that he had -given Maggy a chance that afternoon. Alexandra recalled her happy, -flushed face, the look of excitation in her eyes. Maggy had evidently -liked the man, whoever he was. It was only three o'clock. She did not -expect her back yet. She was probably still enjoying herself -tremendously. Alexandra wondered how much Maggy cared for her after all, -how soon before she would leave her to fight it out alone. - - -And she found Maggy in before her. Maggy had made tea, she had taken -off Alexandra's hat and knelt down and drawn off her shoes.... - -Alexandra put down her cup and stretched out her hand across the table. -Maggy took it and gave it a squeeze. - -"There's a bit of poetry I learnt once," she said. "I say it whenever I -feel the limit. It's a sort of psalm. - - "All's well with the world, my friend, - And there isn't an ache that lasts; - All troubles will have an end, - And the rain and the bitter blasts. - - There is sleep when the evil is done, - There's substance beneath the foam; - And the bully old yellow sun will shine - Till the cows come home!" - - -"Can't you see 'em in your mind's eye, Lexie dear, a string of -them--brown ones with soft eyes--their heads moving from side to side, -coming down the long lane just round the turning ... and the sun shining -behind them through clouds.... Cheer up, ducky!" - - - - - VIII - - -Maggy said very little about Woolf. On certain topics there was a -barrier of silence between the two girls, imposed by Alexandra. Maggy -was disposed to be utterly unreserved, crude. Brought up in stage -surroundings she had heard undiscussable things talked of openly all her -life. Alexandra showed such distaste for laxity of speech that Maggy -now refrained from touching on the subject of sex almost entirely. Had -she been unreserved about Woolf, his conversation with her and her own -attitude toward him, she would have had to show herself in a light that -Alexandra would have disliked and certainly not understood. - -Maggy was never quite sure in her mind whether Alexandra was very cold -by nature or completely reserved. She, herself, belonged to the type of -woman, not a rare one, who can discuss her marital relations with others -with a frankness that no man would ever dream of employing when speaking -of his wife to his most intimate friend. Alexandra, except under -extraordinary stress, would be as secretive as a man. To discuss sexual -emotions or indulge in speculation about them with another girl was a -thing quite foreign to her. At school she had, in that sense, been a -being apart, while the other girls whispered in corners. Instinctively -she shrank from having her mind contaminated by second-hand knowledge of -the most vital and delicate functions of nature. - -Her upbringing had been different from Maggy's. Maggy's mind had been -forced prematurely on the hot-bed of theatrical laxity. Alexandra's -life, up till the last year, had been one of calm and sweet -companionship with an adored mother. She had lived a healthy, normal -existence, met men of her own class who would no more have dreamt of -thinking irreverently of her than of their own mothers or sisters. She -was aware that strong passions, illicit unions, and trouble and misery -resulting from immorality, did exist in the world. She read of these -things in newspapers and the books that were never kept from her; but -these passions and unions and dissolving of unions seemed things that -did not touch her class. - -She came into active collision with them for the first time when she -went on the stage. She could not shut her eyes to the condition of -things there any more than she could shut her ears to the sordid -language of the girls in their common dressing room. But it made her -ashamed to be a woman, a being of the same sex. These girls thought of -men only in one way. The men whom they spoke of as their "boys" or -their "friends" were certainly not any coarser in mind than the girls -themselves. They had no more reserves of speech than factory-hands. -There were exceptions here and there, but being exceptions they were -negligible as a power of reform. - -Some girls attained their positions legitimately, she knew; but how few? -One could count them on the fingers of one hand. Every one of them had -had some one, a mother or a father to look after them, a father who -waited at the stage-door every night, a comfortable home. They had been -dressed well by their people. Though in the chorus, they had never -known its strain and stress, for they had not been of it. Its hardships -and temptations had, so to speak, been screened from them, and they had -been curiously impervious to its language. Hence it was that their -reputations had not suffered. - -Even out of musical comedy how few illustrious names were unassociated -with scandal. Alexandra had heard the true story of how one of -England's most prominent actresses was selected for her first important -part--that of a courtesan. An actress sufficiently convincing in the -role could not be found, till at last the author of the play exclaimed -in exasperation: "Well, if we can't get the actress, let's have the -woman." The equivalent had been lauded by the Press and the public, and -the author's fees had not appreciably diminished! - -Alexandra knew now that her own chance of succeeding through hard work -or any talent she might possess was about one in a thousand. She learnt -of the many capable actors and actresses--some of them more than -capable--who were touring the provinces year after year, and would wear -out their souls and their lives touring the provinces. It was more than -a hard struggle for the women: women were scarcely given a fighting -chance. - -Yet all she could do was to fight, fight all the time so as not to drop -out; to make a bare living, not to lose sight of ambition's pinnacle -while she was forced to dwell in the plains of penury. But as regards -Maggy she would not influence her one way or the other. Maggy would -have to decide for herself. - -During the ensuing week they were less together than they had ever been. -In the morning Maggy was at the theater while Alexandra went the round -of the stage-doors to see if there was a chance of her being taken on. -Very often they did not meet till after the show in the evening. For -the first two nights Alexandra had gone to meet Maggy and had walked -back with her; but now Maggy came home in Woolf's car. She said nothing -about him. Alexandra asked no questions. - - - - - IX - - -"I've got something to show you," Woolf said. "Hop in." - -Maggy got into the car. She had been lunching with Woolf at his house. -He always sent her to Sidey Street in his car, but never went there with -her. He hated slums and mean streets. He had been born and bred in them -and had had enough of them. - -"Coming too?" she asked. - -"Yes. I'm going to take you to see something I've just fixed up. I -want to know what you think of it. It's a flat." - -"Oh." - -He got in beside her and set the car going. Maggy had been holding him -at arm's length all the afternoon. He was getting a little tired of the -pursuit and intended it should end. He could not associate Maggy with -protracted virtue. If she persisted in this pose--for he thought it was -a pose--he would lose interest in her. He had told her as much at -lunch. - -"Oh, rubbish!" Maggy had responded, munching at a pear that only a rich -man could afford to buy out of season. "Courting's a change for you." - -"It's too much trouble. In business I work hard. I know what I want -and I go on till I get it. With women I don't want hard work. Besides, -unripe fruit is sour. It's best when it's ready to fall." - -"Then you've come under the wrong tree," she said cheekily. - -But she knew that the fruit was trembling on its stem--ripe. - -"About this flat," she said, when they were on their way, "are you -thinking of moving?" - -"No." - -Woolf turned and looked at her intently. She could not face the -searching in his eyes; she blushed and was angry with herself. - -"I don't see what you want my opinion for, anyway," she said, to cover -her confusion. - -"It's funny, but I do." - -He said no more. Maggy's thoughts occupied her for the rest of the -drive. She sat back in her seat, out of contact with Woolf. When he -was close to her, or his clothing touched her, a breathless sensation -assailed her, sapping her strength. - -The flat he took her to see was a furnished one in Bloomsbury, small but -attractive in her eyes. It contained a bedroom, a bathroom and a sitting -room. Meals were obtainable at a reasonable price in a restaurant -attached to the building. The rooms had every appearance of being lived -in. There were flowers in sitting room and bedroom, magazines, a box of -chocolates: on the bedroom dressing-table was a brand-new silver -toilette set and brushes. Among the pictures on the walls, framed in -black and gold, were several studies of female figures in the nude. The -electric lights were rose-shaded. - -Maggy was entranced with the place. She forgot her defensive attitude -and showed frank pleasure in all she saw. She fingered the silver -brushes lovingly, smelt the flowers, munched a chocolate. - -The white-tiled bathroom with its plated fittings appealed to her -strongly. - -"Hot and cold!" she murmured. "Not in bits but all at once. Scrummy!" - -"What are you talking about?" said Woolf, amused. - -"In Sidey Street we have a foot-bath and wash in bits," she explained -frankly. "I've dreamt of baths like this. I've never had one." - -She turned on the taps with the fascination of a child, and watched the -water run. - -"So you like it all?" - -"I should just think I did!" - -She perched on the edge of the bath, swinging a foot. - -"You've really taken it?" - -"For three years." - -"Who's coming to it?" - -"It's for a good girl." - -"You mean for a bad girl," she pouted. - -"She'll be good--to me." - -"Well, I hope she'll like it." - -He took her two hands. "So do I, Maggy. She's said so, anyway." - -"Meaning me?" - -He nodded. - -"You've taken it on the chance that I'll come?" - -"It's got to be completely furnished. If it wasn't you it would -probably be some one I didn't care about half so much. But it's going -to be you, isn't it, Maggy?" - -"For three years!" Her voice trembled. "And after? What happens when -the agreement's run out? Has the girl got to be like the flat--taken on -by some one else? There was a play, wasn't there, a few years ago, -called 'Love and What Then?' It didn't last long." - -She got up and went back into the sitting room. Woolf followed her. - -"Won't you trust me and come?" - -"If I came I should come without trusting you. I'm not the kind that -tiles herself in. I suppose I should let things rip." - -"Well, it's yours for the taking. Only you've got to decide--now." - -And suddenly Maggy's defenses broke down. She felt the frail bulwarks of -her unsheltered girlhood crumbling around her. - -"It wouldn't be for the bathroom or the bedroom or what you'd give me," -she said huskily. - -"Wouldn't it?" - -His arms were about her. - -"No," she whispered. "It's you." - - -Woolf gave her a little Yale key. - -"Here it is. Let yourself in when you want to take possession." - -He had tea sent up from the restaurant and they had it together in the -cosy sitting room. Maggy was very subdued. She would go back to Sidey -Street only to pack the few personal possessions she treasured. She -hoped, was almost sure, Alexandra would be out. She dared not face her -just yet. - -"I'll bring you back after the show to-night," Woolf reminded her when -they parted. "Don't forget I've given you the key." - -"I've given you more than a key," said Maggy. - - - - - X - - -"Lexie, I feel a beast, but I've got to go. You'll never understand. -That's why I've said so little about him. Woolf, I mean. It isn't only -what he can give me, though it does mean something too. I'm wrong -somewhere, I suppose. I don't think about it like you do. And it's all -right for girls like me. Perhaps it's the only thing. You'll never want -to see me again. That's the one part that doesn't bear thinking about. -I don't suppose you'll believe I care a hang for you now, but I do, even -though it's too late to go on living with you if I wanted to. The other -thing was stronger, that's all. I had a little Persian cat once. I -used to let her out for exercise on a string because I was afraid of -losing her. But she got out when I wasn't looking all the same and -disappeared for three days. She couldn't help it, poor dear. It was -just her nature. I expect I'm like that cat. I was bound to go on the -tiles. You'll think that vulgar. I am vulgar all through. That's the -difference between us. - -"You've been the best chum in the world, dear. I can't thank you -properly. I'm a rotter. I've left my cash on the dressing-table. I -don't want it. Fred Woolf will be looking after me. Take it, do -please. What's the use of starving when you needn't. Good-by, Lexie. -You may not believe it, but I'm crying and I _do_ care. - -"MAGGY." - - - - - XI - - -Mrs. Bell came into the room with the supper tray. It was mostly tray. -The supper consisted of two cups of cocoa, half a loaf of bread and an -atom of butter. She gave her lodger an inquisitive glance as she spread -the tablecloth. Alexandra had Maggy's letter in her hand, and her face -was woefully sad. - -"You need not lay for two," she said quietly. "Miss Delamere won't be -here in future." - -The bald statement was sufficient for Mrs. Bell. Ever since the day when -Maggy had been brought to her door in a private car she had more or less -been prepared for this denouement. The association of chorus-girls and -cars in her experience had but one meaning: a rise for the former in the -plane of life with a concomitant and much-to-be-desired acceleration of -the pace at which it may be lived. - -"I'm glad she's found a friend," she observed cheerfully. "She's the -sort that's made for a man to look at. Have you seen her chap yet, Miss -Hersey?" - -"I don't want to talk about Miss Delamere's affairs," winced Alexandra. - -"You're upset, I can see. I'm not denying it's hard to see a friend -carried off like that." Mrs. Bell Bell shook her head deprecatingly. -"It's a trying place, the stage. I wouldn't go back to it myself, not -if I was paid like a Pavlova. I'd rather toil and moil for Mr. Bell -downstairs all the days of my life." And having thus asserted her claim -to respectability, conjugal endurance and a taste for sour grapes, with -admirable conciseness she felt she was privileged to ask another -question: "Have you got a shop yet, dear?" - -"No, it's the wrong time of year." - -"You can't wait till the autumn?" - -"No." - -"Then what'll you do?" - -"I'm not thinking of myself just now. It doesn't matter," said -Alexandra wearily. - -"I know. You're bothering your poor head about Miss Delamere. Don't -you fret. She's got some one to look after her. That's better than -looking after yourself. I daresay she's sleeping in a creep de sheeny -nightdress to-night with real lace on her pillows." - -"Don't talk like that!" Alexandra shuddered. - -"Well, it's no good trying to walk clean on a muddy road. Drink your -cocoa while it's hot, dearie. If you're on the stage you must go on -like the angels in heaven, doing what Rome does, where there's very -little marriage or giving in marriage." Mrs. Bell's metaphor was mixed, -but her views were definite. "That's why I would rather see my own girl -lying here at my feet dead and smiling in her coffin than in the -profession. She's a respectable upper housemaid," she finished -comfortably, as she closed the door behind her. - -Alexandra tried to eat a little dry bread. The butter was rancid. She -ended by giving up the attempt. Her throat ached. She leant her head -on the table. It ached as much as her heart and throat did. Her whole -body was permeated with the pain of unshed tears. - -Maggy had gone. - -Except for the letter, which was final enough, it was difficult to -realize. She had not even taken her box, only a small handbag. Her -possessions had been so pitifully meager. Her wooden-backed brush and a -metal comb were still on the dressing-table, but the cheap German silver -powder box and her rouge and cream pots were gone; there was the -nightdress case on her bed in the crochet work that was Maggy's hobby -with the big badly-worked M in washed-out greens and pinks. Wrapped in a -little screw of paper was the money she had left behind. She had taken -Alexandra's photograph, and for some reason she had turned the face of -her own to the wall. - -A wild desire came to Alexandra to run out, late as it was, go to Maggy -and bring her back. Then she remembered that she did not even know -where Maggy was. She was gone and that was all; swallowed up in the -immensity of London; captured by some man unknown. - -The realization that Maggy had deliberately stolen away at the call of -exigency hurt her acutely. Passion had never touched Alexandra. Just -now she could only feel impatience with one who was moved by it to -extremes. But mingled with the distaste for a thing she could not -comprehend was compassion for her friend. Some part of Maggy must be -suffering, sorry. No woman surrenders herself without some secret, -sacred regret. - -She sat thinking, trying not to think, for hours. Finally, she undressed -and, in the darkness, said her prayers. She felt they were futile, -childish.... She turned her face to the wall so that she should not see -the ghostly outline of Maggy's narrow, empty bed. - -As the hours passed and sleep did not come she began to wonder if it -were not all a dream. The idea took hold of her. Of course, Maggy had -not gone.... - -She sat up and spoke her name across the darkness. - -"Maggy!" - -Although there was no answer, the tantalizing obsession was still upon -her. She got out of bed and crossed over to Maggy's, feeling above the -coverlet for the comforting touch of the warm, sleepy body. The -coverlet was flat, the sheets cool. Maggy had gone. - -She groped her way back to her own bed, and at last tears came, and with -tears, sleep. - -By the morning, the sharp edge of her feelings was somewhat blunted. -She was still sorry, but not passionately sorry. Those who have wept -for their dead with the poignancy of first grief experience much the -same dulling of the emotions. It precedes the inevitable resignation, -without which they could not again take up the lonely burden of life. - -Maggy was lost to her, as lost to her as if she had died. She had not -the consolation of knowing that she would see her again, alive, -exuberantly happy, unregretting, and that this feeling would pass. She -did not know then that across the barrier of her frailty Maggy would -hold out her strong, young, eager hands, and that she, Alexandra, would -grasp them in unalterable love and friendship. - -She put away the money Maggy had wanted her to take until she could give -it back to her, and directly she had had her breakfast, started for the -theatrical agents' offices. They opened at ten. She had small hope of -obtaining anything at any of them. The principals did not know her by -sight. When one of them made an occasional dart into the waiting room -and gave a quick glance round she was only "one of a crowd." - -At such times there would be a little stir and scrimmage amongst the men -and women in which she would not share. Men would elbow women, women -elbow men in their efforts to catch the agent's eye or better still his -sleeve. And he would shake them off in a precipitate passage from his -own room to that of his partner's at the other end of the waiting room. -Alexandra knew his short, little, staccato, stock sentences by heart. - -"Nothing for you to-day, dear." (Shake her off.) - -"Sorry, my dear, I can't stop." (Shake her off.) - -"No, my dear, I--oh, it's you. Stop behind. I'll see you later." -(Pressure of the hand.) - -"Nothing in your line to-day, old fellow." (Shake him off.) - -Perhaps a fleeting look at Alexandra, so that she was in doubt as to -whether she had been noticed or not. - -Then the crowd would wait on, lessened by the few who lost heart and -went on to other agencies. The assembly varied little in any of these -refuges of the out-of-works. There you would find every specimen of -stageland: the sprightly young man with an eye stimulated hopefully by -sherry from the adjacent Bodega, dressed in the last fashionable suit -left from his wardrobe, his waistcoat pocket bulging with pawntickets; -the old actor with a blue chin, a red nose and a kindly smile, -unctuously imparting the latest "wheeze" to a brother comedy-merchant; -the hard-eyed woman of forty, rouged, smelling of spirits and patchouli, -consumed with inward wrath because of the refusal of managers to -entertain her applications for youthful parts; the fresh-looking girl -with an air of country lanes and a pigtail, who nevertheless was bred -and born at Stratford-at-Bow; the seedy advance-agent, vainly trying to -adopt a managerial air; the plump and cheery chorister with no ambitions -beyond thirty shillings a week and a long pantomime run; her male -compeer nourishing a secret belief that he could "wipe the floor" with -every tenor on the boards. - -Eleven, twelve, one o'clock, and still the patient crowd would linger on -in the agents' offices, chattering intermittently, giggling -occasionally, desperately anxious all the same, eyes ever glancing -toward the two shut doors. - -At one would come the unwelcome news, spoken by the young man who kept -the accounts and made out the contracts: - -"Mr. Whitehead's gone to lunch. Won't be back to-day. No use waiting." - -How quickly the room emptied! Alexandra did not know that a goodly -proportion of its habitues would quickly foregather for consultation and -refreshment in Rule's or the Bodega, where the atmosphere was redolent -of alcoholic odors, curiously aromatic, sonorous with sustained -conversation and the low chuckle of the comedians. - -One saw the same faces again after the luncheon hour, at Denton's, at -Hart's, at Paul Stannard's, a little less hopeful, a little more tired -as the day went on. - -Paul Stannard had got Alexandra her engagement at De Freyne's. She went -to him again now. She liked him. He was a gentleman by birth, had -drifted on to the stage, loathed it, could not get free of it, and ended -by running a theatrical agency with fair success. He did not call all -girls "dear," only the ones that liked it, and was more accessible to -the rank and file than most agents. - -"I thought I had fixed you up with De Freyne," he said. "His show's in -for a long run. Couldn't stick it?" - -"Mr. De Freyne told me to go." - -Alexandra was tired. She could hardly stand. - -"Sit down," invited Stannard. "Up against it?" - -"Well, I've nothing to do. It's serious." - -"I'm sorry." He turned over the leaves of a big book on his desk. "And -I can't help you. Nothing's doing, except a sextette for Rio." - -"Can't I go?" she asked eagerly. - -"My God, no!" - -He put his hands in his pockets and surveyed her compassionately. -Belonging as he did to the class that shelters its women it still hurt -him to see women engaged in fighting for bread. It was more desperate -still when they fought for honor too, or held it above the price of -bread. - -"Why did you send me to the Pall Mall if you knew they wouldn't -want--any one straight-laced?" - -"I can't ask every girl who comes to me for a job to sign an affidavit -concerning her morals. Why are you on the stage at all if you've got -different ideas to the others? You haven't an earthly. Might as well -buy a toothbrush." - -"Buy a toothbrush?" - -"To sweep out an Augean stable." He scribbled some addresses on a half -sheet of paper. "There's just a chance these aren't filled up. Mention -my name. I don't hold out any hope, though." He hesitated for a -minute. "Are you bound to go on at this? Haven't you a home to go to?" - -"I'm bound to go on," she said, trying to keep the desperate note out of -her voice. - -"Well, good luck." Stannard held open the door for her. - -"Poor devil!" he said as he shut it. - - - - - XII - - -All the names which Stannard had given her were those of minor managers. -It was late in the season and their companies would in all probability -be made up and booked for the road. Still she went to them. There was -a bare chance that one of them might have a vacancy. For two hours she -hung about their offices waiting for an interview, only to waste her -time in the end. "Full up" was the answer she got to each application. -The last place she called at was situated in a block of buildings off -Shaftesbury Avenue. As she left it a door facing her on the opposite -side of the passage opened and a man in a frock coat and silk hat came -out. He stopped short, looked her up and down and spoke. - -"Excuse me, but are you out of an engagement?" - -"Yes," she replied, a last glimmer of hope flickering within her, the -silk hat suggesting something managerial. - -The stranger's next words confirmed her in this idea. - -"I believe you're the very person I've been looking for for a week. The -question is, can you sing?" - -"Yes." - -"Then come in." - -He threw the door open again and followed her in. The room contained -two chairs, a desk, a small grand piano, one or two playbills on the -walls and several diagrams of the larynx, looking not unlike a map of -the tube railways. - -"This is my practise room and therefore bare," he explained. "It's bad -to sing in a room blocked up with furniture. Breaks up the voice, you -know. By the way, my name's Norburton--Gerald Norburton. You may have -heard of it," he added modestly. - -Alexandra had heard of it. The name was that of a singer of some -repute. - -"Oh, then, you're not an agent," she said, a little disappointed. - -"Lord, no." The idea seemed to amuse him. "Fact of the matter is this: -my friend, Maurice Haines, wrote to me the other day--here's his -letter--asking me to find him a likely girl for a sketch he has booked -at the Palace. He'd engaged some one, but she's just gone in for -appendicitis. Funny thing, appendicitis. Has it ever occurred to -you--" The blank look in Alexandra's face constrained him to keep to -business. "So he appeals to me, thinking that as a singer I might know -some one likely. But I didn't--not until I saw you. If you can sing -it's a sure thing." He read from the letter he had been searching for. - -"'She must be tall and dark and a lady. Youth essential. Of course she -must have a well-trained voice, but previous experience doesn't matter. -I'll look in next week, and if you know a girl who will do, for heaven's -sake have her round. The sketch is booked for the next six months, -first here and then in the leading provincial towns. I'll pay ten -pounds a week for the right woman.' - -"What do you think of that?" - -"It seems to me it depends on my voice," said Alexandra. - -"That's it. Do you mind singing me something? Here's a pile of songs. -Pick out one you know." - -She found a song. Norburton played the accompaniment. She had an idea -she was singing well and hoped he would think so. When she finished, -she had the impression that he was not satisfied. - -"I'm afraid you're disappointed," she said, with foreboding. - -"No, not exactly. You've a nice voice. You want to know how to pitch -it better. As it is it won't carry. I believe I could teach you in -five days, before Haines comes round." - -"I couldn't expect you to do that." - -"But I _do_ teach," he laughed. "Do you doubt my capability? I assure -you that besides being a public singer I get three guineas for every -half-hour lesson I give." - -"What I meant was," said Alexandra, "that I couldn't expect you to coach -me for nothing, and I couldn't pay enough to make it worth your while." - -He appeared to think. - -"I want to do my best for Haines," he said. "Look here. I'll give you -five lessons--one every day for ten minutes--and you can pay me what you -can afford, five shillings a lesson, say." - -She colored. "That's charity." - -"No. I really want to help Haines." - -Now Alexandra had little more than five shillings in her purse. The -next quarterly payment of her annuity would not be due for a fortnight. -In the meantime all she possessed was some old jewelry that had belonged -to her mother. There was the money Maggy had left behind her, but she -was not going to touch that. - -"I should like you to teach me. It's very good of you," she said. -"Would you take this instead of money? It's worth a little more than -five five-shilling lessons." She tendered him a ring with a single -pearl in an antique setting. A pawnbroker would have lent her five -pounds on it. She was anxious that he should take the ring. It would -make her feel less under an obligation to him. - -Apparently he appreciated her feelings. - -"That's very pretty of you," he said. "It fits my little finger, too. -Would you rather I took it?" There was a shade of reluctance in his -voice. - -"Much rather." - -"Well, thank you very much. Now I must pull you through by a little -teaching. Can you have your first lesson now? No time like the -present, is there? Stand in the corner over there to the right. Now, -sing 'ah' on middle C. Keep your tongue well down. Give it room--give -it room! Swell it out! You'll do very well," he said, after ten -minutes. "To-morrow, same time. I'll drop Haines a line. Don't thank -me, please." - -Another girl came in as Alexandra went out. She heard Norburton tell her -she was early. - -"Have you heard from Mr. ----" She thought the name mentioned was -Haines, but argued she must have been mistaken. The girl was fair and -short, not at all the type Norburton's friend wanted. Alexandra assumed -she must be one of the singer's private pupils, and thought no more -about her. - -For the next four days she came for her lessons, and at the end of that -time Norburton told her he was quite satisfied with the result. - -"Haines will be here to-morrow at eleven," he told her. "Don't worry, -you'll get the engagement." - -All the same she did worry. She pinned her hopes on it. She had -curtailed her food down to the irreductible minimum. Privation showed -in her looks. She was not a big eater, but her physique demanded good -and nourishing food, which now she never got. She wanted new shoes and -gloves badly. These she could not manage to do without indefinitely. -She began to lose confidence in herself in these days. She knew her -appearance was noticeably shabby, and that she was getting the delicate -look that employers dislike. One cannot say to the man from whom one is -hoping for an engagement: "I'm pale, but I'll look better when I can -afford to feed myself properly. My clothes are shabby, but they would -be in rags if I hadn't looked after them as if they were priceless -brocades. And I'm not poor and hungry and out of an engagement because -I've no talent, but because I've certain principles that I've brought to -the wrong place. Give me a chance and don't ask anything else of me." - -At five minutes to eleven the next day she was in Shaftesbury Avenue. -Outside Mr. Norburton's door some ten or twelve girls were waiting. They -looked a mixed lot, all of them anxious, poor and shabby. - -"He told me ten," said one of them, "and he's not here yet." - -"I've been here since half-past nine," said another. - -One bold spirit rapped sharply on the door. - -As a result one next to it bearing a brass plate and a solicitor's name -was opened and a man put his head out and angrily demanded: - -"Who's making that row? If you're waiting to see the fellow who had -that room, he's gone. Went away yesterday afternoon." - -"Meaning Mr. Norburton?" asked one of the girls. - -"I don't know what his name was. He's gone, anyhow. It's no good -waiting about and making a noise." - -He shut the door. The girls stared at one another blankly. - -"I want to know the meaning of this," said one of them truculently. -"P'raps the caretaker can tell us." She clattered down the stone -stairs, and half a dozen of the others followed her. - -A fair girl standing next to Alexandra spoke to her. - -"Did you want to see Mr. Norburton too?" - -"Yes, but I'm afraid I shan't." Alexandra felt faint. - -"I don't think we shall either. It's my belief we've been done. Did he -give you lessons?" - -"Five." - -"I had five, too," nodded the girl. "Two pounds I paid the blighter. -He said I'd suit Mr. Haines a treat. Read me a letter saying he wanted -a fair girl with a good figure and contralto voice-- What's that? It -was a 'tall and dark' to you! My hat! What did _you_ pay?" - -"I gave him a pearl ring." - -"O-oh!" Her eyes went round. "I saw it on his finger. Then you were -hard up?" - -"I had the ring, but not the money to pay him." - -"And I had the money. And I haven't got it now." - -One of the girls who had gone to make enquiries below came up again. - -"Thought I'd come and tell you," she panted. "It's true. He's gone, -right enough. The piano was hired and it's been fetched away. He's done -seventeen of us, the beast! His name isn't Norburton at all, but Easton -or Weston, I forget which. If the real Mr. Norburton or Maurice Haines -heard what he'd been up to they'd prosecute him. He's just been using -their names to cod us. Oh, I'd like to--to--" The unspoken threat -tailed off in a resigned sigh. "Well, there's a voice-trial at Daly's -at 11.30. I'm off." - -Alexandra did not move. She was dazed. The other girls melted away, all -but one little creature in black who commenced to sob. - -"Don't cry," said Alexandra, touched by her grief. "You must try and -forget the disappointment." - -The girl raised streaming eyes. She was very plain and wore her hair -frizzed out all round her head. The fingers through which her tears had -been trickling were red and work-worn. - -"I paid him f-four pounds in gold," she wept. "And he s-said my voice -was g-good enough to get me the engagement. And I've given notice at -the place I'm at on the strength of it, and now I'll have to go back and -ask to be kept on. Makes me ashamed of myself, it does, after what I -said to the mistress about gettin' ten pounds a week on the stage. And -now f-four pounds of good money gone!" - -"Haven't you any left?" - -"I've got eleven saved, but it would have been fifteen," sniffed the -girl. She took it hardly that she had to pay so heavily for her -experience. - -"Well, then, cheer up," said Alexandra. "I haven't got fifteen -shillings." - -"Not in the world?" - -"Not in the world." - -"But you're a lady!" - -"Am I?" asked poor Alexandra. Tears were not far from her own eyes now. -The girl saw them, and the fount of her own dried up in her compassion -for a disappointment that must be even greater than her own because of -the actual need behind it. A lady, and with less than fifteen shillings -in the world! Why, she had always been able to earn nearly ten -shillings a week, without counting her board and keep. She had always -been able to count on regular employment, plenty of food and a fairly -comfortable bed; and until she had been dazzled by the magnificent -prospect of ten pounds a week and still more by the idea of becoming a -"star actress," she had been fairly contented with her life. She wished -she had never seen that catch advertisement in the newspaper. - -"I shouldn't think any more about the stage if I were you," advised -Alexandra. - -"I shan't," was the resolute answer. "It's no good, is it?" - -"Not a bit of good." - -The girl hesitated. - -"Do you mind telling me," she said, "if it's very bad. The girls on it, -I mean." - -"It's difficult sometimes for them to be good," was Alexandra's -qualified reply. - -"That's pretty much what our milkman says. He had a wife he divorced -that used to go on the stage once a year in pantomime." - -Alexandra smiled wanly. She was getting accustomed to the democratic -atmosphere of the stage, where social differences are inexistent. The -dragging in of the milkman's wife was only a sharp-cut illustration of -the lengths to which the leveling-down process could go. The life had -robbed her of all surprise at the necessity of having to rub shoulders -with ex-shopgirls and the like; but this was the first time she had -found herself on terms of equality with a domestic servant. - -"Dessay I'm well out of it," said the girl philosophically. "I hope -you'll get on, miss." - -As she passed Alexandra she stopped, making believe to pick up something -that was not there. - -"Oh, look what you've dropped!" she exclaimed, holding out two -half-crowns. - -Alexandra had come out that morning with only a few pence. - -"It isn't mine," she disclaimed. "If you look in your purse you'll -probably find it's your own money." - -The girl made a pretense of doing so. - -"No, that it isn't," she insisted. "It must be yours, right enough." - -"But it can't be." - -Before she could anticipate the movement, the girl slipped past her and -raced down the stairs. Alexandra followed as fast as she could. But the -girl was too quick for her. She was nowhere to be seen when Alexandra -reached the street. - -Only then did she comprehend the meaning of the generous subterfuge. -She stood staring down at the money in her hand--two half-crowns, given -her by a servant! - - - - - XIII - - -July, that theatrical close season, was wearing itself out. Alexandra -subsisted on the small quarterly dividend that a grateful country -bestows in the way of pension on the orphaned children of the men who -fight its battles. She sweltered in her one room or else sat in the -deserted ones of theatrical agencies waiting for an engagement that -never came. - -One sultry afternoon, on turning into Sidey Street, she found, standing -opposite her door, a brand-new landaulette. In her prosperous days she -had learnt to distinguish between the makes of cars, and a glance showed -her that this one belonged to a type that was just then being widely -advertised at a popular price. But it was neither its shape nor finish, -nor even the bright coloring of its paintwork that attracted her -attention so much as the large monogram composed of an M. and a D. in -the center of its door-panel. The world might contain a thousand other -people with those initials, but M. D. on an empty car outside -Alexandra's door meant that Maggy was inside the house, waiting for her. - -Her heart beat fast and she went in. There would be a visible -difference in Maggy. Their girlish friendship was a closed chapter. -Maggy had left her. The hurt still rankled. She felt nervous. It -would be like greeting a stranger; worse, it would be meeting as a -stranger one with whom she had shared a close intimacy. There would be -awkwardness.... - -Maggy, waiting for her, felt equally nervous. She had struggled against -the desire to see Alexandra again, but it had grown too strong for her. -She yearned for her. She wanted to tell her that she had not deserted -her, that she could still be as true a friend as ever. Suppose -Alexandra were so intolerant of what she had done that she would not -even let her stay a minute! Perhaps she would refuse to speak, or worse -still, and this was more likely, she might pretend hard that her -feelings had not changed so that she, Maggy, might not feel hurt, and -Maggy would know she was pretending. She began to wish she had not -come. - -Looking round the little room it seemed difficult to believe that she -had really left it. Only the expensive frock she was wearing, a peep -through the curtains at the new toy that she liked to drive about in, -assured her that she had. Then she noticed that her bed was gone. That -was even more conclusive evidence of the domestic rupture than the -expensive frock and the car. And yet Alexandra had her photograph on -the mantel-piece. That cheered her. - -During one of her periodical peeps at the window she saw Alexandra -walking down the street. A panicy feeling assailed her. She peeped -again and noticed how slowly she was coming along, how listless was her -step. She looked tired, frail. Maggy's warm heart gave a compassionate -thump. Her nervousness increased as she heard Alexandra mounting the -stairs. What should she say to start with? "I was passing, and I -thought I'd look in?" That would sound casual, forced. Or "I hope you -don't mind my coming to see you." That would be groveling. Should she -wait for Alexandra to speak first? Suppose she should say something -cold and cutting, final? Suppose she just stood still, waiting for Maggy -to speak? And how long might they not stand looking at each other like -that, without saying a word.... - -Alexandra opened the door and Maggy faced round, her breast rising and -falling. - -Unrehearsed words bubbled from her heart. - -"Oh, Lexie, I'm just the same. Won't you be?" - -"Maggy, dear!" - -Choking with emotion and gladness, they found they were holding hands -tightly, as if they could never let go. Big tears welled up in Maggy's -eyes. - -"It doesn't alter one a bit," she got out huskily. - -They sat down on the bed, close together, for a moment or two dumb with -congestion of thought--the numberless things, essentials affecting -themselves, that needed asking and answering. - -"Are you happy, Maggy?" - -"Don't I look it?" She irradiated happiness. Her eyes beamed, her lips -laughed. "I love him, Lexie. It's lovely to love a man whatever way -love comes to you. He can't give me the brown egg at breakfast because -he's not there then, but I feel just as--oh, you know! I'm not really -_bad_, Lexie. There isn't another man in the world for me. Tell me -about yourself, darling. Have you got anything to do yet?" - -"No. I'm beginning to wonder whether I ever shall. I can't see -anything ahead. It's black." - -"Your stomach's empty," said Maggy prosaically. "You look as if you've -lived on nothing for ten days." - -"I've lived on four-and-sixpence a week." - -"Oh, Lexie! And I've had caviare and plovers' eggs and all sorts of -expensive things while you've been starving!" She looked horribly -contrite. "Do you know that picture advertisement with a big fat cat -talking to a thin miserable one and saying it had been fed on somebody's -milk? I'm the fat cat because I'm being kept by--" - -"Don't!" said Alexandra. - -"I'm sorry. I forgot. Fred encourages me to be downright. Don't take -the pins out of your hat. Look here, Lexie. Do me a favor and come out -with me sometimes. Come now! When Fred's not around I'm at a loose end, -and it's lonely. I get tired of mooching round the shops and only -buying things for myself. The day would go faster if I could lie in bed -half the morning, but I'm so beastly energetic. I'm awake at seven and -thinking of eggs and bacon. I would like to show you my flat. Would -you mind coming to see it? There's no one there, only me." - -She saw Alexandra hesitate. - -"It's such a duck of a flat," she went on. "I haven't got any one to -show it to. Dozens of times I've said to myself: if only Lexie could -see this or that.... You needn't approve of me, but do come! We can -have an early dinner before I go to the theater." - -"But what about--" - -"Fred's never there at that time. We generally lunch out and then I -don't see him till after the show." - -On Maggy's left hand Alexandra noticed the gleam of a wedding ring. -Maggy, following her glance, smiled contentedly. For the moment it -occurred to Alexandra that perhaps Maggy was really married after all. -She asked the question. - -"No," was the regretful reply. "But I often forget I'm not. There's -not much difference when you're fond of a man. You get to love him so -much that you don't feel the law could bring you any closer. All the -same I'd like to be married to him really. I'd like to look after his -clothes, and keep his things tidy--and have his children." She flushed -and got up rather hurriedly. "Ready? Come along!" - -In the narrow hall they encountered Mrs. Bell. She had been lying in -wait, and now advanced with her be-ringed and not over-clean hand -outstretched. - -"Always pleased to see you, Miss Delamere," she beamed. "I'm sure Miss -Hersey's been quite lost without you. No chance of your coming back to -us, I suppose?" She smiled knowingly. - -"You never know," said Maggy lightly. "Here's something to--buy shrimps -with," she supplemented, winking at Alexandra. - -Mrs. Bell gave an astonished and delighted look at the coin before her -fingers closed on it. - -"Well, you are a dear! I always did say you had a heart of gold--" - -"Not when my purse had only coppers in it," Maggy laughed. - -"What did you give her? She looked quite surprised," Alexandra inquired -directly the street door had shut. - -"A sovereign." - -"But why?" - -"Swank, my dear. Get in." - -The car moved off. - -"How do you like it?" she asked. "It's a Primus. Fred's got an -interest in them. I wish he'd make me an agent. He's had my photo -taken in one for an ad. They've got electric starting and lighting and -only cost two-seventy-five. Lean back, dear. Isn't it comfy? Oh, I -wonder what you'll think of my flat. You'll like the bathroom, I know. -Hot water service at any time of the day or night. That's in the -prospectus." - -Alexandra laughed. - -"May I have a bath?" - -"Of course. Whenever you like. I thought you'd ask." - -She could not contain her pride in her new home. Alexandra, unable to -help contrasting it with her own poor room, liked its light daintiness, -its exquisite tidiness. Maggy would have delighted in doing the whole -work of a cottage of her own in the country. She was by nature -domesticated. The personal touch was everywhere visible about the flat, -especially to Alexandra who knew her. Maggy had a mania for crochet -work. It was to be seen in all directions. Towels, mats, chair covers, -everything that could have crochet sewn on to it was so ornamented. A -large open workbox, crammed to overflowing with a medley of fancy-work, -testified to the hours she gave to her needle and the many directions in -which she made use of it. A mongrel terrier gave them a violent welcome -as they came in, and a dissipated-looking cat blinked at them lazily -from the sofa where it lay on a cushion. Maggy introduced the two -animals. - -"This is Mr. Onions," she said. "I saw him eating one out of a dustbin -and brought him here. He was starved, Lexie. Now he lives on the fat of -the land, like me. And he's no breed, like me. Neither is Mrs. -Slightly. She's Slightly because she's slightly soiled, and never will -clean herself, and she's called 'Mrs.' because she's not married, but -ought to be. Isn't it curious, Lexie? Slightly and Onions are absolute -gutter-snipes, but they've taken to cushions and cream as if they'd -never known anything else. Fred can't bear them. He wanted me to have a -Pekinese with a pedigree, but _I_ haven't a pedigree, so I don't want an -animal with one. Slightly and Onions are such grateful devils, too. -Would you really like a bath now? After you've had it we'll have tea. -China tea at four and six a pound, my dear! Think of that! I believe I -could drink tea dust and enjoy it if I knew it was expensive." - -While Alexandra luxuriated in her bath, reckless for once of the -quantity of water she used, Maggy took the opportunity of providing -something exceptional in the way of tea. It began with poached eggs and -finished with strawberries and cream. Maggy was not a bit hungry; she -had lunched late with Woolf. But she knew Alexandra had been denying -herself food and would eat heartily so long as she could do so in -company. So she crammed loyally, ignoring the physical discomfort it -inflicted on her. - -Finally she put Alexandra into the most comfortable of her chairs and -drew another close to it. Onions lay at her feet, Slightly was curled -on her lap. - -"Now tell me what you've been doing to get an engagement," she said. - -"There's nothing to tell. No luck anywhere, that's all." - -Maggy sighed. "I wish you could live here. That's impossible, I know. -But why be so proud? Let me lend you a few pounds." - -"I can't. I've not used the money you left. I meant to give it back to -you, but I forgot." - -"You make me angry. Isn't my money good enough? I'm sorry, Lexie. -You've got such cracked ideas." - -Alexandra decided to be frank. - -"It isn't that," she said. "I would take your money if I dared and be -grateful for it. I would sooner borrow from you than from any one. But -if I began to borrow, even from you, I should find it more difficult to -keep straight. I've never said as much to anybody before, but I don't -want you to think I won't take it because it's you who are offering it." - -"I think I know what you mean. Once you've taken the first step you're -afraid you'll go on slithering. But you've got to take some sort of -step to get a job. De Freyne said we were shabby, Lexie; but if he -could see you now! What's the use of being nearly the same size as your -best friend if you won't let her lend you a dress or two? Answer me -that. That's not borrowing. That oughtn't to hurt your pride. We used -to swop things. And I've got a dress and a hat, and a pair of shoes in -the other room that are too small for me. You must have them, Lexie. -No one'll look at you as you are. When managers see a girl looking -shabby they only think of the reputation of their stage-door. If you'll -just let me give you a leg-up toward a job! Let me drive you round to -the agencies in the car instead of walking. I won't take 'no.' It's -Maggy's call this time." - -She prevailed in the end, forced the new frock on Alexandra and the -shoes that were too small; stuffed other things into the parcel when she -wasn't looking--a veil and some gloves, a pot of Bovril from her -sideboard, a tin of biscuits, a bottle of scent and other things. -Alexandra found them all when she got home. They dropped out of the -most unexpected places. There was a box of chocolates in one sleeve, -some very nice soap in another. A silk petticoat was wrapped round a -bottle of lemon squash. It was so like Maggy's indiscriminate largesse. -Where she loved, she was constrained to give, always with both hands. -Before Alexandra left she showed her a photograph. - -"Fred," she said. "Isn't he handsome? He's got one white tuft in his -black hair. I wish you knew him, Lexie." Alexandra had all along been -afraid she was going to say that. "I wish you _would_ meet him." Her -voice was wistful. "I'm so proud of you. I've talked about you to him -such a lot. I believe if he were to see you he'd--think more of me," -she added humbly. - -"Doesn't he think a lot of you?" asked Alexandra, surprised. She put -down the photo. The face, handsome, albeit brutal, did not appeal to -her. - -"In a way. But I don't think he really believes you're a lady ... that -a lady would be real friends with me. It's difficult to explain." - -Alexandra felt sure she would not like Woolf. She instantly resented -what she suspected must be his attitude toward Maggy. - -"You'd be doing me a favor," Maggy said. "Would you mind very much?" - -Alexandra shrank from meeting Woolf because instinctively she guessed -the kind of man he was. The photograph almost told her. It showed her a -man, not a gentleman, yet whose money bought him the right of way -amongst gentlemen, the type of man who would assume that every woman, -not a lady, had her price. She felt sorry for Maggy. - -"I will meet him if you're very keen about it," she said at length. It -seemed so grudging, so ungrateful to refuse the one thing required of -her. Maggy would have done, had done, more than that for her. She -acknowledged the concession now with a spontaneous hug. - -"I'll fix a day. We'll have lunch together," she said. "It makes me so -happy, Lexie, to think I've got you again--my friend. Men say women -can't be friends. They don't know. Have another look round before you -go. You do think it nice, don't you? Fred's taken it on a three years' -agreement." - -"Is he married?" asked Alexandra suddenly. - -"No." - -"Then surely he might marry you." - -"He would never marry me," said Maggy. "I don't talk about it. I don't -think of it. If he thought I'd got such an idea in my head I don't -believe he'd want me any longer. He'd hate to be tied down to anything -or anybody for longer than a three years' agreement." - -An oppression fell on Alexandra. The room, which had been flooded by -the afternoon sun, was in shade now. It looked colder, less intimate. -One saw that it was a room whose furniture had been provided _en bloc_ -by a Company--the Company that owned the flats. There was no individual -taste about it. There was nothing permanent about it. It was not a -home, and was not meant to be one. - -"But after three years--" Alexandra began anxiously. - -Maggy shut her eyes. - -"If you ever love a man," she said, "you'll know one doesn't think in -years. One simply feels--in minutes." - - - - - XIV - - -Alexandra did not have to avail herself of Maggy's offer of her car for -the purpose of visiting the various agencies. That evening she received -a post-card from Stannard requesting her to call on Mrs. Hugh Lambert at -her house in South Kensington. Mrs. Lambert's name was familiar to her -as that of the wife of a leading actor-manager on whose stage she was -never seen. She toured the provinces with plays of her own, while he -remained in London or visited New York, in both of which cities he was -the idol of a vast number of impressionable women. - -You could hardly pick up an illustrated paper without finding Hugh -Lambert's photograph in it. You could buy picture post-cards of him at -every shop where such things are on sale--full-face, in profile, in -costume, out of costume, head and shoulders, half-length, full-length. -How he was able to devote so much time to being photographed and yet get -a reasonable amount of sleep was a mystery that did not seem capable of -explanation. He was immensely popular and very good-looking in an -effeminate way. Before arriving at the dignity of actor-management his -talent for poetic interpretation had been freely recognized. But -success had spoilt him. Now he was mannered. Costume parts were his -hobby. The story went that, at one of his dress-rehearsals in which he -was figuring as a Roman general in gilded armor, he asked a lady present -what she thought of his appearance, and that her answer had been: "Oh, -Mr. Lambert, what a girl you are for clothes!" - -As Lambert's reputation had increased, so that of his wife had -diminished. At one time she had promised to develop into an actress of -renown. But for some reason difficult to understand she never quite -succeeded. The critics said she lacked "personal magnetism," that touch -of attractiveness that gets the actress's individuality across the -footlights. The fact remains that she failed to please the public in -the big roles that fell to her in her husband's productions. London -dropped her, and Hugh Lambert's name blazed alone in colored electric -lights across the front of his theater. - -Then came a whisper of his marital infidelity. The couple separated. -From this time onwards Mrs. Lambert was seldom seen on the London stage. - -Her career was a disappointing one. None knew it better than herself. -Technically and emotionally she was a finer actress than her husband's -leading lady, finer indeed than most of the leading ladies of other -managers. That she became a great attraction in the Provinces was -nothing to her. She loathed the Provinces, their inadequate theaters, -their inferior hotels, and the incessant traveling. At thirty-five she -found herself as it were back at the collar-work of her earlier days of -struggle, and without its compensations. Then, conjugal affection and -the stimulus of ambition still unachieved had made touring bearable and -often enjoyable because she shared it with Lambert. - -Now she was alone. - -She hated the sordid manufacturing towns and their unsophisticated -audiences, the eternal sameness of the self-vaunted watering-places, the -dull spas where fashionable frequenters of the pump room would -condescend to patronize her whom they would not pay to see in London. -She was a tired woman. - -To her came Alexandra at eleven o'clock on the morning appointed. She -had quite forgotten, until her maid brought her up the card, that she -had asked Stannard to find her a small-part actress who would also be -useful as a companion. She saw Alexandra at once. - -The impression the latter first got of her was a pathetic one. She -never forgot it. Mrs. Lambert was sitting up in bed. The small oval of -her face was too pale for health, and her dark hair accentuated her look -of fragility. On the dressing-table lay a rich copper-colored -transformation. - -"I hope you don't mind seeing me in bed," she said. "I hate keeping -people waiting. It's so selfish. In my time I've sat on dress-baskets -outside dressing-room doors waiting for hours till some selfish wretch -took it into his head to see me, although he'd made an appointment and -knew perfectly well I was there. I vowed I'd never treat any one in the -same way. Sit down somewhere and tell me about yourself. What have you -done?" - -"Very little," Alexandra confessed. "I'm almost an amateur." - -Mrs. Lambert made a wry face. "Not a moneyed one, I hope?" - -"I've got forty pounds a year." - -"Officer's daughter's pension?" - -"Yes." Alexandra looked surprised. "How did you know?" - -"I'm one myself. Officer's daughters can't do much when they're left -stranded. They teach if they're ugly and sensible enough, and they go -on the stage if they're sufficiently pretty and foolish. How long have -you been at it?" - -"Three months." - -"And how long in an engagement?" - -"I rehearsed for three weeks at the Pall Mall in the chorus.... I -wasn't wanted." - -"I don't wonder. I can't quite see a girl like you in the Pall Mall -chorus. You must have had rather an unpleasant time of it there. Were -you worried by men? Before I married I used to wear a wedding ring. In -my innocence, I thought it would be something of a protection, but it -had quite a contrary effect." She gave Alexandra a sympathetic look. -"Would you really like to come on tour with me?" - -"Mr. Stannard didn't say what you required," said Alexandra. "Perhaps -you won't think I'm experienced enough." - -"Well, I want some one to thread ribbons through my underclothes, to -sleep in my room when I see bogies, and play a small part--a servant -flicking chairs. I can't promise that it will increase your theatrical -reputation, but perhaps when you leave me, some minor manager might be -induced to give you a decent part on the strength of your having been in -Mrs. Hugh Lambert's company. You'll go about with me. I'll pay all -hotel expenses and give you thirty shillings a week. If you're hard up -for clothes, say so. I've always got a lot more than I want, and as I -send them to the Theatrical Ladies' Guild you needn't feel under any -obligation about taking them. I hope you'll decide to come. I should -like you to. You won't be overworked and I'll treat you decently. I'm -not a cat." - -"I'd love to come if you'll have me." - -"Well, we'll consider it arranged then. Stannard will see to the -contract. The tour is for three months. I leave town in about a -fortnight, but you might as well come and stop here in the meantime. We -shall get to know each other and rub corners off. Would you care to? -Then come back to-night, somewhere about six. You can help me with my -shopping and packing. I'll keep you busy!" She held out a thin -artistic hand. - -There was no maid in the hall, so Alexandra opened the door to let -herself out. A man stood on the steps, about to ring the bell. He was -thirty or so, of an aristocratic type. They both hesitated for a -moment. Then he asked: - -"Can you tell me if Mrs. Lambert is in?" - -"Yes--I think so," she said. - -"Would you mind telling her I'd like to take her to lunch. I'll wait if -she isn't down yet." - -"Yes, certainly," said Alexandra. It struck her that he seemed to be -aware of the late hours she kept. It argued intimacy. "What name shall -I say?" - -"Oh--Chalfont." - -She went upstairs again, knocked at the door, and found Mrs. Lambert -with the morning's papers on the bed. She was reading of her husband's -projected departure for America with his successful repertoire. There -were tears in her eyes. - -"I shall have to take to glasses," she said, looking up. "I can't read -without weeping. What is it?" - -"Mr. Chalfont is downstairs. He wants to know if you will lunch with -him." - -"Please tell Lord Chalfont," said Mrs. Lambert in a low voice, "that -it's the anniversary of my separation from my husband, and that I'm -lunching on my heart. But he can come to dinner to-night if he likes. -Ask him to put you in a taxi." - -She returned to the newspapers. - - - - - XV - - -"Lexie's coming to lunch to-morrow," Maggy informed Woolf. "We must -give her a good one, Fred, and you'll behave, won't you, D.D.?" - -"D.D." in Maggy's language of love stood for Dearest Darling. She was -not free from the modern, time-saving habit, set by trade advertisements -and the halfpenny papers, of abbreviating words in common use down to -their lowest denomination. - -"So she's woken up to the fact that there may be something to be got out -of you," yawned Woolf. - -"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Fred. Lexie couldn't be on the -make-haste. She's not made that way." - -"Sounds as if she's too good and uninteresting to live." - -"She isn't uninteresting. You'll like her. She's very pretty. Do be -good and do me credit." - -"Well ... I like that!" Woolf stared at her, half-amused. - -"I mean, don't say the things you say to me. She's sensitive." - -"My dear girl, don't teach me how to talk to women. Judging by what -you've told me I'm inclined to think your copybook Lexie is a deep 'un. -I don't think I'll come, anyway." - -"Oh, but you must. I've asked her on purpose to meet you. I want her -to see what a duck you are, and to like you, and not to think me bad -just because I let you wipe your shoes on me." - -She slipped to the ground and sat at his feet. Woolf liked her in her -devoted moods. Like many another unworthy man, adulation gave him -peculiar satisfaction. Maggy was rarely flippant now. She loved Woolf -with a passion that almost frightened her. It was not a passion of the -mind. He dominated her in other ways. She was too transparent to hide -how much she cared. She gave too much. It was her pleasure, when she -knew he was going to stay several hours with her, to take off his shoes -and put on the pumps which with a few other things he kept at the flat. - -She commenced to unlace his shoes now. Then she dragged his pumps from -under the sofa, kissing them first before she put them on his feet. - -"You funny creature. What makes you do that?" he asked, well enough -aware of her reason, but desirous of extracting an expression of it. - -"Because I adore you. I feel like Mary Magdalene or whoever it was who -broke the precious ointment all over her Master's feet. Oh, yes, I know -who it was. But do you think she wouldn't have done it just the same if -He had been an ordinary man? He was _her_ lord. She never thought of -Him as everybody's Lord. That isn't blasphemy. It's love." - -"You don't know how I love you," she went on ardently. "Men think they -know how to love, but they never love as a woman loves. I love you so -much that first of all I wish I had been your mother, so that I might -have held you in my arms when you were tiny and given you dill water for -your tummy aches, and bathed and powdered you.... And next I wish I had -been your twin sister to have grown up with you.... And next I wish I -had been the first woman in your life.... And next I wish.... Oh, and -I'm thankful to be--just yours." She sat up, and went on in rather a -tense voice. "I wonder if you'll ever get tired of me. Could you, -Fred?" - -"Well, I'm not yet." He gave a playful pull at her loosened hair. - -"And treat me like men treat the A.F.'s in story-books." - -"What's an A.F.?" - -"Abandoned female, you goose. That's what I am. And when you've -finished with me will you leave me to starve in a garret while you live -in a mansion with a beautiful and good wife? And will I haunt your -doorstep and throw vitriol in your belovedest face?" - -"What nonsense you're talking, Maggy." - -"It isn't all nonsense. It isn't only in the story-books that women do -that. They do it in real life too. I read about a case in the paper -not long ago, and the judge asked the girl why she did it. She answered -'Because I love him.' The silly judge said: 'That's a funny way of -showing love,' and there was laughter in Court, in brackets. Laughter in -Court! I expect it sounded to that girl like laughter in hell. I know -what she must have felt. I daresay she lived so long with the man and -loved him so much that she felt as good as his wife. Then when he left -her, she must have gone mad, poor thing." - -She got up and stood in front of him, looking very sweet and alluring. - -"How long will you love me, I wonder?" she mused. - -Woolf drew her on to his knees. - -"So long as you look like you do now." - -"You mean so long as I'm pretty? Wouldn't you love me if I looked like -poor Mrs. Slightly? She's losing her fur." - -"What's the matter with Mrs. Slightly?" he asked. - -He did not care for Maggy's mongrel pets, and his tone was not -encouraging. It put Maggy on her guard. She had a premonition that it -would be best to hide Mrs. Slightly's secret until it could no longer be -hidden. - -"I'm not quite sure," she said. - -"Where is she?" - -"I left her in the bathroom. I'll get her. She hasn't had her supper -yet." - -She went out of the room. Woolf heard her calling the cat softly, then -came a smothered exclamation, and she called to him eagerly, excitedly. - -"Oh, Fred! Fred! Come here! Come and _look_!" - -He followed her. She was standing before Mrs. Slightly's basket. The -cat was purring, its eyes half-shut, tired after the tremendous function -of motherhood. Six little rat-like, squirming bodies lay against her -own. - -"Six of them!" breathed Maggy triumphantly. "Aren't they lovely! Wasn't -it worth going on the tiles for, Mrs. Dearest? The cat's cradle is -full, full!" - -Woolf disengaged her arm from his. - -"It's disgusting," he said angrily. "You ought to have got rid of her -before this, or--or kept her in. You can't keep the kittens. They'll -have to be drowned." - -Maggy looked at him blankly. - -"Aren't you pleased?" she asked, surprised. - -"Pleased! At a sight like that! Besides, you told me a lie. I won't -have lies. You must have known before you went to the theater that the -cat had had kittens--" - -"I didn't. Oh, how dare you say so! Do you think I'd have gone out and -left her all these hours without any milk by her side if I'd guessed -they were coming so soon?" - -She flew off, and came back with a saucer of bread and milk. She put it -on the floor and went down on her hands and knees beside the newly-born -animals. There was a rapt expression on her face. - -"I don't think I'll stop," said Woolf huffily, and moved to the door. - -He expected that she would call him back, but to his surprise she did -not even look up. She was wholly absorbed with the natural phenomenon. -For the first time in their intercourse she was oblivious of his -presence. She did not even hear him go. She knelt entranced. - -At last a sigh broke from her. She became articulate. - -"Oh, you babies!" she whispered. "Oh, you little, little things!" - - - - - XVI - - -Maggy looked forward with immense eagerness to the luncheon at which -Woolf was to meet Alexandra. She had a double reason for desiring it. -In a sense, Alexandra's presence would mean that she no longer -disapproved of the connection: it would give it a certain sanction, an -authority it would otherwise lack. Her other reason concerned Woolf -himself. In spite of his assertions to the contrary, she was sure he -knew how to appreciate a woman of culture. Once he saw how different -Alexandra was from the girls he usually met, his regard for herself -would grow stronger, if only because she had the advantage of the -friendship of such a superior being. - -She was not altogether wrong in her assumption that Woolf liked a lady, -although it must be admitted he seldom felt at ease with one. He was -only himself with declasse women, or a girl of Maggy's class, who had -few sensibilities to shock. All the same, he was contemptuous of the -women whose society he frequented, and he had a sneaking admiration for -the women of the more sedate world to which he did not belong. It was -likely that he would ultimately marry a lady, if he married at all, -since he considered that women, other than the class that will not give -itself away except in the bond of holy matrimony, were not worthy of any -such honor. He was a cad, of course, but a cad of ambitions and brains. - -Maggy's rhapsodies about Alexandra left him cold. He did not credit -Maggy with being much of a judge concerning matters pertaining to the -aristocracy. He did not believe that Alexandra had the breeding Maggy -was always vaunting. He merely supposed that she was more subtle than -Maggy, one who could ape superior manners, much as an astute parlormaid -can. - -The fact that this friend so exclusive, according to Maggy, should -overcome her scruples sufficiently to meet him, knowing perfectly well -in what relation he stood to Maggy, was sufficient confirmation that she -had never had any scruples of importance to overcome. He was amused -that Maggy could be so hoodwinked by one of her own sex. But then Maggy -was a little fool--pretty and taking, and that was all. He was too -egregious to appreciate that real friendship for Maggy, friendship which -overrode personal considerations, had induced Alexandra to accept the -invitation. - -She turned up at the flat at the time appointed. They were to lunch in -the restaurant attached. - -Woolf could not help being impressed with her appearance. He could not -deny that she was really exceedingly pretty. Her features were quite -perfect--white brow, small straight nose, well-shaped mouth. He saw all -this at a glance, the cool, scrutinizing glance of valuation with which -he favored every attractive member of her sex, whether a duchess in her -carriage in Bond Street or a shop-girl on her way to work. - -Maggy introduced her friend and her lover with mutual pride. The tone -in which she did it left no doubt that what she would have loved to say -was: - -"This is Lexie. Isn't she lovely? You know she is;" and then with a -certain dubiousness: "My Fred.... _Do_ like him. Surely you must think -him handsome." - -"Delighted to meet any friend of Maggy's," said Woolf cordially. "Been -a long time coming round, haven't you?" - -Alexandra instantly resented the unnecessary familiarity he put into his -tone, but for Maggy's sake she refrained from showing it. Woolf was no -better and no worse than she had expected to find him. He was merely -vulgar, from the salmon-pink handkerchief in his breast-pocket to the -too-valuable pin in his tie. - -"I came as soon as I was asked," she answered equably. "Maggy and I are -old friends. There's no reason why I should keep away from her." - -"Of course, there isn't. Only Maggy thought you didn't approve of--this -little show." He waved his arm round the room. - -"It's a dear little flat. I like it very much." - -Woolf laughed loudly. "The flat's all right. Perhaps I should have said -our little menage a deux. There's no harm in it. Everybody's doing it, -aren't they, Maggy? Come along to lunch, you girls." - -If Alexandra could have run away then and there she would have done so. -She guessed what she was in for. Maggy was looking nervous. She wanted -Alexandra and Fred to "get on," to like each other. She had done her -best to make her lover avoid the sort of conversation Alexandra would -not like. She was dreadfully afraid he was going to spoil it all. - -As Woolf led the way down to the restaurant she slipped behind and -whispered: - -"Lexie, don't be shocked if Fred talks a bit. I've told him not to -because you don't like it; but if he forgets--" - -Alexandra gave her arm a little squeeze. It heartened her. Her adoring -eyes went to the big figure, striding on in front of them. - -"Doesn't he look a dear?" she asked. "Could I _help_ it? Fancy him -wanting me!" - -Her abjectness was a revelation to Alexandra. She had not conceived it -possible that cheeky, masterful Maggy, could have surrendered her -independence so completely. In this man's company she was quieter, more -subdued, ever watchful to please, to laugh when he laughed--a little too -much perhaps, too ready to applaud his most commonplace remarks as -witticisms, his untasteful jokes as gems of wit. She had a mind of her -own. She hardly showed it. His assertive manhood seemed to have -swamped her personality. All the time she was considering him. He -scarcely considered her at all. - -Conversation did not run freely during the first part of the meal. -Woolf wanted to shine in Alexandra's eyes as a good host. He showed it -by bullying the waiters over trivialities, until she began to feel quite -uncomfortable. His was not the quietly assertive tone of the man who -knows what he wants and how to order it. It was obvious to the very -attendants themselves that he blustered in order to draw attention to -his importance, just as he would tip excessively and yet argue over a -trifling item on the bill. - -Over his coffee and a cigarette his manner showed some improvement. -Still, he had not taken Alexandra's measure. She was telling Maggy of -her sudden luck in obtaining an engagement, and that she was going to -stay with Mrs. Lambert. Maggy was delighted. - -"Oh, I'm glad!" she said enthusiastically. "It's tip-top, Lexie. Fred, -did you hear that? Lexie's going on tour with Mrs. Lambert. Isn't it -splendid for her?" - -"Splendid for Mrs. Lambert. Rather!" concurred Woolf, with heavy -gallantry. "You'll have plenty of opportunities of ingenue parts with -the lady," he went on, knowingly. "You'll suit her to a T. You'll play -propriety, of course! Dashed funny, that." - -"I don't understand," said Alexandra. - -"Oh, come, we're none of us as good as we look. Of course you've heard -about Mrs. Lambert and Lord Chalfont? I told you everybody was doing -it." - -Her crimson face and indignant eyes did not warn him of the blunder he -was committing. Maggy was playing nervously with the crystallized sugar, -afraid of angering Woolf by stemming the tide of his untactful -garrulity. - -He bent forward, lowering his voice. "It's like this," he said, and -began to give details of a liaison which Alexandra had no reason to -credit, details which were offensive and unnecessary. She was genuinely -shocked. Involuntarily she pushed back her chair while he was still -talking and made the first excuse she could think of. - -"I shall have to be going now, Maggy. I'm so sorry. I--I'm late for an -appointment as it is. I--I'll come and say good-by before I go on -tour." - -"Must you really go?" asked Maggy weakly. She knew that Alexandra could -stand no more. It meant that her poor little attempt at concord between -the only two people she cared about had come to nought. "Fred, tell the -waiter to order a taxicab." - -"I won't wait for that," said Alexandra. "I shall be too late. I ought -to go at once. I shall find one in the street." - -She managed a reassuring smile to show Maggy that though her feelings -were outraged she meant to get over it, and let it make no difference to -their friendship. Now that she had met Woolf and learnt the sort of man -he was, nothing would have induced her to waver in allegiance to Maggy. -Maggy needed her though she might never say it. She knew she could not -bring herself to meet Woolf again, even for Maggy's sake. - -He insisted on escorting her out of the restaurant and putting her into -a cab. He was aware now from her almost monosyllabic rejoinders that he -had made a mistake, spoken in bad taste. It was suddenly obvious to him -that she was a lady--the "real thing," and that he had offended her. -Simultaneously with this came the desire to know more of her. - -"I believe you're annoyed," he said. "Have I been a bit too -plain-spoken?" - -"Here's my taxi," she said, disregarding the question. - -He helped her in, knowing that she disapproved of him. A natural -premonition told him that she would not be desirous of meeting him again -unless he could convince her he was aware of his error and regretted it. -He was distinctly taken with her, more now than ever that her -fastidiousness made her difficult. He leant toward her and spoke almost -anxiously. - -"I'd like to meet you again. Can't you dine with me one night before -you go? I'm sorry if I've offended you.... I made a mistake. I -thought you were Maggy's sort." - -The apology, so disloyal to Maggy, as well as insulting to herself, -inflamed her. - -"You unspeakable cad!" she said. - -Woolf returned to Maggy rather red in the face. She had left the -restaurant and was waiting for him in her sitting-room. She was afraid -to reproach him, and yet anxious that he should know he had blundered. -She was terribly disappointed. - -"You shocked Lexie," she told him, and waited to see what he would say. - -He made no answer. - -"You thought her pretty?" she went on. - -Woolf was biting his finger-nails savagely. - -"Didn't you?" she persisted. - -"Oh, yes. Very pretty." - -He had been repulsed, snubbed, and was rankling under the smart of it. -It made him turn to the girl who had nothing but devotion for him for a -salve to his wounded vanity. The girl who had just gone was provokingly -desirable because of her cool eyes, her scornful mouth, her aloofness, -the disdain of her. But Maggy was all his, living for him. - -He took her in his arms almost savagely. - -"You're worth ten of her," he exclaimed; and in his irritation believed -what he said. - -Her body relaxed submissively in the grip of his arms. - -"Oh, my God, how I love you!" she murmured, trembling. - -She laid her cheek against his and stroked his hand. "Will you do me a -favor, Fred?" she went on presently, unconsciously taking advantage of -what she regarded as a soft mood. - -"What is it? A bit more money than I give you?" - -"No. I don't want more money. I've got enough. I've never been greedy -that way, have I?" - -"No. More silly you. Women should make hay while the sun shines." - -She looked at him with soft eyes. - -"When the sun shines some women only want to let it warm them through -and through." - -"Well, what's the favor?" - -She pointed at the basket containing Mrs. Slightly and her offspring, -which Woolf had not noticed. - -"You asked me to have them drowned. I'd rather find homes for them. -Please, D.D.?" - -"But, good Lord--why?" - -She drew away from him, walked over to the basket, and leant over it, as -if communing with Mrs. Slightly. - -"I had a dream last night," she said. "It's because of that I--I want -Mrs. Slightly's kittens to live. I dreamt that I was a mother cat, only -in my dream I had but one little kitty. But it was all mine and I loved -it. It had soft black hair with a white tuft in it--like its father." -She looked straight at the white lock that was so singular a feature of -Woolf's dark hair. "And one afternoon when I had come back from a -stroll I went to the basket to find that my Kitty was gone. I mewed for -it everywhere. There was nowhere that I did not look. I couldn't -possibly, as a cat, know that the human I looked up to, the giver of -food and all good things could do anything so evil as to make away with -the precious thing. It was a nightmare. In my dream, I was searching, -searching for hours. My cat-heart was breaking. When I woke up, I was -mewing! Don't laugh, Fred. And I made up my mind that I couldn't have -Mrs. Slightly's kittens drowned. Oh, the people who drown kittens and -take away calves from cows and lambs from sheep, must be hard-hearted -beasts. Why, if I had a baby, a little soft warm baby, and somebody -wanted to deprive me of it--Fred!" She caught at his arm. - -Startled by the sharp note of appeal in her voice he put a startled -question. - -Maggy had cast her arms protectively round the basket where Mrs. -Slightly and her kittens slept, all unconscious of issues concerning -their fate. Her shoulders were shaking. She was moved by some -extraordinary emotion. But when she turned to Woolf again she was calm. - -"I am quite sure," she said. - - - - - XVII - - -The change from the drab surroundings of the King's Cross Road to Mrs. -Lambert's pretty house in South Kensington made Alexandra feel as though -she had escaped from purgatory. Hers was the temperament that withers -in a sad environment and expands in a bright one. Whilst in her -lodgings she had had to put up with dinginess and discomfort: Albert -Place was the antithesis of everything unpleasant. She seemed to breathe -more freely there. - -The house was small, Georgian and white. Great wire baskets overflowing -with pink climbing geraniums hung from its porch and balcony. Between -its green iron railings and the front door was a strip of well-kept -garden full of shrubs and ferns kept fresh and glistening with a -constant supply of moisture. - -Inside it was equally delightful. Mrs. Lambert had a nice taste for -form and color. Where Maggy would have put hot-toned plush and -burnished copper the actress had quiet soft brocades and silver. Her -furniture consisted mainly of delicate Georgian mahogany as decorative -as it was comfortable. Alexandra reveled in it all. - -Then again, the change meant relief from anxiety. She had something to -do, she would be paid for it. For three months or more she would be -free from continuous alarm about the morrow. Here was occupation, -cleanliness, comfort, good food, agreeable companionship. Over and over -again she kept reminding herself of it. - -The days that followed her arrival were busy ones. The tour was to -start in a fortnight. There was much shopping to do, packing, -preparation for it. The small part Alexandra was to play, that of a -parlormaid, did not take up much of her time rehearsing. Mrs. Lambert -did not rehearse at all. Her understudy relieved her of that duty. -Occasionally she would spend an hour watching her company and conferring -with her manager, but so long as things went on smoothly, as they -generally did, she avoided the theatrical side of her affairs as much as -she could. - -The fact was, as Alexandra quickly found out, Mrs. Lambert disliked the -stage. She loved acting because she had a gift for it. But she was not -eaten up with her own achievements and was quite free from the -artificial manner and the petty interests of average stage-folk. Her -chief pleasure lay in getting away from London in her excellent Panhard -limousine on every available occasion and forgetting that she belonged -to the stage. Alexandra shared many a pleasant drive with her that hot -end of July, lunching in the shade of some quiet Surrey lane or the more -deserted parts of Richmond Park. - -A day or two before they were to start on tour they met Maggy in a -Regent Street shop. Maggy's appearance was very striking. Her coloring -just now was more vivid than usual. She bloomed. - -"Oh, Lexie!" she exclaimed, "I was half afraid you'd gone off without -saying good-by." - -"You know I wouldn't have done that," Alexandra protested. - -"I haven't given her a moment to herself," put in Mrs. Lambert. She was -looking at Maggy with the frank admiration of an unjealous woman. "Are -you great friends, you two?" she asked. - -"We used to chum together," Maggy said. "Lexie is my patron saint." - -"Well, then you must see more of her before she goes. Won't you come -and lunch with us to-morrow?--seventy-four, Albert Place." - -"I should love to," Maggy answered eagerly. "May I really?" - -"Yes, do," said Mrs. Lambert. "Half-past one." - -She nodded, and Maggy moved away to join Woolf, who had come in. He -glanced curiously at Alexandra as she and Mrs. Lambert left the shop. - -"That's Mrs. Lambert, with Lexie," Maggy told him. "I was just talking -to them. Mrs. Lambert asked me to lunch at her house. Isn't it kind of -her? She looked at me so nicely too. Our hearts seemed to shake hands." - -Woolf had scarcely noticed Mrs. Lambert. He had only had eyes for -Alexandra, and was incensed because she had not acknowledged him. - -"Your precious particular friend cut me," he said. "I suppose you saw -that." - -"I'm sure she couldn't have seen you. Why should she cut you?" - -Woolf had his own reasons for surmising why she had done so, but he was -not going to give them. - -"I should like you to drop that friendship," he said vindictively. - -"Drop Lexie? Me? You're joking!" - -"I'm not." - -Maggy very seldom argued with Woolf. Her subjugation was nearly -complete, but she still had some spirit left. She showed it now. - -"I gave up living with Lexie to come to you," she reminded him. - -"Do you regret it?" - -"I don't, but I probably shall. Anyway, instead of turning up her nose -at me she's behaved like a darling. I couldn't go back on her. Why, -I--I'd rather have drowned Mrs. Slightly's kittens with my own hands -than been so mean as that!" - -"Well, you needn't lunch with her at Mrs. Lambert's. You might meet -Lord Chalfont there." - -"It's not in the least likely. But what would it matter if I did?" - -"I don't like him." - -"I thought you said you didn't know him?" - -"I've never spoken to the bounder, if that's what you mean," said Woolf -testily. - -"I don't understand you. You generally don't care what I do or where I -go when I'm not with you. When I see Lexie again I shall tell her -you're huffy with her." - -Now Alexandra had not deliberately meant to cut Woolf. She would not -have done so out of consideration to Maggy; but as she had only seen his -reflection in one of the shop mirrors she did not consider it necessary -to turn round and bow to him. Besides, she knew he was the sort of man -Mrs. Lambert would not care about, and it was quite likely that if she -had acknowledged him he would have presumed on her good nature. - -"What a lovely girl!" Mrs. Lambert said, when they were in the street. -"She's a joy to look at. Who was the man who joined her? I seem to -know his face. He looked Jewish." - -"His name is Woolf." - -"I wonder if he's the person who is exploiting Primus cars. He owns -some racehorses too, and a sporting paper." - -"It's the same," said Alexandra. - -"Lord Chalfont knows more about him than I do. He had him turned out of -his club. It's an exclusive one, and some thoughtless young fellow had -brought him in. I don't think he's very nice, dear. What a pity he -knows your friend." - -Alexandra hesitated. She guessed that Mrs. Lambert had asked Maggy out -of consideration to herself. But if she knew that Woolf and Maggy were -intimate perhaps she would wish to rescind that invitation. Alexandra -did not want to be disloyal to Maggy, nor yet to let Mrs. Lambert be -deceived about her. - -"Maggy thinks a lot of him," she hesitated. "I don't want to talk about -her because she is my friend, but--" - -Mrs. Lambert laid her hand on Alexandra's for a moment. - -"The majority of us have got a 'but' in our lives," she said in a -curious tone, and then added with apparent irrelevance, "Did I tell you -that Lord Chalfont will be staying with us on tour?" - - - - - XVIII - - -Maggy meant to disregard Woolf's injunction against her going to Mrs. -Lambert's. The temptation to see Alexandra was too strong to resist. -Moreover, she thought it likely that he would forget having made it. -Then, if she went and he still objected, she would admit having -disobeyed him. She would not lie about it. She never did tell lies; -not on moral grounds but because lying was cowardly and she did not know -the meaning of cowardice. - -Woolf had been a little overbearing with her lately, too much the -master. She did not mind that sort of tyranny so long as it implied -fondness, but she had a feeling that he was changing towards her. For -one thing, she knew he was annoyed at her condition. That hurt her -abominably. In books she had read of husbands and wives being drawn -closer together, of estranged couples becoming reconciled under similar -conditions. Indeed, she had hoped for special tenderness from him -directly he knew they existed. She had even tried to delude herself -into the hope that he might marry her. - -It was not that she wanted any legal hold on him. She would not have -loved Woolf any more because of marriage. But if he married her it -would be a guarantee of his love, which just now she had reason to -doubt. That was all. The rights which marriage confer on a woman meant -nothing to her. She only wanted to get rid of the nightmare dread of -separation from him. Any other girl similarly situated would have stood -out for marriage, but Maggy had too much pride for that. She recoiled -from a more than possible refusal. - -She felt thrown back upon herself, lonely in spirit. A faintness -assailed her whenever she thought of what she would have to undergo -without a soul knowing of it except Woolf. And on this subject, so -closely connecting them, Woolf was cold and remote. He would have shown -more concern had she cut her finger. She wanted comfort. It would have -helped her to confide in some sympathetic woman. She wondered whether -she dared tell Alexandra, and decided that it would not be fair or even -expedient. Virginal Alexandra would not understand, or if she -understood she would be more afraid than Maggy herself. Obviously she -could neither reassure nor comfort her, since the thing was right out of -her experience, and always would be. Poor Maggy! Her abundant vitality, -her pulsing affections, made motherhood infinitely desirable to her. As -a child she had scarcely had time to play with dolls because she was -always on the stage, but she had always yearned over babies. Nature, -which takes no account of the individual, concerned only with the -reproduction of the race, had intended her to be a mother. Man-made -shibboleths were to deny her that right. - -She took great pains in dressing for her visit to Mrs. Lambert's. She -was free from the spirit of feminine emulation, but she wanted to look -her best, to please Alexandra's critical taste, so that she might -remember how she looked that day, in case they might never see each -other again. Maggy had never before been inclined to depression, but the -clammy fingers of morbidity touched her now. - -She elected to wear a frock of sprigged muslin and a simple hat that she -had trimmed herself. The hat was in part a concession to Woolf, for she -took pleasure in such tasks, and liked him to see that she could excel -in them. Thus dressed, she was quite perfect. Her coloring was so -vivid and her figure so mature that extreme simplicity suited her. But -she was not quite satisfied with the effect. Her eyes roved over the -dressing-table in search of some finishing touch, and came to a stop at -her jewel-case. From it she took a diamond bracelet Woolf had given -her, and put it on. He had bestowed it on her with great -impressiveness, and she accordingly believed it to be very valuable. - -When she reached Albert Place neither Mrs. Lambert nor Alexandra was in. -They had been detained somewhere and had telephoned through to say so. -The maid showed her into the drawing room. Somewhat to her dismay she -found it occupied by a man. She did not know him by sight, but she -immediately came to the conclusion that he must be Lord Chalfont. She -felt awkward, uncertain whether it was "proper" to speak or not. She -had not encountered any men of rank before, and had not the average -chorus girl's assurance with male members of the peerage. - -Lord Chalfont got up. - -"I fancy we're both here for the same reason: to lunch," he said -pleasantly. "Shall we become known to each other? I'm Lord Chalfont." - -"My name's Delamere," rejoined Maggy. - -"We both owe something to the French, then. It ought to provide us with -a sort of _entente cordiale_." - -"Oh, I don't believe Delamere's my right name. It's too high-falutin'. -But it's the only one I know of. My mother took it for the stage and it -had to do for my christening." - -The statement was made quite innocently. Chalfont was amused. - -"I'm sure I've seen you before," he said. - -His easy manner gave her confidence. She liked him. She felt she could -talk to him without being on her guard. The way in which he looked at -her had nothing disturbing in it. It was not the hunting look which she -was accustomed to see in men's eyes, and against which she was for ever -armed. If there was a touch of admiration in it there was also respect. -She recognized the difference, and knew she had to do with a gentleman. -Woolf had spoken of him as a bounder. There he was obviously wrong. -Lord Chalfont looked the sort of person she had seen in historical -pictures, dressed in silk and lace, walking unconcernedly to have his -head chopped off. - -"I daresay you've seen me often," she agreed. "I'm in the front row at -the Pall Mall Theater--black chiffon over pink. Then I'm somebody's -boot polish in the advertisements--my photograph, you know--cleaning my -own shoes without dirtying my frock. And I'm somebody else's -motorcoats, and nearly everybody's mouth-wash and cigarettes." - -Chalfont laughed. - -"By Jove! Do you know, I've always wondered who they got to sit for -those advertisements. How's it arranged? Do you mind telling me?" - -"Not at all. Sometimes the people--cigarettes or motorcoats, you -know--write and ask you to come and pose for them at their shops; but -generally it's done through a photographer. He gets paid for taking the -photos, and you get a little cheque and a lot of advertisement. When -it's for a mouth-wash you have to put on a broad grin and show your -teeth. It's awfully tiring sometimes. For a hair-restorer you wear -your hair down, and if you haven't much they fluff it out with a long -switch so as to make people believe in the stuff." - -"You're not tempted to use it, I suppose?" - -"Rather not! I've got too much hair as it is. It won't even fall out in -the autumn and spring." - -"How about the cigarettes?" - -"Oh, I daresay they're all right, though I don't suppose you'd want to -smoke them." - -"Just what I thought. Personally, I never buy anything that's -advertised if I can help it. When I have it I invariably have a feeling -that I'm being taken in." - -"I think it's the women more than the men who are taken in," said Maggy -thoughtfully. "Women believe anything they see in the papers. I used to -once." - -"But not now?" - -She shook her head. "You get to know a lot about make-believe when -you're on the stage." - -"I suppose you do. How is it I've never met you here before?" - -"I'm Lexie's friend. I mean Miss Hersey. Excuse my bad habit of -speaking of people by their Christian names. I know it's not right. I -don't, myself, like to hear women call their husbands 'Daddy' or -'Father' before strangers. It always sounds to me as if they wanted you -to consider yourself one of the family." - -"But you know Mrs. Lambert, don't you?" - -"Hardly. I met her with Lexie in a shop the other day and she asked me -to lunch. So here I am. Have I come too early?" - -"On the contrary. I'm very glad you're here, relieving my solitude." - -"I was afraid I was boring you. I can only talk rubbish. I can't help -it. You see, I don't know anything about the things that sensible -people talk about. Pictures and books and politics." - -"I think you do yourself an injustice. Please don't imagine I say it -out of compliment, but it's evident you are full of ideas, jolly -interesting ones, too." - -"Everybody has ideas of a sort, I suppose. What I mean is, I can't -discuss any of the subjects that really matter. Religion, for instance. -I know there are a thousand and one different ways of worshiping God, -but I haven't brains enough to argue about them. I'm far more -interested in a thousand different patterns for crochet, or the everyday -things you see from the top of a bus. I'm just hot and cold, or happy or -miserable." - -"Which is it to-day?" asked Chalfont. - -There was no flippancy in his tone. He saw that Maggy was an innately -simple girl, quite natural, and by no means unintelligent. He found her -frankness very refreshing, and he could but admire her delightful -appearance. He was anything but bored. - -"Which is it to-day?" he repeated. - -"Warm and happy--just now. I'm not often miserable. I love my life," -she said. - -She meant it. The pretty room, the flowers abounding in it, the shaded -windows framing masses of pink geranium, the soft ease of the big -armchair she was seated in, so different from the new-art, unadaptable -chairs of her own flat, had induced in her bodily comfort and mental -contentment. For the moment she had forgotten the anxieties caused by -her physical state. Unconsciously too she had fallen under the charm of -Chalfont's amiability. She had never met a man like him. She felt she -did not want to be on her guard with him. Whether he was more honest or -more reasonable than other men she had known she did not stop to think -about. Had she been asked for her chief impression of him she would -have expressed it in the word clean. - -So while she waited for Alexandra's return she let her candor have full -play, keeping Chalfont amused by her cheery talk and quaintly humorous -accounts of her life behind the scenes at the Pall Mall. She had -brought with her a number of picture postcards of herself to give to -Alexandra, for recently she had become quite a photographic favorite, -and these she showed him. - -"This is the one I like best," he said. "In the dress you have on now. -It's charming." - -"The dress, you mean. I'm so glad you like it. I was afraid it was too -quiet. I'm never quite sure about my dresses and hats. My taste in -clothes isn't always quiet. I love bright colors. They make me feel -warm and comfy. You know how dogs like rolling in mud. I have the same -feeling about colors. If I see anything very bright and gorgeous I want -to hug it to me for joy. People are always staring at me in the street -because of what I'm wearing." - -Chalfont could quite understand that any one, in the street or -elsewhere, would find pleasure in looking twice at such a beautiful -creature. But he did not say so in so many words. - -"You need not mind that," he said. "There's an esthetic sense in nearly -everybody that makes them glad to look at anything--radiant." - -"Radiant means brilliance, doesn't it? Talking of brilliance, do you -like this?" - -She held out her arm with the bracelet on it. Chalfont had already -noticed it. Now he gave it a closer inspection. Whilst being a good -judge of precious stones he had a great liking for paste when it was old -and good, but what he saw now was merely a product of the modern -manufacturer. - -"A French copy, isn't it?" he asked, thoughtlessly. - -Maggy's eyes widened. French--copy? Her diamond bracelet a -copy--imitation! She could not credit it. - -"But--they're diamonds!" she stammered, filled with a horrible -misgiving. - -Chalfont noticed the sharp note of disappointment in her voice and put -it down to one of two causes. Either she had been defrauded by somebody -or the bracelet was a present meant to deceive her. He made haste to -modify the opinion he had expressed about it. Looking at it once more, -he said: - -"Is it? I'm awfully sorry. Of course, I must be mistaken. Hullo!" he -interjected with relief, "here are Mrs. Lambert and Miss Hersey." - - - - - XIX - - -Lunch was over. Chalfont had taken his departure; Mrs. Lambert had -excused herself on account of a bad headache and gone to lie down. The -two girls were alone. The personal equation began to trouble Maggy -again. - -"I haven't seen you to talk to since you came to the flat," she said -diffidently. "Were you really cross with Fred? Of course, what he said -about Lord Chalfont was only what he'd heard. I could see by your face -you were shocked." - -"No, I wasn't exactly shocked," Alexandra answered. - -"But you didn't like it. Fred didn't mean any harm. He's like me: he -doesn't think what he says. I wish you liked him. You don't, do you?" - -"You make me uncomfortable, Maggy. We can't all like the same people." - -"But you're sorry I'm so fond of him?" - -"Very sorry," said Alexandra in a low voice. - -"I can't stop caring because of that. It's--it's in my system. Some -girls fall in love with a man because they believe he's good or noble or -brave or something they're particularly keen on; but if they find out -they're mistaken they're off that man like fleas from a dead rabbit. If -that sounds vulgar please forgive me, Lexie. The words just came out. -It's one of Fred's expressions. What I mean is, I can't love like that, -though I know I should be much more comfortable if I could. If I knew -you'd stolen Mrs. Lambert's purse or gone off with a rag-picker it -wouldn't make a bit of difference to me. It's you I love, not what you -do. And I feel the same about Fred, only more so." - -Prior to this, Mrs. Lambert had asked Alexandra a few questions about -Maggy's relations with Woolf. The answers she had fitted in with -certain information about the man himself previously imparted to her by -Chalfont. What she deduced from the two statements made her sorry for -Alexandra's friend and a little anxious about her. - -"No girl is safe with a man like that," she had said to Alexandra. "If -I were you I should try and persuade her to break with him." - -And Alexandra meant to try. There was one weapon she might have used to -shake Maggy's loyalty to Woolf: the cruelly belittling way in which he -had referred to her just before her cab drove off. But she shrank from -that. It was too poisonous. - -"What would you say if I asked you to leave him?" she asked. "Supposing -I needed you back with me?" - -Maggy weighed the problem. - -"I should say you jolly well knew I couldn't come," she answered. "I'm -all in. If Fred was in Hell and wanted me there I believe I'd have to -get to him. You don't know what it is." - -"What is it?" - -"It's the little things about him that have eaten into me. I'm -corrupted, or corroded, whatever it is. Perhaps it's both. I love the -white lock in his hair, the little pellet in his ear where he got -peppered out shooting once, the scent of his tobacco, the smell of a -Harris tweed suit he's got." She sniffed sensuously. "And there are -other things I can't tell you about...." - -"If he were to die or married some one else you would have to resign -yourself to doing without him," argued Alexandra. - -"Perhaps. I don't know. He's not dead or married, and I'm his. I know -he could manage without me. I'm just like an ornament to him. He dusts -me and puts me back on my shelf, and takes me down sometimes and has a -look at me. I hope to God he'll never drop or break me!" - -Alexandra was disturbed by the depth of passion in her voice. - -"I know what you think about Fred," Maggy went on. "You think he's -something near a cad. Well, there are lots of women who love cads and -who don't know that they are cads. Perhaps I'm one of them. You can't -put me out of this, Lexie dear. I don't know how it's going to end and -I don't want to know. That's where real life is rather like the stage. -The tag to a play's kept dark, never spoken until the curtain's about to -hide the players from view. If we knew how things were going to end -with us--knew the tags to our lives--I guess some of us wouldn't be able -to go on with our parts off the stage." - -It was like arguing with a fatalist. Her loyalty to Woolf was as -unalterable as destiny. Alexandra gave up trying to move her. She -changed the conversation, and an hour later Maggy went upstairs in -response to a message from Mrs. Lambert, who wanted to say good-by to -her. - -Mrs. Lambert's bedroom was in half darkness. She was still racked with a -headache, but she wanted to see Maggy and to hear whether Alexandra had -succeeded in persuading her to break with Woolf. For this purpose she -had left the two girls alone together. Maggy closed the door gently -behind her and tip-toed toward the bed. - -"I'm so sorry you feel bad," she said feelingly. "It won't do for me to -stop talking to you. That will make your head worse. I'll just say -good-by and go. Thank you for being so kind to me. It was nice to come -and see Lexie here." - -"You're very fond of her?" asked Mrs. Lambert. - -"She's fine. I lived with her, you see. When you live for weeks with -another girl in one room, and don't have a cross word it stands to -reason one of you must be eighteen-carat. That's Lexie. She never -complained or lost heart, not even when things were bad and I left her. -She's the quiet sort but she's a fighter. There were soldiers in her -family. It comes out in her. But I've started to talk--" - -"You don't tire me. Sit down. It's refreshing to hear a woman speak -well of another. Rather a novelty too. Aren't you jealous of her going -away with me?" - -"No, I'm awfully glad she's found you. I was thinking this afternoon -how well she fitted in with everything here. She's a lady, like you. -Things that I never fretted about because I wasn't used to them, she -must have missed terribly. She's fine lace. I'm crochet work." - -Mrs. Lambert laid her thin hand on Maggy's. - -"How would you like to come on tour with us?" she asked. "I could make -room for you. But I suppose your contract at the Pall Mall wouldn't -permit of it?" - -The unexpected proposition was tempting enough. Under different -circumstances Maggy would have jumped at it. - -"It isn't the contract that would stop me," she said with some -hesitation. "But I've got a--flat." - -There was a pregnant pause. - -"And there's another reason.... I--I have to go away for a little while -... and I was glad that Lexie would be away. Oh, what have I said? You -don't understand?" - -"I think I do." - -Maggy's face flushed crimson and then went white. Mrs. Lambert's hand -still lay on hers. Contact with it gave her a feeling of sisterhood, a -longing to confide. Her pent up feelings suddenly found voice. - -"I want to tell some one," she choked. "I've got to go through with -something I hate--and dread. I've longed to speak to another woman -about it, but there was only Lexie, and she's not"--she stumbled over -the word--"married. I wouldn't tell her. It wouldn't have been right." - -"Tell me." - -"I--can't see your face," whispered Maggy fearfully. - -"It's not turned from you." - -Then Maggy unburdened her soul. A flood of unreserved words broke from -her. Mrs. Lambert neither moved nor spoke, but the grasp of her hand -tightened as the poignant story culminated. - -"I daren't let myself think about it," Maggy's faltering voice went on. -"If I think too much my brain begins to rock, and I'm afraid. It's -wonderful and awful and I don't feel the same. The other day I saw a -woman in the street. She had such a pretty baby in her arms. It was -too heavy for her to carry, and she looked dead tired, but I could see -by her face how she loved it, weight and all, and I had to hold on to -myself to stop from screaming out, 'You're lucky. You can keep yours. -I--'" Something she dimly discerned in Mrs. Lambert's face brought her -to a sudden stop. "Why, I've made you cry!" she said contritely. "What -a brute I am!" - -"No, no. Don't take your hand away," was the soft rejoinder. "You poor -child! My heart aches for you." - - -When Maggy re-entered the drawing room her eyes were suspiciously red. -She seemed anxious to get away. She put her arms round Alexandra and -hugged her. - -"Good-by, Lexie," she said breathlessly. "Don't forget me. The best of -luck. Mrs. Lambert's an angel. T-tell her so--from me." - -She tore herself away, pulled down her veil, and was gone, leaving -Alexandra bewildered. - -Maggy stopped at a jeweler's on her way home. Taking off her bracelet, -she handed it to the man behind the counter. - -"Don't bother to tell me what it's worth. Just say whether it's real or -sham," she said. - -It was sham. - -She dropped it into her bag and went out, with a new pain gripping at -her heart. She never wore the bracelet again. - -After dinner that evening Woolf remarked its absence. She had worn it -ever since he had given it to her. - -"Where's your bracelet?" he inquired. "I hope you haven't left it about -or had it stolen." - -"Fred," she said, looking him steadily in the eyes, "I found out quite -by accident that it isn't real. Wait a minute. Let me finish. You -know I don't care tuppence about the value of anything you give me. It -isn't the cost I think of. If you'd given me a ring out of a penny -cracker I wouldn't have changed it for another from somebody else a -million times its value. But don't sham to me. I--I can't bear it." - -"I never told you they were real diamonds," he rejoined in a nettled -voice. "If I didn't say they were paste you ought to have guessed it. -Anyhow, the bracelet cost me twenty pounds. Genuine stones that size -would have run to the price of a damn good race horse." He gave her a -disparaging look. "Why, all in, you don't cost me as much as one of the -animals I've got in training." - -The words froze her. She stared at him in dumb agony. - -"Oh, my heart!" she cried, with a sudden catch at her breath. - -He sat still, coldly indifferent. - -"And I've given it to you!" she presently whispered. - - - - - XX - - -Alexandra's longing to act, to appear before an impartial audience in a -play reflecting every-day life, was at last satisfied when the tour -began. Her part was a very small one, that of a parlormaid only, but it -did not prevent her going through the usual phases of stage fright at -the first performance. On the second night she was calm and collected. -At the end of a week it surprised her to find that she was no longer -under the spell of theatricalism. - -Had she joined the company in the ordinary way the glamour of the stage -would have got hold of her and remained with her for a long time. As an -insignificant member of it, out of touch with its leading light, she -would have imagined mysteries where none existed. But from the very -first all these so-called mysteries were exposed. She was like the -assistant to the conjuror: she saw how things were done. - -In the first place, Mrs. Lambert did not pose as any high-priestess of -the drama: she was rather contemptuous of the stage. She thought of it -as a way to make an easy living, that was all. Alexandra's notions about -the stage were all associated with Art: Mrs. Lambert's were confined to -figures. She and her manager talked business unexcitedly for an hour -every day, never esthetics. She was mildly amused when Alexandra showed -her enthusiasm for acting, as she did in that first week. - -"You'll get over it, my dear," she said. "It's not an art, merely a -matter of temperament. If acting were creative one could take it -seriously, but it isn't. The author creates; the actor only represents. -When I'm acting I often feel like the inside of a moving picture show. -It's all mechanical." - -"But," said Alexandra, "you weren't always like that? When you first -went on the stage--" - -"I felt as you do, all emotion and inexperience. Now that I've lived and -am disillusioned I know that the stage is only a business, and not a -very edifying one. The public don't see that side of it, fortunately. -They think only of the amusement it provides. If they would stop there -it wouldn't matter: but they have such a mania for everything theatrical -in this country, such a desire to penetrate beyond the footlights, that -they quite forget the necessity for a curtain between the make-believe -of the stage and themselves. They're like a child with a toy. They want -to see the inside mechanism, and directly they do they suffer the usual -disappointment. I never take people 'behind'; if I do I always find -they never again want to pay for a seat 'in front.' We're only -shop-keepers, after all, and shop-keepers don't invite their customers -behind the counter, any more than the customers are in the habit of -asking their butcher or their baker to dinner. Somehow you can't get -the public to see things like that. Instead of keeping members of the -stage at a distance, treating them like kennel-dogs, they invite them to -their houses and pamper them. It makes them more conceited and -self-sufficient than they are already. I don't deny that a few actors -and actresses are decently born and bred, indoor dogs, so to speak, -knowing their manners; but that's no reason why the whole pack should be -made free of the public's drawing rooms.... Let us walk up to the -cathedral and spend a quiet hour there." - -The tour had opened in a small cathedral town, and the three hours spent -at the theater each night hardly counted in their daily round. They -motored about the surrounding country, or read, talked and did -needlework in the private sitting room of their quiet hotel. Such a -life, placid and yet full of pleasant occupation, was delightful to -Alexandra. She found the weekly change from town to town exhilarating, -and the journey each Sunday in Mrs. Lambert's comfortable landaulette a -luxurious mode of traveling. - -At the end of their first week Chalfont came down and remained with them -for the rest of the tour. Both he and Mrs. Lambert treated Alexandra on -terms of equality so that she never felt an intruder on their intimacy. -Before her they made no secret of their attachment, but she never -regarded it as anything more close than what might exist between old and -tried friends. Sometimes she detected in Mrs. Lambert quite a sisterly -attitude toward Lord Chalfont. That was probably accounted for by the -differences in their ages, she being a few years the elder. - -Chalfont often asked after Maggy. He had quite an open admiration for -her, which Mrs. Lambert shared. But, unlike him, she seldom asked for -news of her. At the time, Alexandra did not notice this apparent lack -of interest. She was not able to impart anything about Maggy for the -simple reason that she had not heard from her. Only twice during the -early days of the tour had there been a letter from her. After that, -although Alexandra repeatedly wrote, she got no reply. She could not -help wondering at this silence. It was not like Maggy. Later, when she -spoke of it to Mrs. Lambert, the latter did not seem surprised. - -"You're sure to hear from her soon. She may be away," she said. - -And a letter did arrive from Maggy shortly afterwards. It was written -in pencil and strangely shaky, quite unlike her habitual hand, which -although childish, was remarkably firm. She said very little, confirmed -Mrs. Lambert's prophecy by admitting that she had been away for a -change, owing to which she had not received Alexandra's letters until -her return. She ended with a postscript which had evidently been added -in a burst of feeling. - -"I love Fred more than ever, Lexie. I couldn't exist without him. He -has been such a dear since I got back." - -Alexandra passed it across the breakfast table to Mrs. Lambert, with the -remark: - -"It's from Maggy. She doesn't say what has been the matter with her, -though." - -Chalfont looked up. - -"Has your friend been ill?" he asked with concern. "I'm sorry to hear -that. We must send her some flowers, Ada." - -"Yes, we will," Mrs. Lambert concurred. - -After breakfast he went out to buy some. When he came back Mrs. Lambert -was alone in the room. - -"What beauties!" she said, lifting the lid of the box he had brought in -with him. "Catherine Mermets." - -She hung over the roses, the bitter-sweet of the memories they evoked -coming up to her with their delicate fragrance. Chalfont always bought -her Catherine Mermets when they were in bloom, great masses of them; but -it was Hugh Lambert who had first given her a bunch of three, purchased -at a street corner at sixpence each in the days when sixpences were -scarce with him. - -"I got them because they are your favorites," he said. "I thought she -would be sure to like what you like. Anyway, what's good enough for you -is good enough for anybody." - -She put her arm over his shoulder and kissed him. - -"You're always so thoughtful, and so loyal," she said. "I'm getting old -and you remain steadfast. It seems such an irony of fate that I can't -love you as you deserve. Although Hugh has no claim on my feelings or -my memory, I can't forget him. I give you so little, Leonard. One day, -perhaps, some girl will love you worthily, and make up for my meanness." - -He smiled down at her, shaking his head. - -"Keep those roses," he said. "I'll get Miss Delamere some more." - -"No, no, I want her to have them. Put your card in. Shall I write the -address?" - - -Woolf was with Maggy when the post brought her the roses. He cut the -string and stood looking on while she removed the tissue wrappings. - -"Oh, roses!" she cried delightedly. "Who can have sent them?" - -They had traveled as well as could be expected of cut flowers, but they -were flagging a little for want of water. - -Woolf pounced on the card that accompanied them. - -"'Lord Chalfont,'" he read, and scowled at the club address in the -corner. "Damn his impudence sending you flowers! And how the devil -does he know your address?" he demanded angrily. - -Maggy was perturbed at this outburst. - -"You needn't mind, Fred," she said placably. - -"Did you tell him where you lived?" - -"Of course not. You needn't go back to that. You said you'd forgiven me -for going to lunch with Mrs. Lambert that day. You know I met him -there, and that's all there is in it. He must have known that I--I -hadn't been well--through Lexie, and sent the flowers out of -politeness." She turned the lid of the box up. "The address is in a -woman's hand: Mrs. Lambert's. There's nothing to look so furious about." - -The fact that flowers should come to Maggy from a comparative stranger -would not, of itself, have irritated Woolf. She often received flowers -now, and from men she had never met. Her good looks and prominence at -the Pall Mall accounted for this. Woolf made no objection. The -admiration of other men for her rather enhanced her desirability in his -eyes. He took it as a tribute to his own good taste in having secured -possession of her. But Chalfont's name affected him in much the same -manner as a red rag does a bull. It blinded him with rage because it -stood for everything that he himself was devoid of--birth, breeding, -nobility of nature--and, moreover, because it was that of the man who -had humbled him by having him turned out of the select club to which he -aspired to membership. That incident had touched Woolf on the raw. It -was much as if he had been told that he was unworthy of association with -gentlemen. - -He picked up the roses and pitched them into the fireplace. - -"Damned cheek, sending you a few pennyworth of dead flowers!" he flared -out. "I'll go and buy you some live ones!" - -Maggy did not protest. She had learnt discretion with Woolf. He flung -out of the flat. Half-an-hour later a messenger boy came with a -magnificent bouquet of freshly-cut Catherine Mermets. - -Maggy was so happy arranging them. - - - - - XXI - - -In spite of the pleasant conditions under which the tour proceeded it -began to be evident to Alexandra that Mrs. Lambert was suffering from -acute nervous strain. She would spend hours on the sofa in thoughtful -silence. Conversely, she showed undue vivacity on the stage at night. -Sometimes she evinced an almost feverish interest in the financial side -of her tour, growing depressed when business was indifferent and unduly -elated when it was extra good. - -During this period Alexandra learnt for the first time that Mrs. Lambert -had a daughter. Inconsequently enough, as it seemed to her, Mrs. -Lambert's reference to the fact was the outcome of a talk between them -one day concerning Maggy. It showed the elder woman in a new aspect, -strongly maternal in her feelings. The child's absence evidently -distressed her. - -"Why don't you have her with you?" was the natural inquiry that rose to -Alexandra's lips. - -The reply to this was as spontaneous as the question. - -"I would love to! But how could I? Baba is ten. There's Chalfont.... -Children are so quick to notice things...." - -Alexandra's puzzled look showed that she placed a very innocent -construction on the intimacy of these two. - -"You didn't think we were only friends?" Mrs. Lambert inquired a little -reluctantly. "It's not so. I supposed you knew." - -The admission did not actually shock Alexandra, but it pained her. She -found it difficult to associate Mrs. Lambert with any form of liaison. -Lord Chalfont, moreover, had also given her the impression of being a -man averse from it. That these two, in Alexandra's estimation so free -from the taint of theatrical libertinism, should not have been superior -to circumstances was singularly disconcerting. - -"I did think you were only friends," she said. - -Her voice was so full of disappointment that Mrs. Lambert half-regretted -her frankness. She knew Alexandra to be a very pure-minded girl. She -felt she owed her an explanation. - -"Friendship as you understand it is difficult, almost impossible, -between a man and woman in circumstances like ours," she said. "Lord -Chalfont has remained unmarried on my account. I think you must know -that my husband and I are separated. Well, a woman is a very lone -creature without love and sympathy. There are so many things she cannot -do for herself. If there were nothing else there would always be the -difficulty of business. I have to work for Baba's sake. I couldn't do -it alone. I _must_ leave her independent of the stage." - -"I am so sorry," was all Alexandra could say. - -"I believe you are. My dear, when I was your age, like you I was full -of regrets for all the wrongs of the world. I wanted it perfect and -morally rigid. I meant to show that an actress could still be a lady -and quite virtuous. I don't think I've disproved the one, but the Fates -have been too strong for me to fulfill the second qualification. I had -to separate from my husband. I did not want to. I loved him. I have -nothing to reproach myself with for the rupture between us. But for that -I should always have been a faithful wife. I only thought of his -career. I used to fight all his battles, on and off the stage. At one -time I did all his business for him because he hated it. In those days -he wasn't spoilt. He was just a fascinating, childish person with all -the sensitiveness of an artistic temperament. He was very fond of me, -too.... Then came the time when he went into management, and there was -no part for me. I was not to play "lead" with him because he considered -me unsuited to it. I was too proud to play a smaller part in his own -theater.... He engaged Mary Mantel. In that play their love-making -brought down the house. It was so real. It _was_ real. I found that -out very soon. Mary Mantel deliberately took my husband from me. He -was too weak to resist her--to resist pleasing any pretty woman.... I -told them both what I knew ... and we parted. If I hadn't discovered -what I did, or suppressed my knowledge of it, I don't doubt but that he -would be with me now, behaving as a lover to two women! ... For years -Lord Chalfont went about with me. We were friends, nothing more. I -always hoped Hugh would make atonement and want me back. But I lost -heart, and Chalfont was always there, so patient and kind.... As a -Catholic I couldn't bring myself to divorce Hugh and marry him, and I -thought that if he should ever get tired of me I should like him to feel -free.... Because I am an actress, to whom all things are forgiven, the -voice of social ostracism had never been raised against our union.... -That is the whole story. Well, what do you think of me now?" - -Alexandra did not know what to think, still less to say. The only -comment she felt capable of making was that Mrs. Lambert was not -degraded by what she had done. That was evident. Alexandra did not make -the comparison, but all the same she dimly comprehended that there was a -certain similarity between Maggy's case and Mrs. Lambert's. It had -never occurred to Alexandra that Maggy was degraded either.... Quite -suddenly, like a revelation, the reason of the sympathy between these -two, now her closest friends, dawned on her.... Insensibly too, because -she was not thinking of herself, her own resistance to frailty seemed to -weaken. There was to come a time when she would recall every word Maggy -and Mrs. Lambert had spoken on the subject of sex conflict and the -stage. - -"I think none the less of you," she answered steadily after a long -pause. "I suppose you are being more true to yourself in not divorcing -your husband and marrying Lord Chalfont." - -"I don't know. I'm not sure that I've done right. But the stage makes -it so easy for you to do wrong, to choose the way your inclinations -lead.... Chalfont has been the greater sufferer. He hates to think that -our relationship, when discussed, is bracketed with the usual run of -light and unholy compacts. I confess to being more thick-skinned. The -stage blunts one's finer feelings, I suppose. There's something -dreadfully insidious about it. Its lax atmosphere saps the sense of -rectitude. You don't know that your views are gradually altering until -you suddenly discover that, like everybody else on it, you are about to -make its customs fit your own circumstances. Nobody on the stage is -free from that taint: chorus girls are not a bit more frail than -highly-paid actresses. Chorus girls are more flagrant, that is all." - -Alexandra was looking very serious and dismayed. - -"It's rather terrible," she said reflectively. "Maggy has often said -much the same thing in a different way. Is _everything_ wrong?" - -"For a girl like you, yes. I don't assert that everything and everybody -on the stage is bad. There are exceptions, of course. Clouds have their -silver lining. What I do maintain is that the stage is not and never -can be a profession that a nice-minded girl can adopt and expect to -remain untainted by." - -"I wonder"--Alexandra's voice was almost fearful--"what my own ideas -about it will be in a few years' time." - -"In a few years' time, my dear girl, with luck you will be married and -have forgotten all its ugliness. You may perhaps still be sufficiently -enamored of the theater to let your husband sometimes pay for two -stalls; and sometimes when you pass a struggling actress in the street -you will recognize her by her stamp and thank God that you're out of it -all. That's the best that can happen to you." - -"But you? You wouldn't like to be out of it--altogether?" - -Mrs. Lambert's eyes seemed to hold some happy secret. - -"I look forward to the day when I shall be--resting," she made answer. -"Have you ever tried to wind a ball of thread with the skein in your -hand? It isn't easy. My skein is tangled ... and I am tired." - - - - - XXII - - -They were at Eastbourne during the following week. One morning whilst -in her bedroom putting on her hat in readiness for a walk Alexandra was -startled by an impetuous knock at her door. Chalfont's voice, calling -her by name, took her hurriedly to it. - -"Please go to Ada at once," he said. "She's ill. She can't act -to-night. I have to see her manager and telephone to London for her -doctor. You'll look after her while I'm gone, won't you?" he added with -deep solicitude as he hastened off. - -Alexandra went quickly to Mrs. Lambert's room. She was greatly -concerned by Chalfont's bad news, but far less unprepared for it than he -had been. On the previous night Mrs. Lambert had almost collapsed in -her dressing room, though she had made light of it and had forbidden -Alexandra to say anything about it to Chalfont. Now she was worse, just -recovering from the dead faint in which she had been found. She looked -exceedingly ill. - -"Don't be frightened," she said in a weak voice. "I know perfectly well -what is the matter with me. I'm afraid it means an untimely end to the -tour, though. You won't leave me?" - -"Of course not," Alexandra promised. "You mustn't worry about the tour, -or anything. You want a rest. You'll be quite strong again soon." - -Mrs. Lambert smiled faintly. "I told you I looked forward to resting. -I meant it in its eternal sense. Six months ago I knew what was in -store for me, but I meant to stand out this tour, if I could. I'm -afraid they'll try and persuade me to have an operation.... Just an -outside chance of living.... Oh, my dear, I would so like to die -quietly without being cut about and pried into." - -The tears came into Alexandra's eyes. Illness she was prepared for, but -not the thought of death. - -"Please, please, don't talk like that," she said unsteadily. "Heaps of -people who are very ill get better. Let me undress you. Then I'll sit -by you. But I don't think you ought to talk." - -Mrs. Lambert was very passive. When Alexandra had undressed her she lay -for a little in silence. Suddenly she said: - -"Remember I'm a Catholic.... See that I have a priest at the last ... -if it comes to that. And--I must say this, don't stop me--if--it's -necessary--afterwards--I would like you to write to my husband and tell -him I sent my love." - -"Yes, yes, I promise," murmured Alexandra huskily. - -Mrs. Lambert turned on her pillow. - -"Baba will be all right, I think," she whispered, and fell asleep. - -She was awake again and quite cheery when the doctor, a noted -specialist, arrived during the late afternoon. He was a long time with -her and also a long time with Chalfont afterwards. The result of that -conference was that the latter came to Alexandra and told her that an -immediate operation had been decided on. - -"To-morrow?" she asked fearfully. - -The weakening effect of suspense made her shrink from the imminence of -the ordeal, although it was not she who was to endure it. Deep distress -was in Chalfont's face. - -"No, to-night," he said brokenly. "She wouldn't consent at first.... -When Sir James told me that delay was dangerous I had to--to advise her -to undergo it." He could hardly get the words out. "There isn't time -to move her. The hotel people have been very decent about it. I have -just seen the manager.... Two nurses are coming." - -Alexandra could only stand and struggle with her voice. Her feelings -were beyond expression. - -"I'm afraid--terribly afraid we have to face losing her," said Chalfont -at last. - -"Oh, I hope not," she said fervently, while the tears streamed down her -face. "Is there anything I can do?" - -"Yes, there is." What he had to say cost him a struggle. "Her husband -ought to know. He ought to be here. I doubt whether a telegram would -be any use, and I can't go to him. Will you?" - -"I'll do anything," she said. - -"Thank you. I'll have the car round at once then." He looked at his -watch. "It's six now. You can be in town by a little after eight. -You'll catch him at the theater. Try and bring him back with you. -It--the operation--will be over by that time. We shall know--one way or -the other. You would like to see her before you start?" - -"Please." Alexandra was very white, but she was quiet now that she knew -the worst and had not to await in inactivity. "She told me she would -like a priest," she said. "I think you should send for one." - -"I have already." - -She took a step toward the door but turned suddenly and without speaking -put her hand out. He grasped and held it tightly, taking comfort from -the action. - -"You'll do your best, I know," he said gratefully. - - - - - XXIII - - -Alexandra said nothing to Mrs. Lambert of her impending errand. -Discretion counseled silence about it. From what she had heard of Hugh -Lambert, and judging also by Chalfont's doubts, unexpressed though they -were, whether he would respond to the obligation imposed on him, she was -dreadfully afraid that she might not be successful. Still, she could do -nothing by remaining in the hotel, and in going she was avoiding the -purgatory of having to sit in an adjoining room while the woman who had -been so good to her was in the toils of death. - -It was half-past six when Chalfont saw her off after bidding the -chauffeur use the best speed the car was capable of. The man, who was -devoted to his mistress, needed little incentive. Once informed of her -perilous condition his one thought was to do his best for her by getting -to his destination without the loss of a moment. - -Once out of the town he let his engine out. Alexandra found herself -leaning forward in the car, involuntarily actuated by a desire to urge -it on still faster. At first her troubled mind could not think -coherently, but as the Panhard tore along over the smooth tarred road -northwards, the monotony of its motion tended to abate her nervous -tension. She found herself reviewing the incidents that had culminated -in the present crisis. They passed through her mind like a set of moving -pictures, the hum of the engine accentuating the illusion. - -She saw herself at home, alone, bereft of the mother with whom she had -happily spent so many years in the small and placid provincial town that -was like a harbor of refuge to superannuated Anglo-Indians; her -departure from it under the eyes of a sceptical circle of friends, -suspect because she had elected to choose so unconventional a way of -life as the stage; flitting shadows of herself in London looking for -employment; the unpleasant picture of a boarding-house; the still more -unpleasant incident that had caused her to leave it; then the somber -picture of the Pall Mall stage and Maggy. The screen of her mind threw -things up clearly now. The perspective of time robbed the little room -in Sidey Street of its uninviting aspect, and her life there of its -straitened circumstances. Maggy's desertion of her was the one sad -feature of that picture. The reel of experience became vivid again as -it showed her in happy companionship with the actress. Pleasant scenes -and cheerful incidents characterized it, obliterating from her mind the -troublous past. Then, close on the heels of this state of content came -the unexpected shock of present happenings. From being a spectator of -the introspective drama she came to herself, startled by the abrupt -consciousness of personal participation in it. - -The pale face and luminous eyes of the sick woman filled her thoughts; -the odor of drugs that permeated the room in which she had left her -seemed to fill her nostrils. She thought too of Chalfont and the -self-denying motives that had prompted him to send for the one man he -could least wish to see. - -It was dark inside the car now, but the lit streets and the turmoil of -traffic through which it was threading its way meant that she had -reached London. - -London again! She no longer felt about it as she had in the days when -she was new to it. The novelty of it had worn off. She had seen its -seamy side, lived on the verge of its submerged life, been up against -the brunt of it. Repugnance to it filled her when she remembered, as -she suddenly did, that before many days had elapsed she would probably -have to return to it. She found herself shrinking at the prospect of -going back to the conditions that wore one down and sapped one's power -of resistance in the unequal fight for a living there, from having to -resume the weary round once more among the agencies; the interminable -suspense in stuffy waiting rooms among the loquacious crowd of -out-of-works. It all came back so vividly: her soul sickened of it. - -She knew that if Mrs. Lambert should recover she would stand by her. -She had said as much. But if she died.... The unhappy speculation was -not induced by selfishness. The next moment Alexandra's thoughts were -solely concerned with Mrs. Lambert's personal peril. They made her -forget her own fears. She tried to pray for her. It seemed incongruous -to pray in Piccadilly, where the car was slowly threading its way among -the traffic. Still, surely God could and would hear her in spite of the -din made by the motor-buses! - -They were close to Lambert's theater now.... Another few minutes.... -The piece would be half over.... The car turned down a side street and -stopped at the stage door. Alexandra got out. There was the usual -difficulty with the stage-door keeper about admittance. He did not know -her. She mentioned Mrs. Lambert's name. That stirred him even less. -His attitude toward the last-named was that of the hireling inspired by -the master. No _Mrs._ Lambert existed for him. Indeed, the importation -of her name struck him as the ruse of a stage-struck damsel. They were -always inventing dodges to get past him and make him lose his job. Ten -precious minutes passed in futile argument. Even in an urgent case like -this, vital to Lambert himself, the absurd inaccessibility of the -successful actor toward any one of the outside world was borne in on -Alexandra with exaggerated force. - -"I'll wait here until Mr. Lambert leaves the theater," she said at last. -"And I think I can promise you that you'll lose your place when he hears -that you refused to take up my card." - -Her indignation and her threat were too real to be ignored. They -influenced the man's manner. - -"Oh, well, chuck it over," he said grudgingly. - -She handed it to him. In addition to her name it bore the words "Mrs. -Hugh Lambert's Company." She had already penciled on it a line meant -for Lambert's own eye. The man went off grumbling. When he returned -his arrogance had entirely disappeared. - -"The governor will see you," he said. "Up the stairs and the first door -on the right." Then he added insinuatingly: "Sorry to keep you waiting, -miss; but I get it that hot if I let anybody pass who's wanting an -engagement." - -She was indifferent to his regrets. All she wanted was to see Lambert -and take him back with her. She passed in, hurried up the stairs, where -at the top his dressing-room door stood open. - -Lambert was playing in a costume piece, a mid-Georgian comedy that owed -a great deal of its inspiration to Sheridan. In it he appeared as a -beau of that elegant period, and as Alexandra on entering saw him she -could but admit that he looked the part. Dressed in gorgeous brocade -through which a dainty sword-hilt protruded, immaculately bewigged, -lace-ruffled and overpoweringly scented, as she discovered on nearing -him, he gave her the impression of extreme elegance, tempered by -foppishness and effeminacy. He was sitting before the mirror on his -dressing-table, leaning toward it, adding a deeper pencil mark to his -eyebrows. When he had done that to his satisfaction he picked up a -stick of carmine and deliberately touched up the curve of his lips -before turning round to face his visitor. Alexandra had always felt an -instinctive dislike of make-up on a man's face, though she recognized it -as essential to the stage. But Lambert's attitude before the mirror was -so affected, so vain that he instantly inspired her with contempt. - -"You come from my wife?" he asked, and she thought she detected a note -of dismay in his fine-toned voice. "Did she send you?" - -"No," she answered. "But I want you to come down to her at once. She -is very ill. I motored up so as not to lose a minute." - -He gave a slightly startled movement at her news. It was as though he -shrank from hearing it. - -"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Where is she?" - -"At Eastbourne." - -"Is--is it serious?" - -"Very serious. They--" the words stuck in her throat--"they are -operating now. She wished to see you. She was talking of you to me -this morning--" - -She was interrupted by the entrance of a third person, a woman who came -in without knocking, a woman, pretty beneath her paint, with curiously -hard blue eyes. She stared at Alexandra with open hostility and then -looked interrogatively at Lambert. - -"This lady has come up from Eastbourne," he hesitated. "My wife is ill -and wants to see me." - -After a momentary silence the newcomer allowed herself a trifling shrug -of the shoulders. - -"She has been ill before," she said a little contemptuously, and turned -to Alexandra. "What is it this time? A bilious attack?" - -Alexandra looked at her steadily, perhaps disdainfully. She guessed she -had to do with Mary Mantel, the woman who had displaced Mrs. Lambert in -her husband's affections. - -"We fear she is dying," was her rejoinder. - -The other woman laughed. - -"Oh, I see! Advertising her 'farewell to the stage.' I daresay she -will take her time over it." - -Lambert turned on her. - -"Be quiet!" he exclaimed irritably. - -Again she shrugged. "It's our call directly." - -"I can't help that. MacBride must go on for me." - -He picked up a towel and was about to remove the grease paint from his -face, but stopped at the ejaculation that broke from her. - -"You can't possibly go to-night," she burst out. "Evidently these -people"--she made an impatient gesture that indicated Alexandra--"don't -know that it's the last night of your season, and that you're booked to -leave for America in three days' time. Or probably they don't care. To -think of throwing up your part at a moment's notice and letting the -curtain come down in your absence is madness. You must stop for your -speech. If you want to you can go first thing to-morrow, though you'll -probably have a wire by then to say your wife's better and won't see you -for worlds!" - -A boy put his head in at the door. - -"Your call, sir," he announced. - -Lambert got up, the towel still in his hand, the paint still on his -face. Alexandra watched the indecision in it. Had he enough strength -of mind to come? Or would he let self-interest prevail? - -"Hugh, do be guided by me," begged Miss Mantel. "Think of your career. -There will be call on call for you at the end of the show. The house is -full of pressmen. Are you going to throw away hundreds of pounds' worth -of gratuitous advertisement?" - -That last argument decided him. Publicity, the acclamation of the -crowd, the opportunity to pose before it, to deliver the -carefully-prepared speech, egotistical yet full of sham humility, were -temptations he was unable to resist. With a quiver of his painted lips -that owed nothing to solicitude for a wife who lay between life and -death, he said: - -"I'll come in the morning;" and without looking at Alexandra, made for -the stage. - -She heard the thunder of applause that greeted him. To the little tin -gods the plaudits of the multitude are as the music of the spheres. - - - - - XXIV - - -It was verging on midnight when Chalfont came out of the sick room to -hear the result of Alexandra's errand. The moment he saw that she was -alone, limp and tired from her journey, he knew it had failed. He had -had the forethought to have some cold supper ready for her, and while -she ate a little of it and drank the glass of champagne which he -insisted on her taking, he answered her many questions about Mrs. -Lambert. In tones of sad resignation he told her that the operation had -been successful but that there was little hope. She had taken the -anesthetic badly and was still under its influence. - -"So Lambert wouldn't come?" he asked, when the painful subject was -exhausted. - -"I believe he was willing to come," she replied. "I saw him alone first. -But Miss Mantel came in and dissuaded him. It was a last night. He had -to make a speech. She urged him to stay. He's very weak, I think. He -said he would come in the morning. Can I go to her?" - -"Better not. The nurse will let us know when she is conscious. It -oughtn't to be long now. Lie down on the sofa and try to sleep." - -She was too anxious for that, so they sat waiting, for hours as it -seemed. Now and again they talked, but most of the time absorbed and -troubled thought held them silent. No sound came from the next room. -Presently its quiet was broken by the monotonous drone of a man's voice. -Alexandra sat up, listening. - -"Who is that?" she asked. - -"The priest. He's with her." - -Twice they heard a faint murmur mingled with a low intoning. Another -half-hour passed. Then the priest came noiselessly into the room. He -drew Chalfont on one side and they spoke together in whispers. - -Presently the latter beckoned to Alexandra. - -"Come," he said; and the three went into the sick room. - -A light, carefully screened, threw the bed in shadow, but not -sufficiently to hide the still form that lay upon it. Although the -pallor of death was in Mrs. Lambert's face, it seemed to have grown -youthful. She looked like a child asleep. Her eyes were closed. They -could not tell whether she was aware of their presence or not. The -priest stood at the foot of the bed lost in prayer. The nurses, still -and white like statues, watched from a distance. - -Chalfont, kneeling with a hand laid gently on that of the woman he -loved, broke the long silence. - -"Speak to us," he implored. - -She heard his voice and opened her eyes. They had a spectral look, and -as she turned them from him to Alexandra an expression of concern crept -into her face. She murmured something faintly. - -"Your husband will be here in the morning, dearest," he said softly but -distinctly, trying to stimulate her to consciousness. - -Some weighty thought was affecting her mind. Her eyes were on Chalfont. -She seemed to be making an effort to say something. - -"That poor girl ... that nice girl..." - -Chalfont bent low, fearful of losing the whispered words. - -"What poor girl, dear?" - -They thought she said "Maggy." - - -Lambert arrived at six the next morning. His first concern was to -explain breathlessly to Alexandra that he had been detained ... a -business matter ... farewell supper.... She would understand.... He -had hardly had three hours' sleep before starting. Chalfont and -Alexandra could not help exchanging an outraged glance. When she told -him that he had come too late his weak mouth opened in surprise. Then -his features worked unpleasantly. He stood stupidly, looking as though -he were about to burst into tears. Chalfont's tolerance was near its -limit. With a set face he indicated the closed door. - -"In there," he said. - -Lambert hesitated. - -"Do you not want to see her?" Chalfont's voice was like steel. - -It only wanted the point-blank demand to unnerve Lambert completely. He -collapsed into a chair. It would have been difficult to recognize his -huddled figure as that of the debonair stage-gallant so familiar and so -dear to a host of infatuated theater-goers. - -"Do you not want to see her?" Chalfont repeated remorselessly. - -Lambert's face was lowered. When he looked up cowardice transfigured -it. - -"I--I've never looked on death," he quavered. - -Alexandra, shocked beyond words, thought that Chalfont would surely -strike him. He stood over him so long in a tense attitude. - -"My God!" he at last exclaimed. "Can this be a man?" - -He went to the door by which Lambert had entered, opened it, and then -drew aside as far as he could to let the actor pass. - - - - - XXV - - -The London newspapers had not given much of their space to Mrs. -Lambert's doings while she was alive. She did not advertise in them. -Besides, all their dramatic critics were on speaking terms with Lambert, -and even dramatic critics have second-hand prejudices. But now that -Mrs. Lambert was dead she was accorded the half-column of obituary -notice to which actors and actresses seem to have a prescriptive right. -Defunct millionaires and jam-makers get a little less: British officers -who die for their country have to be satisfied with a couple of lines -tucked away among the Military Intelligence. - -The papers belauded the dead woman. They recorded her dramatic -successes with much detail. They were fulsome concerning her virtues. -Their readers were left to imagine the feelings of her bereaved and -heart-broken husband, who at the moment was sorting an auction-bridge -hand in the cardroom of a transatlantic liner. It was the sort of -pretentious gush that had always sickened Mrs. Lambert when she read it -about others. - -The funeral was largely attended by members of the theatrical -profession. Few of them knew the deceased personally, but as the -occasion provided an opportunity for public exhibition and incidentally -for getting their names into the papers they did not miss it. - -Maggy was not of these. Woolf had made some engagement for her which he -would not let her break. But she sent a wreath. It was quite unlike -any of the others. Hers was composed of autumn-tinted leaves and the -last homely flowers that one sees in cottage gardens. She purposely -wished to avoid the conventional effect aimed at by the professional -florist whose stiff made-to-order wreath implies such indifference to -death. - -Alexandra placed it at the head of the coffin. Mary Mantel had also sent -one, ordered before she left for America with Lambert. But Alexandra -refused to take it in. Lambert's card was inscribed "From your -sorrowing husband." All the newspapers dragged in those words with a -suitably unctuous comment. - -Late on the afternoon of the funeral Maggy managed to evade Woolf and go -to Albert Place, thinking to find Alexandra there. The blinds had not -yet been drawn up, but the front door was open. Feeling an aversion -from disturbing the silence of a house of mourning she went in without -ringing and ascended to the room Alexandra had used. Finding it empty -she came down and looked into the drawing room. It was in the green -gloom of a closed jalousie and she thought it unoccupied. In that room -she had spent such a pleasant half-hour with Lord Chalfont not so very -long ago. Since then, disaster had befallen its owner, and she herself -had been very near to death. The three events seemed associated in her -mind. - -She was about to draw back when a movement arrested her. At the far end -she made out Chalfont. He was sitting at an escritoire with his head -bent over it. After a moment of hesitation she went up to him and -timidly touched him on the shoulder. Dazed by grief and with his -thoughts far away he did not at first recognize her. Seeing how it was -with him she gently said: - -"I'm Maggy. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was looking for Lexie.... -Now that I'm here I'd like to say how dreadfully sorry I am." - -After he had thanked her there was a pause. His ease had temporarily -left him. Maggy felt she was intruding. - -"Do you know where she has gone? Lexie, I mean," she went on. - -"She wrote down her address." Chalfont searched for and found it among -the papers on the escritoire. "109, Sidey Street." - -"Then she's gone back. That's where we used to live together." - -There was another silence. Then Chalfont said: - -"Will you let me know if there is anything I can do for her? Mrs. -Lambert was very interested in her--and yourself. Indeed--" here he -hesitated a little--"the last word she spoke was your name. That is why -I--" - -The color came into Maggy's face. She did not let him finish. - -"Did she--did she say anything else?" - -"No; only your name. She seemed to be concerned about you." - -Maggy nodded. - -"She knew all about me," she said in an explanatory tone. "She was -worried because I had been ill, I expect. She was like that, I know.... -And she knew I--I wasn't married." - -Her meaning was quite plain, as plain as the wedding-ring on her -ungloved hand. In her honesty she thought the admission was due to -Chalfont after he had apprized her of Mrs. Lambert's interest in her. -His manner of doing so had implied friendship. She did not want to -accept that under false pretenses. - -Chalfont was quick to appreciate her motive in making the confession. -If possible it raised her in his estimation. But it filled him with a -curious sense of disappointment. In spite of the absence of a legal -bond between Mrs. Lambert and himself he had a strong distaste for free -alliances. He had chafed against circumstances in his own case, and he -was far from sitting in judgment on Maggy's. Still, he could not help -the shock they had on his feelings. - -"You didn't think I was that sort," she said, guessing at what was in -his mind. "Lexie's not, but I'm different. I'm not a lady. It wasn't -only because I wanted clothes and jewelry, or because I was hungry -that--that it happened. I _did_ hate going without things. But it was -because I met a man who made me feel--like jelly. If he'd had nothing a -year I would have gone to the devil with him just the same.... I'm -telling you all this to show you why we can't be friends, although I -know you're ever so kind." - -"Can we not? Mrs. Lambert was your friend." - -"I can't think why." Tears came into her eyes. "There aren't many -women like her.... You loved her, didn't you?" - -"I loved her very dearly. More than she loved me. Though she loved me -as much as I deserved," he added quickly. - -"And she loved her husband. I know. I think he must be a pig! ... Why -do we love things that are bad for us, and men that don't care for us? -... You would have married her, wouldn't you?" - -"That was what I desired more than anything else," he rejoined in a -voice full of regret. - -This unreserved talk did not strike either of them as strange. Chalfont -was usually sphynx-like about his innermost feelings, but with Maggy it -seemed unnecessary to hide them. It did him good to unburden his heart -to her. Maggy not only inspired confidence, she attracted it. It gave -her a double hold on sympathy. - -"She would have been 'my lady' then," she said thoughtfully. "What a -draw that would be to a lot of women--the women who don't put love -first. It's when we love that we don't think what we get by it.... If -the Earl of the Scilly Isles came crawling all the way from Scotland and -wanted me to marry him I wouldn't leave Woolf." - -Chalfont lost sight of her amazing geography in the surprise he felt at -the name she mentioned. - -"Woolf! What Woolf?" he stared. - -"Fred Woolf," she said with a touch of pride. "He owns the _Jockey's -Weekly_ and Primus cars. You must have heard of Biretta, his racehorse." - -"Oh!" - -Chalfont was incapable of more than the exclamation. He knew all about -Woolf. Sudden pity for Maggy took hold of him. He could not run the -man down; he could not tell her that Woolf's name stank in the nostrils -of decent-minded men; that even the men who fraternized with him took -care to keep their womenfolk out of his reach. He could not tell her of -Woolf's shady reputation on the turf, at the card table, and in the -city. He saw that it would be useless to do so, and also cruel. - -"You've met him, haven't you?" she asked. - -"I've seen him at race-meetings and--and once at a club to which I -belong." - -She nodded. "Fred goes everywhere." - -Chalfont did not pursue the subject. - -"I must go now," said Maggy. "Good-by.... Oh, I forgot to thank you for -the roses." She colored, remembering the fate they had suffered. - -"I'm glad you liked them. They were Mrs. Lambert's favorites." - -"Oh, were they? If I'd known that I would have got some instead of the -wreath I sent." - -"It was a beautiful wreath--so simple. She wouldn't have wished it -altered if she could have seen it. It didn't remind one of a funeral." - -"I didn't want it to. I felt I couldn't just go and give an order to a -florist who grows flowers on purpose for graves. I was up ever so early -this morning and motored into the country. The dew was all over the -hedges. That's where I got the leaves from. And in the cottage gardens -wherever I saw the sort of flowers I'd have liked some one to give me, -whether I was dead or alive, I stopped and asked the woman to pick me a -few for a wreath for a sweet lady. They were so pleased to give them. -Not one would take payment. They were _given_ flowers, given for love, -fresh and--" - -She broke off, shy at having exhibited her feelings. It saddened -Chalfont to think of her in association with such a man as Woolf. In -spite of it she was still something of a child, with a child's pretty -thoughts. But the next moment her womanliness showed itself. - -"Are you going away?" she asked. "I would, if I were a man and had lost -all I loved I should go away to places where I could kill something. -Wild places, where there's solitude and danger, so that it would be -quite sporting to keep alive.... You'd come back feeling different ... -and perhaps marry some nice girl who would love you and make up for all -that's happened.... I think Mrs. Lambert would wish that." - -She spoke as if Mrs. Lambert were not so far away. - -"What makes you say that?" he wondered. - -"Because--because she told me things." Maggy hesitated. "May I draw up -the blinds before I go?" - -They pulled up the blinds together and let the autumn sunshine into the -room. Maggy threw up one of the windows. They stood side by side -looking at the movement in the street. Around a barrel organ a little -way off children were dancing. A man and a girl, looking into each -other's eyes, passed under the window. On the opposite side a woman was -wheeling a perambulator, running every now and then so that the baby in -it screamed with delight. The roar of London's traffic came from a -distance. Maggy's eyes grew soft. - -"Life goes on," she said. - - - - - XXVI - - -The landlady of 109 Sidey Street opened the door to Maggy. - -"Goodness me!" were her first words. "Whatever have you been doing to -yourself, Miss Delamere? You _are_ thin!" - -"I've had appendicitis," said Maggy. - -Mrs. Bell's face immediately indicated the thirsty interest which people -of her class take in any form of illness. She closed the door -carefully. A hushed note came into her voice. - -"Appendicitis! What did they find?" - -"Latchkey and a bath mat," said Maggy solemnly. - -Mrs. Bell looked offended, also disappointed. - -"What a one you always were for jokes," she complained. "I believe -you'd joke in your coffin. Talking of coffins--" - -"I hope you've not been talking of such things to Miss Hersey," Maggy -interrupted. - -"Not talk about them? And she just come back from a funeral! What else -would _any one_ talk about? Not that _she_ said much, mind you. I only -know there was a carriage-full of wreaths besides what was in the -hearse. I'll have to wait for the rest of it in the Sunday paper. Miss -Hersey wouldn't say what the corpse looked like." - -Mrs. Bell was wound up. Maggy knew that the only way to avoid a -repetition of the ghoulish verbosity from which Alexandra must already -have suffered was to get away. - -"Where is Miss Hersey?" she asked, beginning to mount the stairs. "Same -room?" - -"No; a shunter from King's Cross has that now. Such a nice-spoken young -feller. Miss Hersey's in the room with the cistern. I'll bring you up -a nice cup of tea directly, dear. I won't put it down in her bill," she -whispered in a burst of generosity. - -Upstairs in the room with the cistern the two girls ran into one -another's arms. But Maggy was not to escape a repetition of the -scrutiny that Mrs. Bell had given her downstairs. After their embrace -Alexandra drew back and looked at her with concern. - -"Maggy!" she exclaimed. "Have you been ill? There's nothing of you." - -"Rubbish!" said Maggy. "It's all over, anyway. I'm what they call -_svelte_ in the society papers. I was all face and fatness before. -Fred says I'm a lady-like size now. It's the 'Willow' corset. I'm in -the _Ladies' Field_ this week. Such a sketch! Just a chemise and-- -But don't let's talk about me. Lexie, I wanted to ask you something. -Mrs. Lambert wrote to me two or three times, and I wrote to her. Do you -know if she tore the letters up?" - -"I found them. Lord Chalfont asked me to look through a lot of her -papers, and your letters were there. They were marked in pencil -'Destroy.' I expect she meant to have done it, so I tore them up -myself. There were three letters and a postcard. I couldn't help -seeing what was on the postcard--'All over, Maggy.' What did you mean?" - -Under her paint and powder Maggy flushed a little. - -"Oh, that was--about my illness. Thank you for destroying the letters, -Lexie. There was nothing in them I couldn't have told you, but they -were about things you'd rather not know." - -"Then you have been ill?" - -"Rest cure, my dear. Forget it." - -"I'm not hurt because you wrote to her about it instead of me." - -"You needn't be. Was it nice being with her?" - -Alexandra told her all about the tour. While she talked Maggy began to -notice a subtle change in her. Her views seemed to have grown broader. -She appeared to be more tolerant of human failings. Her old, hard -attitude toward them had disappeared. She showed this by the manner in -which she spoke of Mrs. Lambert and Chalfont. It was entirely -sympathetic. - -"Lexie, you're different," declared Maggy in surprise when she had done. -"You've come alive!" - -"I don't feel quite the same," Alexandra admitted. "I believe -I'm--changing. I've been trying to think things out, Maggy." There was -puzzledom in her voice. - -"What sort of things?" - -"Principally morals and--lack of morals.... Not long ago I had -everything neatly labeled and pigeon-holed in my mind. Things were -either good or bad. People the same. Now all the labels seem to have -come off.... Really, I'm not half so good as poor Mrs. Lambert was, and -yet she did what I always considered so wrong. She lived with Lord -Chalfont. The strange thing is it didn't make either of them bad. They -were just like two married people who had the deepest respect for each -other." - -Maggy gave a nod of comprehension. "And that puzzles you?" she asked. - -"Yes, in a way." - -"I think I know why. You're asking yourself whether that sort of thing -is really bad, after all, since it didn't drag them down. You've got -the labels wrong, mixing up morals with people and putting them all -together in the honey-pot. The stage, I mean. It's a contaminating -place, right enough. The wonder is how anybody gets out of it clean. -Some people can drink filthy water and keep healthy, and others get -typhoid from it. It doesn't alter the water. What makes me sorry is -that nice people like Mrs. Lambert and Lord Chalfont and you should have -to drink it at all. The worst of it is you can't tell whether it's done -you any harm until it's worked right into your system, and then you're -generally past help. That rather proves that immorality is a sort of -disease, probably a microbe, which thrives especially on the stage. -What a pity they can't vaccinate us against it when we're babies. It -would have done _me_ good. _I'm_ an example of the corruption of the -stage, if you're looking for one." - -"You're nothing of the kind, Maggy!" - -"Yes, I am. If I hadn't been on the stage Fred wouldn't have thought I -was easy fruit, and I shouldn't have known what he wanted from the -start. I went over the line because I knew living with him was all he -expected, or I could expect. I don't say I wouldn't rather be married -and respectable, but as I couldn't have Fred that way, I've got to put -up without it. Marriage and the stage are like oil and vinegar. They -don't mix. Look at Mrs. Lambert and her husband. Look at the girls who -marry noblemen. Don't they keep the divorce court busy? And you can't -do any good on the stage without a man at the back of you. Make up your -mind to that. You've got to bury your conscience like a dog does a -bone. At first you keep on going back to it to see if it's there, and -one day you forget all about it, or you find it's gone. That's the big -difference between you and the dog.... So you've come back to this -hole, Lexie. Do you think I don't know what you feel about it? You're -like Cinderella, only you've been to the funeral of your fairy -god-mother. I suppose you'll hold out while your money lasts, and then -begin the old fight all over again. But there won't be so much fight -left in you. You don't _feel_ like fighting. You don't feel the same. -You said so, just now.... Lexie dear, don't think of your old pal Maggy -as a she-devil taking you up on top of a mountain and tempting you. But -I do want you to make the most of your chances. I honestly believe if -you take things as they come you won't be sorry. You're sure to meet -some nice man sometime. If he's able to--to keep you, do give in. If -you love him you'll want to. And what's the use of giving love the cold -shoulder simply because he doesn't always go about with a marriage -license in his pocket? If it's wrong to talk like that all I can say is -I'd rather love without marriage than not love at all, even though I -knew I was going to be burnt to a cinder for it." - -"Perhaps I'm asbestos--" - -"All the better if you are: you'll stand it better. Anyhow, asbestos -gets hot.... Lexie, I haven't a regret in the world. I was a bit down -on my luck before I was ill, but now I'm well again, I'm glad that I'm -Maggy who loves her Fred." - -Alexandra sat staring in front of her, turning Maggy's advice over in -her mind. She knew she meant every word she said. She recalled Mrs. -Lambert's views about the stage. She had less faith in her powers of -endurance now. Privation and disappointment had done their work. In -easy circumstances any one may withstand temptation: surrender comes -with adversity. At the present moment Alexandra was not actually in -touch with adversity. She felt capable of holding out against -temptation. - -"I shan't give in," she said with a little of her old tenacity. "I'm -going to try and write." - -"What?" asked Maggy blankly. - -"My experiences." - -"But you haven't had any." - -"You and Mrs. Lambert and all that you both have told me are -experiences." - -This was a new aspect of Alexandra. It mystified Maggy. - -"But can you write?" she asked doubtfully. - -"I--I think so. At least I've made a beginning." - -"It seems so funny. Fred says that actresses can't write. All those -things you see in the magazines and the _Jockey's Weekly_ by actresses -all about themselves, with photos stuck in between, aren't written by -them. The printer does it." - -"Not the printer, surely?" - -"Well, the man from the paper. It's all the same. I've been -interviewed and I know. All I did was to sign my name at the end. It -came out in _The Housewife_." - -"What I meant was a serious article. Something true." - -"But nobody wants to read anything serious about the stage," Maggy -contended. "It's for pleasure.... Fancy you writing! Do let me see -what you've done, Lexie." - -Alexandra went over to the chest of drawers and came back with her -article. It was in manuscript. She handed it over shyly. - -"Why, it's pages and pages!" exclaimed Maggy, with the bewilderment of -one to whom the space on a postcard presents difficulties. - -She commenced to read aloud from it. - -"'The stage as a profession for women has frequently been a subject of -discussion. Seldom however has it occurred to any one to descant on it -as a profession for ladies...' - -"We're always called _ladies_ of the profession," debated Maggy, and -read on. - -"'... To do this effectively one must first try and arrive at the proper -definition of the term "lady," and when one has done so enquire into the -economic and moral effects which the stage may have on her if she should -embark on...'" - -Maggy raised enquiring, rather helpless, eyes. - -"Does this mean you're a Suffragette?" she asked. - -"No, of course not." - -Maggy skipped a paragraph. - -"'A lady, we will say, is one who, apart from the question of birth, has -been brought up to respect the usual conventions of social life. Let us -now consider how far those conventions are respected on the stage.'" - -As she turned the pages, singling out portions of them at random, she -found it very hard reading. She thought it like the leaders in the -daily paper, which she always skipped. In reality, it was not a bad -little article for a beginner, in spite of its consciously correct -phraseology and want of cohesion of idea. But as an unglossed -commentary concerning the ethical side of stage life it provided food -for thought. - -"I suppose it's brainy," said Maggy, handing it back. "It doesn't sound -a bit like you though. I hope I'm not a wet blanket, but I think you'll -get sick of the crumply plop it will make coming back through the -letter-box. It's not what you ever see in the papers. You may ask -things about inferior flannelette or horrid sausages or white slaves, -and it's all right. But the truth about the stage! Well, there, it's -written now, so you may as well post it; but if I were you, I'd go and -see the editor in the morning before he's had time to read it." - -"Why?" enquired Alexandra innocently. - -"Well ... if he's young--and impressionable--it might-- No, on second -thoughts, don't." - -Tea came in. By the side of the teapot Mrs. Bell had ostentatiously -placed a small medicine bottle. She had also provided what purported to -be a cake. - -"I sent out for 'three' of gin," she said, beaming placidly at the -bottle. - -"Whatever for?" demanded Alexandra. - -"For a dash in your tea, dear. Seeing as how you've just come from a -funeral--" - -Alexandra's face showed a repugnance. Mrs. Bell looked grieved. Maggy -intervened. - -"Miss Hersey only drinks champagne now," she said cheerily. "Doctor's -orders. And I've sworn off. You trot off with it downstairs. Gin's -good for landladies." - - - - - XXVII - - -Alexandra's bad luck held. - -The only engagements she was offered she could not accept. One was in -provincial pantomime and therefore not immediate, another a "walk-on" at -a London theater, for which a premium of L10 was asked. Suggestions -were made to her by doubtful-looking touring managers which besides -being only tentative were also unwholesome. One agent made it -impossible for her to go and see him again. - -The soul-sickening chase after employment continued for several weeks. -By husbanding the money she had saved while on tour with Mrs. Lambert -she was able to keep out of debt; but time was against her. Soon she -would be unable to do without a fire in her room. Coals at six-pence a -scuttle sounded to her like extravagance and were therefore prohibitive. -She did not think it likely she would be able to find a cheaper lodging, -or at any rate one where the landlady was as honest as Mrs. Bell. In -Sidey Street she could at least make sure that if half a herring was -left over at breakfast the other half would be available at supper time. - -Mrs. Bell was also "particular" about sheets and cleanliness generally. -She took an open pride in having a lodger who indulged in a daily bath. -The blush of modesty often came to Alexandra's face as she heard the -fact being exultantly advertised on the stairs to some new or would-be -tenant. Her landlady used it as a testimonial. Once a week, too, the -little room with the cistern was "done out," which meant that Mrs. Bell -used a duster for a motor-veil and threw the furniture out on the -landing. For these reasons 109 Sidey Street was tolerable. The lodgers -there were respectable. True, the shunter from King's Cross Station had -the room overhead, but as he did not import his boisterous occupation -into domestic life Alexandra found him unobjectionable. - -She saw a good deal of Maggy, but Maggy was only able to offer advice -and the use of her purse, neither of which Alexandra would accept. It -hurt her to refuse. The advice she could not reconcile with her -conscience: the money, being Woolf's, seemed tainted. All this while -her one attempt at literature had kept returning to her with hopeless -monotony. A month had elapsed since she had last seen it. She had all -but forgotten it when a letter unexpectedly reached her, nebulously -signed "The Editor," requesting her to call at the offices of his paper. - -She went there full of a natural excitement at the prospect of hearing -that her article was to be printed. To her chagrin the Editor, -otherwise quite a pleasant person, disillusioned her on this point. - -"It's quite all right," he told her; "but I can't use it." - -"Then why did you send for me?" asked poor Alexandra helplessly. - -"For one reason, because I saw you knew your subject, and it struck me -you might put your knowledge to a more commercial use. My dear young -lady, there isn't a paper in England that would print this as it -stands." - -Alexandra had nothing to say. - -"It's quite simple," he went on. "Papers live by advertisement. The -stage is one of their sources of revenue. Besides, it doesn't pay to -vilify the stage. It's too popular. We have to butter it up. Look at -this," he flicked over the pages of his popular weekly. "Full of photos -of stage beauties, with a eulogistic paragraph to each. Many of them -paid for. Well, we can't publish a picture of, say, Miss Tottie Fluff -on one page and an indictment of her morals on the next. Now can we?" - -"I--I suppose not," said Alexandra, vastly impressed by this amiable -frankness. - -"If you'll be guided by me you'll leave the question of stage morality -alone. The press, the public and the profession all unite in a -conspiracy of silence about it. You're on the stage, I suppose?" - -"Generally off," said Alexandra. - -"Doing anything now?" - -"No, I wish I were." - -"Well, look here: why not write something in a chatty way about -theatrical matters? Take the exact opposite view to what you have here. -Treat the stage sympathetically. Point out its elevating influence on -the masses. Sugar it all up. And, I say, not twelve pages: a thousand -words or so. I'll give you thirty shillings for it." - -Alexandra went back to Sidey Street and sat down to try and write -fulsome untruths about the stage. She thought and thought. The ink -dried on her pen. Presently an idea came. She commenced to write -swiftly. When she had covered two pages she stopped and read them over, -realizing what she was doing. For the paltry sum of thirty shillings -she, who recoiled from sacrificing her body, was prostituting her pen. - -She put it down and deliberately tore the sheets into fragments, so -small that she would not be tempted to piece them together again. - -Not for thirty pieces of silver! - - - - - XXVIII - - -The cistern, that prominent feature of Alexandra's bedroom, was for once -in a way overshadowed. So to speak, it was put out of countenance. If -a cistern--squat, square, and forbidding as this one was--could have -expressed itself it would have done so in the form of a gasp. - -For, on the bed lay the sable coat, muff and toque and half-a-dozen -unworn French frocks. Such richness could never have been seen in Sidey -Street before. Alexandra's emotions as she stood and stared at them -were indescribable. - -They had come--several huge cardboard boxes--that afternoon--with a -letter from a firm of solicitors stating that the furs and the dresses -were a legacy from Mrs. Lambert. The reason why they had not been -delivered before was that the executors of the will were ignorant of -Miss Hersey's whereabouts. Lord Chalfont had, however, now returned to -London and had given them her address. - -And there they lay, beautiful and costly, in startling contrast with the -cistern and the other unlovely appurtenances of the room. Alexandra -supposed the furs must be worth quite a hundred pounds. The irony of -the situation was not lost upon her. Here she was in a fireless room, -dreadfully hungry, and there on the bed lay valuables which nothing -would induce her to sell because they were a gift from the dear dead. - -A day or two ago she had found herself regretting the destruction of -that sugary eulogy of the stage. She had reconstructed it, but so -unsuccessfully that in the end she decided against posting it. The -editor in all probability would have forgotten her existence. - -It was now late November and a particularly cheerless specimen of the -month. She was glad to leave her fireless room each morning for the -warmth of the agents' offices, always hoping against hope that something -would turn up. Pride made her hide her straitened circumstances from -Maggy. She still refused to borrow from her friend. Maggy's counsel -was always the same: "Climb down, Lexie. Go back to De Freyne. He'll -very likely take you on again." - -She put out a cold hand and touched the furs. They were so rich, so -soft; they signified the very quintessence of warmth. All she had had -for her lunch that day was cold rice pudding--rice pudding made with -three parts of water to one of milk. She felt as if she would never -thaw again. It was sheer desire for warmth that made her suddenly -discard her thin black serge for one of the new acquisitions, a dark -brown velvet dress. - -Over it she slipped the fur coat. The warmth of it was better than a -fire. It permeated her, sent a glow all through her chilled body. She -looked at herself as well as she was able in the small mirror on her -dressing-table and--thought of De Freyne. De Freyne only wanted -well-dressed girls. She was well-dressed now. She had enough frocks to -keep her looking expensively dressed for many months. She could not go -another week without an engagement. Her money would not hold out longer -than that. Even supposing that De Freyne, following his usual custom, -should want to put her in the way of what he termed "a chance," she need -not necessarily avail herself of it. It was sophistry and she knew it. -Allowing herself no more time for thought she put on the toque, picked -up the muff and went out. - -A motorbus took her to the theater. There she asked to see De Freyne, -fearful lest he should have forgotten her name. But De Freyne had not -forgotten it nor her. He saw her at once. He remembered the -circumstances under which he had dismissed her, her inability to dress -up to his standard and her resolve to keep straight. That had been too -novel to slip his memory. - -His jaded, practised eyes took in her changed appearance, and priced her -furs more accurately than she had done. He knew they must have cost a -good many hundreds, and wondered who had paid for them. But he made no -comment and asked no questions. He would hear all about it in good -time. - -"Come for a fresh contract?" was all he said. "That's right." - - -Alexandra had not got back to Sidey Street when Maggy knocked at her -door. She looked very fetching and contented in a gray squirrel coat, a -present from Woolf. She often contrasted her lot with Alexandra's and -felt uncomfortable when she thought of all she had and all that her poor -proud Lexie went without. - -When she heard that the latter was out she decided to await her in her -room. Mrs. Bell accompanied her up to it. The first thing Maggy -noticed was the absence of a fire. The tidy grate showed that it had -not been lit that day. She shivered. - -"What time do you expect her in?" she asked. - -"She's sure to be back by half-past four," said Mrs. Bell. - -"Well, hadn't you better light the fire?" - -Mrs. Bell pursed her lips. - -"She don't like her room hot," she mumbled. - -"Nonsense; it's freezing!" - -A look, such as a person who is about to reveal a State secret wears, -came into the landlady's face. She dropped her voice to a tone proper to -confidences. - -"To tell you the truth, Miss Delamere, I'm sadly afraid the poor dear -hasn't the money to pay for a fire. I've lit a bit of a one sometimes -on my own, but coals is coals, and I've my living to make." - -"My goodness! You ought to have told me," said Maggy accusingly. "You -know I would have paid for it." - -"That's what I told her; but she wouldn't have it. I don't like to -think what'll be the end of her going on like this. She's so different -to any one I ever come across. I've let rooms to ladies of the -profession for fifteen years. There was Freddie Aragon. She left me to -go off with a trick bicyclist, and after that she took up with a -baronet. I forget the name. Then there was Cleo Kaydor who got married -to a jockey in church. She used to come and see me--" - -"I can smell something burning!" Maggy broke in, and the tide of Mrs. -Bell's reminiscences was immediately stemmed. She clattered downstairs -to enquire into the false alarm. - -Maggy lit the fire and settled herself before it with a book which she -found lying about. It was one which failed to sustain her interest. -Gradually she dozed and ultimately dropped off asleep. By the time -Alexandra returned the fire had burnt red, warming the room to a -pleasant and unaccustomed temperature. As she came in Maggy woke up -with a start, unable to believe the sight that met her eyes. They went -from the sable coat and muff to the toque and back again. Astonishment -and the lovely effect they produced on their wearer took her breath -away. - -"Lexie!" she cried. "Where _did_ you get them? You look a princess! -Is it--you don't mean-- Are--are you ruined?" she quaintly stammered. - -Alexandra explained how she had come by the furs. If Maggy had not been -so intent on Mrs. Lambert's legacy she would have noticed an odd look in -their wearer's face. - -"Oh, my dear, they're perfect!" she exclaimed. "Real sable!" She -clutched at the arm nearest her. "Lexie, go and see De Freyne in them. -He'll think you've married Rockefeller--or ought to!" - -"I've just come from him," said Alexandra in a weak voice. "He's taken -me on again." - - - - - XXIX - - -De Freyne was puzzled about Alexandra. Her furs and her frocks baffled -him. When it transpired that she was still living in Sidey Street she -became more than ever an enigma to him. He could not reconcile that -neighborhood with her new and expensive appearance. Business instincts -apart from curiosity made him keep an eye on her. Some acquaintance -with the private affairs of his fair and usually frail merchandise was -sometimes of value to him. Like a good tradesman it was his habit to -take stock of it. - -One thing he could not reconcile with Alexandra's apparent opulence: he -never saw her lunching or supping at the Savoy or similar places. Nor -did she appear to have a motor-car, that invariable sign of private -advancement. Not knowing what to make of it he was reduced to detaining -Maggy on pretext of business one matinee afternoon and sounding her -about her friend. - -"By the way," he observed casually, after mildly cautioning her against -a want of punctuality of which she had been guilty on the previous -night. "By the way, Miss Hersey seems to have come to her senses at -last. But why does her friend keep in the background?" - -Maggy saw that De Freyne took it for granted that Alexandra had a man -behind her. She also knew that it would not be to her advantage to -correct the assumption. She even deemed it wise to stimulate his -imagination. It was easy to do that with a mysterious smile and a -knowing shake of the head. - -"It's a bit of a State secret," she said with just the right amount of -hesitation. "I oughtn't to say anything about it. I--I've never seen -his Roy--him, I mean." - -De Freyne pricked up his ears. - -"But you know who he is? Some foreigner, I suppose?" - -"Oh, there wouldn't be any need for secrecy about a foreigner," -protested Maggy with wicked plausibility. - -He put a few more questions but she refused to be drawn. - -De Freyne was anything but gullible, but Maggy's artfulness quite took -him in. Her hesitation alone was convincing proof that she knew more -than she would tell. She gleefully retailed the conversation to Woolf -later in the day. - -"Mischievous little devil!" he grinned, amused by her audacity. "What -does your precious Lexie say?" - -"She doesn't say anything because I shan't tell her. She'd probably go -straight to De Freyne and blab out the truth, which wouldn't do her any -good. He'll think more of her now. At any rate he won't bother her -with men." - -Woolf grunted. He could never understand why Maggy was always -suggesting that though a thing might be adequate to herself it was not -of necessity good enough for her friend. - -Maggy was not far wrong about De Freyne's subsequent attitude toward -Alexandra. Nothing was said, but all the same she began to receive more -consideration. De Freyne kept an open eye on the stalls and boxes for -any distinguished personage who might be there on her account. On two -nights in succession one such happened to be among the audience. This -lent color to Maggy's powers of invention. Alexandra was at once -promoted to the front row. When, a week later, a young American Croesus -made advances to De Freyne for an introduction to the "tall, dark girl -on the extreme right," he was put off with airy nonchalance. - -"Not the least use, my dear sir," said De Freyne. "Between you and me, -a certain royal personage is in the way there. But have a look at the -filly next to her, to-night. She's only sixteen." - -De Freyne would not have felt flattered had he been told that his -methods differed little from those of the astute tradesman who, not -having a particular article in stock, never hesitates to try and palm -off the nearest equivalent on his customer. Meanwhile he was debating -whether it would not be wise to interpolate a small part for Alexandra. -The upshot was that he sent for her and heard her sing. The quality of -her voice surprised him. - -"Damn it, you know how!" he observed. "Why didn't you tell us you could -sing?" - -"I sang at the voice trial," she said. - -"Oh, then! You weren't sensible in those days. I must see what I can -do for you." He turned to his stage-manager, who was present. "'Phone -Goss and Lander to come round. I want to talk over a new song to be put -in for Miss Hersey." - -The sudden stroke of luck quite confounded Alexandra. Just as Maggy was -unaware of the far-reaching effects of her hints, so was she unable to -account for her preferment. She hardly dared to believe it would -materialize. But a couple of days later her new song and the script of -a few lines of dialogue to introduce it were handed to her. She was to -have a week in which to rehearse them. - -De Freyne watched some of these rehearsals, giving much mental -consideration to the style of costume best suited to the singer. In the -end he thought out a design in sprigged muslin, looped with turquoise -ribbon. It would have a refined and childish effect. Refinement, -homeopathically prescribed, would by its contrast look well on the stage -of the Pall Mall. - -What De Freyne was not prepared for was an expression of gratitude from -Alexandra. After her first rehearsal she sought him in his office. He -assumed that, after the manner of her kind, she had come to ask for an -increase of salary. - -"Well, aren't you satisfied?" he enquired, hoping to put her off. - -"I've come to thank you," was her shy answer. "It's so kind of you, Mr. -De Freyne. I'm very grateful." - -He was so unaccustomed to being thanked by the members of his chorus, -and so seldom deserved any, that for a moment he was taken aback. - -"That's all right," he rejoined. "All I want is that you don't show any -nervousness. Audiences only allow for nervousness on the first night of -a piece. After that it fidgets them. I'm going to Lucille's for your -dress. It's to be _a la jeune fille_. No shocks to your modesty. As -for the rest, well, I daresay you'll introduce me to H.R.H. one of these -days, eh?" - -It was more a statement than a question, and De Freyne did not wait for -an answer. When they met after the performance that night Alexandra, -rather bewildered, told Maggy of her good fortune and De Freyne's -curious remark. Maggy's delight was such that she jumped. - -"Oh, my dear!" she cried. "I'll tell you now. First it was your furs -and then it was me. We've done the trick between us. But come away from -the theater or some one will hear me and then all the fat will be in the -fire!" - -She dragged Alexandra away from the stage-door and described her -interview with De Freyne. Alexandra listened petrified. - -"Maggy, how could you?" she protested piteously. "I--I can't let him go -on thinking such a mad thing! I shall have to tell him it isn't true." - -"You mustn't, mustn't, mustn't!" commanded Maggy vehemently. "Don't you -see it's good for you? If you do he'll take away your song and put that -Vandaleur man on your track. He's after little Graves now, but he let -out to her that he tried to get to know you, only De Freyne told him he -hadn't an earthly. Graves told me that herself. And you don't want to -get me the sack, do you? After all, Lexie dear," she wheedled, "I made -it a royalty, didn't I? I didn't think any one else good enough." - -"I know you meant it for the best. But--but it's such a horrid idea and -so--so far-fetched. De Freyne is sure to find out sooner or later." - -"So long as it's later it's all right. You make the most of it while -he's dreaming of meeting your prince and smoking a cigar with him in -public, and p'raps getting the order of the Boot in diamonds to wear on -his chest. It'll do him good to be disappointed." - -Alexandra would not have been human had she refused to listen to such -reasoning. She might have argued that De Freyne had recognized her -talent. But she very well knew that was not the case. It was quite -evident to her that had she been without talent or voice he would have -commissioned Goss and Lander to write her a song on two notes all the -same. - -"I'll chance it, Maggy," she announced finally. - -"That's right," said Maggy, greatly relieved, and then became -abstracted. "You ought to have some diamonds to wear on the night," she -added presently. "I wish I knew an I.D.B." - - - - - XXX - - -Diamonds for Alexandra had been no random idea of Maggy's. The question -of how to provide them, or at least some jewelry for her to wear on the -great occasion, continued to exercise her mind. She woke up full of it -the next morning. If they were to be obtained, though only for one -night, De Freyne would be wonderfully and awfully impressed. And Maggy -was right. De Freyne's estimate of a girl was largely influenced by the -intrinsic value of what she carried upon her person. - -Woolf could be of no help in this matter. He very seldom cared to -discuss Alexandra at all, and considering that he had not shown any -inclination to supply Maggy herself with any jewelry worth mentioning he -was hardly likely to do more for her friend. - -Then a daring thought came into her head. Alexandra had told her that -Lord Chalfont was back in London. Couldn't he do something? Ever a -slave to the enthusiasm of the moment, she looked up Chalfont's address -in the telephone index and then drove there. Her heart went into her -mouth as she thought of what Woolf would say if he knew where she was -bound for. But that did not stop her. She was one of Nature's -gamblers, and the element of danger in the undertaking gave her a -certain relish for it. - -Chalfont was just going to sit down to his breakfast--it was only -half-past nine--when she was announced. The earliness of her visit -surprised him, but he was none the less pleased to see her. Many times -during his absence he had recalled her pretty face, her extraordinary -gift of honest frankness, and above all the sympathetic womanliness she -had shown at their last meeting. - -"I expect you think I'm mad coming to see you so early in the morning," -she began. - -"I'm glad to see you at any time," he said. "Have you had breakfast?" - -"I snatched it. I wanted to catch you in, and I didn't want my Fred to -know. He wouldn't like me to be here. Of course, I shan't tell him, -because I've come in a good cause. Can you lend me some diamonds?" - -He was a little staggered by the request. He would have been prepared -to swear that Maggy was not of the grasping sort, and yet here she was, -admittedly against the regulations, blandly asking him for diamonds at -half-past nine in the morning. He laughed. - -"Look here, I haven't had breakfast yet. It's ready. Suppose you have -it with me and tell me why you want them." - -"May I? I should love it." - -He rang the bell, and his man quickly laid another place at the table. - -"Sole, omelette, kidneys?" inquired Chalfont. "You need not wait, -Mitchell." - -"Omelette, please," said Maggy, taking the seat he offered her before -the tea and coffee equipage. "Coffee for you? And sugar?" - -"Thanks." - -He came back from the sideboard where he had gone to the -electrically-heated stand, smiled as he served her, and took the cup she -handed him. - -"Do you know," he said, taking his seat, "I seem to have the feeling -that we've breakfasted before." - -"So have I," she rejoined. "I like it." - -"Your hat spoils the illusion, though." - -"How?" - -"Of a woman in the house." - -She unpinned it and tossed it on to a chair. The reluctance that had -made her retain it that day so many months ago when she had lunched for -the first time with Woolf was quite absent now. - -"Well, what about the diamonds?" asked Chalfont. - -"They're not for me. I want them for Lexie. But it must be a secret. -She'd shake me if she knew. She's back again at the Pall Mall now." - -"I wanted to ask you about her. What is she doing there?" - -"I'll tell you all from the beginning," said Maggy. "This omelette's -splendid. It was through her legacy. The furs and the dresses poor -Mrs. Lambert left her." - -Chalfont nodded. - -"Well, Lexie had a hard time for weeks. She couldn't get an engagement -anywhere. So when the furs came she togged herself out in them and went -and saw De Freyne. He took her on again because he thought she'd got -rich quick, and that there was a man in it. He was awfully puzzled. -Instead of asking her he tried to pump me, and I found myself telling -stories." Her face screwed up funnily. "Oh, I let him think! He -fancies it's a royalty--a prince--who's running Lexie, and he's given -her a part and a song on the strength of it. It goes in three days from -now. It's an awfully big thing for her. I've persuaded her not to -split--not to let on that her prince is all a fairy story. As I put it -to her: she can't come to much harm with an _imaginary_ man. Now, on the -night she'll look so bare." - -"Bare?" echoed Chalfont. - -"Bare of jewelry, I mean." - -"Oh, I see!" - -"Her dress is white and pink and turquoise, a duck of a thing. But she -won't have a single ornament to wear; so if De Freyne is to go on -believing what I told him about the prince she ought to have some. -Diamonds for choice. It doesn't matter about afterwards. He'll have -seen them once and think she's put them away for safety. Now that's -where you can help. If you'll lend them I'll make her wear them. You -_have_ got some diamonds, haven't you?" she asked anxiously. - -"Yes, in the bank. Of course I'll lend you some," said Chalfont -readily. "I'll telephone through if you like and tell the bank to send -them along. How will that do?" - -"Splendid! That is good of you." - -"Not at all. I'm very glad to be able to help Miss Hersey. Besides, I -wouldn't for worlds spoil the practical joke you've played on De -Freyne." He laughed. "It's one of the best things I ever heard of." - -"And you won't let on to Lexie?" - -"Not a word. It shall be our secret." - -"I _knew_ I could count on you," said Maggy confidently. - -Chalfont looked at his watch. It was ten now, and the bank would be -open, so he went to the telephone and gave the necessary instructions. - -"Where have you been all this while?" Maggy asked him when he came back -to his seat. "I wondered whether you would take my advice and plump for -some wild place." - -"As it happens it's just as well I didn't. You wouldn't be pouring out -coffee for me if I had gone to the Rockies or Central Africa," he -smiled. "I went for a commonplace cruise to Madeira and back instead." - -"I'm glad you didn't, now.... Do you feel better--about things?" - -He knew she was thinking of Mrs. Lambert, and liked her all the better -for her indefiniteness. It showed delicacy. - -"I think so," he answered. "I have often recalled something you said -when we stood at the window of the little house in Albert Place: 'Life -goes on,' were the words. I'm going on with mine. I'm trying to make -the best of it." - -"I like to hear that. Love isn't meant to mope over. It's the sort of -thing to remember with praise and thanksgiving when it's gone. When the -loved one's gone, I mean. When you come to think of it love's a curious -thing. It's like a very sharp two-edged sword. You handle it so -carelessly that it gives you scratches and cuts and wounds that are so -deep that even when they heal they throb for years afterwards. I wonder -how I should feel--if my love stopped. I think my life would stop too. -I shouldn't be brave enough to go on with things.... That doesn't fit -in very well with what I said just now about not moping, does it?" - -Chalfont answered her with a question of his own. - -"What is love like to you?" - -"To me? A burning, fiery furnace. All great waves beating on me and -smashing me about." - -"Isn't that passion?" - -"I don't know. If it is it's like that stuff everybody's talking -about--radium. It gives off heat and loses none." She remained lost in -thought for a while. "Perhaps I should feel different if I -were--married.... I dream of it sometimes." - -She was dreaming then. Chalfont saw it in her eyes. Her artlessness -seemed a wonderful thing to him. - -"The odd thing is," she went on, "when I'm imagining that I forget all -about the man. It's like having a sort of marriage service all to -yourself." - -"Tell me." - -"Oh, it's silly.... I think of it to make me go to sleep instead of -counting silly sheep. It makes me float off as if I were on a lovely -cloud. First I hear the church bells ringing--quite loud, pealing; and -my heart goes thumpetty-thump because I'm going to be married, which I -shall never be in my life. It seems so important and grand. And then I -dress. That doesn't interest me very much; but I like the look of my -face through the white veil. It's misty, like a summer morning.... -Then I'm in church--a great church, perhaps a cathedral, and as I go up -the aisle it's as if God is playing the organ, and I'm walking on all -His stars." - -There was quite a wonderful look in her beautiful face. She seemed to -have forgotten Chalfont. He kept quite still waiting for her to go on. - -"And then the service begins. I read it once. Parts of it I shall never -forget. In the church there are stacks of white flowers and lilies. -It's all so quiet and awful--only the clergyman's voice.... I feel -choking and I can't see because my eyes are full of tears.... There -_must_ be sacred love. I feel it all through me.... And when it's over -I'm crying. Sometimes if I'm not asleep I go on with the honeymoon. I -see fields and blue sky and a homey-looking house--soft red brick--with -a green lawn and cedar trees on it. Their branches stretch out to me -like loving arms. I see flowers everywhere. I think it's a sort of -farm, because there are cows and wondering-eyed calves with soft -slobbery noses and curly, wet, rough tongues; and lambs with baby faces -to make pets of; and clucking chickens and stupid broody hens. I'd be -so kind to them...." She drew a long breath. The dream was broken. -"Fred would say I'm dotty," she finished apologetically. - -"Do you know," said Chalfont, "your thoughts are like dainty -butterflies." - -"There's a maggot in my brain, I expect," was her dry rejoinder, -dispelling her romantic mood. - -Mitchell came in to say that a messenger had arrived from the bank. -Chalfont excused himself and left the room. A minute or two later he -came back and took Maggy into another room. On one of its tables stood -two mahogany boxes. Unlocking them he lifted the lids and moved aside -for her to see. - -"I think you'll find what you want here," he said. - -The top tray of one of the boxes was studded with fine rings; the other -held necklaces and bracelets--diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls. -Underneath, when he removed the trays, Maggy's eyes opened wide at a -magnificent tiara and other gemmed ornaments. - -"Do they _all_ belong to you?" she gasped. - -"Yes, in a sense. They were my mother's. They have belonged to many a -Lady Chalfont in the past." - -"Then if you marry they will belong to your wife?" - -"If I marry." - -A mischievous look came into Maggy's face. - -"I don't suppose the future Lady Chalfont would like to see Miss Maggy -Delamere taking her pick," she said. She became serious again. "I -shan't sleep comfortably while I have them." - -"I shall," smiled Chalfont. "Will you choose what you want?" - -Maggy made a discreet choice, avoiding the tiara and the more splendid -objects much as she would have liked to see them on Alexandra. Chalfont -put the jewels into a smaller case for her. When he had done that he -handed her a little pendant, a dainty thing of small diamonds with a -ruby center. - -"How do you like that?" he asked. - -"It's sweet," said Maggy, holding it up for inspection. - -"I would like you to keep it." - -"I would like to keep it, too. But"--she handed it back--"I can't take -it." - -"My dear child, why not? It's only a little thing." - -She shook her head. - -"Fred wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like my coming here either. I did -it because it was for somebody else. Thank you ever so much though. I -do think you're kind." She gave his hand a hearty grip. - -Chalfont saw her to the door. - -"Lexie appears on Thursday night. Don't forget. Come and clap," were -her farewell words. - -She hailed a passing taxi. Chalfont helped her in. As it drove off she -waved to him, smiling. To Chalfont it seemed that her smile lit the -street. - - - - - XXXI - - -The transfer of the borrowed diamonds to Alexandra was a troublesome -job. For once Maggy was reticent. In effect she said, "Ask no -questions and you will be told no lies." Hers was the stronger will and -in the end it prevailed. Alexandra wore them and De Freyne saw them. -His shrewd eyes did not mistake them for stage jewelry. He saw they -were real and was rather flabbergasted by their value. Maggy hoped and -prayed he would not interrogate her again and that he would refrain from -putting awkward questions to Alexandra. He did neither. He was much -too satisfied with Alexandra's opulent appearance to ask questions. -Moreover, he thought he could have provided answers to them himself. - -Alexandra had had her baptism of stage-fright on tour. Curiously -enough, when it came to walking into the limelight of the stage of the -Pall Mall she was hardly nervous at all. She did not know it, but the -loss of her old enthusiasm for the stage made her indifferent. Her -sensations were deadened. De Freyne noticed her calmness and put it -down to self-confidence, the same confidence that had procured her the -attentions of her august "friend." - -She did not leap into fame that night. She attracted notice. The -audience thought her pretty and dainty. They found her refinement -rather in the nature of a _sorbet_ between coarser fare. They were not -quite sure that they appreciated her air of unconcern but it impressed -them. So did her diamonds. - -De Freyne was very pleased with her and himself as well. A good many of -his friends, several newspaper critics, and others who had a financial -interest in the Pall Mall, felicitated him in the foyer on his -discernment in recognizing talent among the members of his chorus and -incidentally from among the choruses of lesser managers upon whose folds -he and his emissaries were always watching and making raids. He went -round to the wings to congratulate Alexandra. - -"I've only one fault to find," he said. "You coughed twice." - -"I've had a cold for some time," was her excuse. - -"You ought to take something. See a doctor." - -"I will, if it doesn't get better." - -"That's right." - -Alexandra had on the white wrap which all ladies of the company were -expected to wear over their costumes when not on the stage. He drew it -slightly aside, exposing her neck. - -"Damn fine diamonds, those, my dear. They ought to keep colds away." - -He nodded amiably and moved off. Maggy, minus her wrap, rushing toward -Alexandra, collided with him. - -"Where's your dust-cloak?" he demanded. - -"Oh, who can think of dust-cloaks when they're excited!" she exclaimed, -and flung her arms round Alexandra. "You _were_ a go, Lexie!" - -"That's the third time this week I've seen you without it," said De -Freyne testily. - -"One and six more for the share-holders. Oh, don't grumble, Mr. De -Freyne, or else I shall kiss you, too. I don't know what I'm doing!" - -She put her arm in Alexandra's and dragged her off to her dressing-room. -De Freyne's eyes followed the former. - -"Deep little devil, that," he observed to his stage-manager, who had -been looking on. "Clever too." - -"They're all devils," rejoined that experienced person, wearily. "But -it's a change when they're clever. Talking of cleverness, her friend's -worth watching. She's very raw material, but--" - -"You mean young Delamere? Clever?" - -"Clever as paint!" - - - - - XXXII - - -Maggy had a pleasant surprise in store for Woolf. She meant to spring -it on him that night after supper; but before the opportunity arose for -doing so she herself was to suffer anything but a pleasant one from him. - -Although he was not in the habit of lavishing valuable presents on her -she spent a good deal of her pocket money on him. He was not always -grateful for these little attentions. He regarded her gifts as -superfluous expressions of affection, especially as he paid for both. -At one time and another she had given him a gold cigarette-case, -pocket-books, silver pencils, photograph frames, smoking requisites. On -one occasion, to his amusement, she had presented him with a crocheted -pajama bag with his initials carried out in the design. This labor of -love was the product of her period of convalescence. - -But now, perhaps to clear her conscience of her innocent traffic with -Chalfont, she had launched with extravagance on his account. It took -the form of the gift of a diamond ring. She had paid for it with all -her savings, and she hoped it was a good stone, because Woolf had the -trait which the proverb warns us against: he liked to look a gift-horse -in the mouth. She was on the point of making her presentation when he -said: - -"By the way, you're going to be a grass-widow for three weeks." - -"Oh, Fred!" she exclaimed, her face falling. - -"I've got to go abroad." - -"Where?" - -"South of France." - -"When?" - -"To-morrow." - -That he should leave her at all was utterly unexpected: the -immediateness of his departure was so overwhelming. She sat for a while -in startled silence. Suddenly she got up and threw her arms round him. - -"Oh, Fred, take me with you," she coaxed. "It's summer there, isn't it? -I've never been abroad." - -Woolf avoided her eyes. - -"And I've not been well. It would do me good. I'd _love_ to travel -with you, Fred. I'd have some new trunks with your initials on them, -and I'd look so married and good. Really!" - -"Not possible, my dear," said Woolf. "De Freyne wouldn't let you off." - -"Yes, he would. He did before. You arranged that, so you can again." - -"I'll take you abroad some day," he temporized. "I really can't this -time, Maggy. I shall be traveling from place to place. I've arranged -dates with a man, and I can't put him off. It's business. Don't plague -me about it." - -She saw it was no use arguing with him. - -"I suppose I may write? What are the places?" she inquired -disconsolately. - -"Nice, Mentone, Cannes. Nice to start with at any rate. I'm not quite -sure of my movements, but I'll let you know. You'd better address me -Poste Restante." - -"Honeymoon places!" There was a note of longing in her voice. "Well, I -suppose I've had mine." She thought of the ring, forgot her chagrin and -went on mischievously: "As you're going on your honeymoon I may as well -give you your wedding present. Here it is." - -She put it in his hand and hung back to watch the effect it should have -on him. He looked pleased, but to her surprise seemed reluctant to -accept it. She broke in on his muttered excuses. - -"Tommy rot! I saw by your face that you liked it. Hold out your -finger." She kissed the ring and also kissed his finger. "How does it -go? ... With this ring I thee wed, with this body I thee worship.... -There now. It's on. We're as good as--no, worse than married! Kiss me, -you dear King. I don't mind your going so very much so long as you'll -be glad to come back." Her lips quivered. "We've never been parted -before." - -"What's three weeks?" said Woolf lightly. - -"I shall be a gray-haired old woman by the time you come back." - -"Good Heavens! You're crying!" - -"No, I'm not," she denied, hiding her face. - -"Silly Maggy." He took her in his arms. "Cry afterwards. I'm not gone -yet." - - - - - XXXIII - - -"I've brought them back." - -Maggy had come to restore the borrowed jewels to Chalfont. It was late -afternoon of the following day. She was dressed in gray with touches of -black, and her face wore a subdued expression. Woolf had left for the -Continent by the morning boat train. - -"You were a brick to lend them," she proceeded. "Didn't you think Lexie -was awfully good?" - -"Very good indeed," he said. - -"She isn't a bit excited. Funny, isn't it? She used to be so keen -once. Now I don't think she'd mind a bit if she left the stage." - -"Would you?" - -"I? I can't imagine myself anywhere else. This time twenty years, if -Maggy Delamere's still alive, she'll be capering about in the chorus -somewhere, I expect. I hope I shall be dead though," she added -pessimistically. - -"What is the matter with you to-day?" asked Chalfont. - -"Blue devils. Mr. Woolf's away. He won't be back for three weeks. -He's on his honeymoon." - -Chalfont stared at her. For a moment he thought she was speaking -seriously. He could not understand her calm acceptance of such a fact. -Then Maggy laughed. - -"He's gone to honeymoon places, I mean. On business. He couldn't take -me." She changed the subject quickly. "Have you ever been to see -Lexie?" - -"No," he replied. "I wasn't sure she would like me to." - -"Perhaps she wouldn't. It's not much of a place where she lives." - -"But I want you to give her a message, if you will." - -"Of course. What is it?" - -"An invitation. It's for you too, if you will accept it. But perhaps -you've made arrangements already--for Christmas, I mean." - -Maggy shook her head. Her Christmas would have to be spent alone in her -flat. It did not occur to her that Chalfont was making her an -alternative proposition. - -"In that case I shall be very glad if you and Miss Hersey will spend it -with me at Purton Towers." - -Maggy started. Lexie and she and he all together at Christmas time! At -Purton Towers! - -"Is that your country-house?" she faltered. - -"Yes. You'll come? We should be rather quiet because--" - -"Because of poor Mrs. Lambert," she interjected with quick -understanding. "Was--was she there with you last year?" - -"No, she would never come." - -Maggy was thinking. - -"I expect Lexie would love to go," she cogitated. "And so should I. -But I ought to stop at the flat.... Would it be very wrong if I didn't? -He--Fred--is very strict about me. I wish I'd asked him...." - -Chalfont did not attempt persuasion. - -"All right," she said suddenly. "I'll come. It would be a shame to -prevent Lexie having a good time. She wouldn't come without me. It -will be simply lovely!" - -"I'll motor you both down on Christmas Eve and bring you back in time -for the theater on Boxing night. I think you'll like the old place." - -"Shall I? What makes you think so?" - -"For one thing because of the cedars on the lawn." - -"Like in my dream? Oh, ripping!" - -"And there is the home-farm. You like animals." - -Maggy's face lighted up. "Will there be lambs and calves and fat -squealy little pigs?" - -"Hardly at this time of year," answered Chalfont, amused. "You'll have -to come in the spring again to see them." - -"I don't think I could resist it, if you invited us. May I ask you -something?" - -"Anything you like. Fire away." - -"It's this," she said with considerable hesitation. "I would love to -spend a _real_ Christmas Day. Would you mind? One goes to church, -doesn't one? And I would like people not to know we were actresses. I -would like--if you could manage it--to have a Christmas tree. Couldn't -you ask some village children--a lot of them? Children are always in -season even when lambs and calves aren't. That's one blessing." - -"I think that could be managed. Do you like children?" he asked, -surprised at her earnestness. - -"Like them? It's the one part of Heaven that sounds most attractive. -You know where it says in the Bible: 'Suffer little children ... and of -such is the Kingdom of Heaven,' and then a lot more toward the end about -gold and jasper and glassy seas and streets of gold. I expect there -must be a nursery for the children who died young. I'd like to squeeze -in with the little angels!" - -"You funny child!" - -"I'm not a child. It's only my silly way of talking. I'm a woman. -Why, this"--she held up her little finger--"this knows more about love -and pain and everything else than--Lexie's whole body. Now I must be -off. I do talk to you. What makes me? I only meant to stop a minute." -She was wrought up at the prospect of spending Christmas--a real country -Christmas--under such delightful conditions as she had outlined and -Chalfont had tacitly acquiesced in. Too impatient to wait until evening -to impart the joyful news to Alexandra she made for Sidey Street as fast -as a taxicab could take her. There, breathlessly she told her news. - -"How nice of him!" declared Alexandra. "Did you meet him accidentally, -or how?" - -"How," answered Maggy, and colored violently under Alexandra's clear and -searching eyes. "I had to go to his house--on business," she floundered, -giving herself away. - -Alexandra could not help laughing. - -"Oh, Maggy! Then the diamonds I wore last night were his!" - -"Nothing wrong with them, was there?" - -"No, but--but you must be very friendly with him. Have you seen him a -lot since he came back?" - -"When I went to borrow them and again to-day when I took them back," -replied Maggy, regaining her self-possession. - -"I wonder what he thinks of you!" - -"Oh, just mad," said Maggy. - - -In a week's time it would be Christmas. The joys of anticipation helped -her to endure Woolf's absence. She knew that her visit to Purton Towers -would incense him, but she did not intend going it on that account. She -would not be doing Woolf or herself any wrong in going. When he -returned she would be quite honest and tell him all about it. Meanwhile -she wrote to Chalfont. - - -"_Dear Lord Chalfont:_ - -"Lexie will love to come. Me too. But would you mind very much if I -brought Mrs. Slightly and Mr. Onions? - -"Yours sincerely, - "MAGGY DELAMERE." - - -Her large and sprawly handwriting covered the sheet. Had it not been -for the afterthought in the form of a postscript which she added -overleaf, Chalfont might have remained in ignorance of the identity of -the two additional guests. It ran thus: - - -"I forgot you don't know them. Mrs. Slightly could sleep anywhere, -being a cat. Mr. Onions is my dog and has a basket in my room. At any -other time of the year I would not mind leaving them in charge of the -porter at the flats but at Christmas everybody loses their heads and -they might not get fed. They are not well bred but they have good -manners." - - -Chalfont did not mind in the least. If Maggy had wanted in addition to -bring a tame goat he would have welcomed it. All her eccentricities -amused him. Her solicitude for her two pets showed her thoughtfulness -and goodness of heart. So, when the day arrived, Mrs. Slightly traveled -to Purton Towers in a well-ventilated hat box, while Onions, wildly -excited but restrained by a brand-new leather leash, sat between Maggy -and Alexandra in the back of the car. - -It was a brilliant day, one of those sunny, windless days that belies -the time of year. The air was crisp rather than cold, and the two -girls, wrapped in their furs and a capacious rug, reveled in the swift -rush of the open car infinitely more than if they had been driving in a -closed one. Maggy was in prodigious spirits. Chalfont, driving with his -man beside him, turned occasionally to watch her, regretting that he was -unable to catch a word of her animated talk. - -"Isn't life a funny thing, Onions dear," she was bubbling rather than -saying. "Six months ago you were a gagaboo little horror eating your -namesakes out of a dustbin, and here you are being driven by a real live -lord. The beauty of it is you don't know it and wouldn't care if you -did. That's one of the reasons why I love you, Onions. You don't mind me -being an abandoned female. You don't even know that I am one. That's -why King Edward was so fond of his Caesar. Caesar didn't love him -because he was a king but because he was a man. He might have been a -coal-heaver for all Caesar cared. You little wog-wogs don't know -anything about titles or the marriage service, but you can love, honor -and obey better than we can, till death makes us howl and bury you." - -Onions, straining at his lead, leapt up and tried to snatch a mouthful -of her motor-veil. - -"Onions, if I were rich I would try to make a heaven on earth for all -the doggies in the world. I'd look for all the hungry ones and all the -ugly ones and the beaten ones and the ones whose mothers sat on them and -made them funny shapes. You should all have lovely patent kennels full -of the best quality straw--heaps of it to wiggle around in; and exciting -food, bones and the horrible things from insides that you like so much, -and sulphur when you weren't looking, to keep you well and make your -coats shine. And you should all run about wherever you pleased, chasing -bunny-rabbits and mice and the other sniffy things that make dogs so -excited. And there should be a special place all wired round for the -slow doggies, all full of rabbits so that they couldn't get away. It -wouldn't be cruel, because after a time you'd make friends with the -bunnies and play hide and seek with them. Oh, what a lovely world we -could make it if we had it all to ourselves. Lexie, do look at Onion's -face. He's _laughing_!" - -Alexandra laughed too. - -"How you do lose your head and your heart to anything you love, Maggy," -she said. - -Maggy gave her one of her odd looks. - -"Isn't it a way women have?" she retorted. - - - - - XXXIV - - -The room, of regal dimensions, was paneled in linenfold, and hung with -old tapestry. Giant specimens of William and Mary furniture did not -crowd it; nor did the big canopied four-poster on its dais much curtail -the floor-space. In the wide, open fireplace logs glowed warmly. A -dozen candles shed a soft light on Alexandra as she sat in a tall carved -armchair by the hearth, plaiting her hair. Maggy on the bed in her -nightgown with her hands clasped round her knees was lost in the shadow -of its brocaded curtains. - -"Pinch me, Lexie, or I shall believe it's all a dream and wake up," she -said. "Fancy, a king slept here once. I wonder what he'd have said if -he'd been told that hundreds of years afterwards a chorus girl was -coming into his bed--" A shy gurgle brought her to a stop as she -realized the doubtful meaning she had given to the last part of the -sentence. "Lexie, how quiet you are." - -"I'm reveling in it too," said Alexandra with a contented sigh. - -"Oh, you're a lady by birth. It's natural to you." - -"Indeed it isn't. I've never been in such a lovely place in my life." - -"Footmen with powdered legs!" mused Maggy absently. - -Alexandra laughed softly. - -"Hair, I mean. Same thing.... And the dinner served like machinery and -yet so quietly. None of the waiters--servants--in a hurry, and -everything so natural and perfect. I thought I should feel like walking -on new-laid eggs, but I didn't at all. Oh, if you lived in a place like -this all your life you couldn't help growing noble and behaving -beautifully. I don't feel properly vulgar here." - -"But you're not vulgar." - -"Well, perhaps not properly.... Isn't Mrs. Pardiston a dear? She's -'the Honorable,' isn't she? I think 'the Honorable' sounds more -splendid than 'Lady' or even 'Duchess.' 'Honorable!' It means so much. -The others are tides, but 'the Honorable' is an--an--" - -"Attribute?" supplied Alexandra. - -"Yes, that's the word. Isn't it nice of him asking her--his own -aunt--to meet us? Oh, Lord!" - -"What's the matter?" - -"I asked Lord Chalfont not to tell any one we were on the stage. Mrs. -Pardiston can't know. She ought to. She's been so sweet to me. Perhaps -she wouldn't have been if she'd known. I think I ought to tell her -before I go to sleep." - -"Why not wait till the morning?" suggested Alexandra. - -"I'm sure to forget in the morning. I'm going to get up at seven to see -the cows milked. You mustn't, Lexie, because you've got a cold. And -then there'll be church, and after that the Christmas tree to do things -to, and--I shan't _remember_ I'm on the stage to-morrow. Oh, are you -going?" - -"My dear, it's past twelve." Alexandra's bedroom was opposite Maggy's. -"I wish we had been together," she said. - -"So do I. But I suppose in the state of life unto which it has pleased -God to call the aristocracy they never do sleep together. Good night, -darling." - -Left alone, Maggy remained as she was, hugging her knees and thinking. -The soft, warm silence wrapped her round. Her excited mind was full of -the eventful day: the long motor run ending with her first close -acquaintance with a noble old edifice such as she had only previously -seen in pictures and photographs. Her first view of it had made her -feel as if she could have knelt down and worshiped it. It was all so -grand and so very, very good. Her tiny flat, which had hitherto seemed -such a palace in her eyes, receded to its proper unimposing proportions. -She saw the insignificance of her little white "bedroom suite" beside -the stately furniture that surrounded her. She thought of the dignity, -the age and the atmosphere of peace into which, as on a magic carpet, -she had been suddenly transported, and compared it with the fret and -turmoil and passion of her own life. She had been timorous at first of -Mrs. Pardiston with her air of high breeding, and then fallen completely -under the spell of her charm. It had shown itself so gently maternal -toward her and Alexandra, so unquestioning. - -But Mrs. Pardiston probably assumed her to be a lady. It seemed absurd, -in spite of her having striven hard to appear as to the manner born. -Indeed, she had succeeded in behaving charmingly. Only her modesty -prevented her being assured of it. Even supposing she had satisfied -Lord Chalfont's aunt in that respect, she still felt she was imposing on -the dear old lady by not having disclosed her want of social standing. -With that doubt on her mind she got into bed, the enormous bed that -enveloped her like a warm, embracing sea. It kept her awake. Not more -than an hour since, Mrs. Pardiston bidding her good-night had said, -"Come to me if you want anything, my dears. You know where my room is." - -Recollection of those words sent her flying out of bed. She felt she -must go and make confession. Out in the wide corridor she was directed -by a stream of light that came from under her hostess's door. She -knocked at it ever so gently, and was bidden to enter. She opened it -and stood on the threshhold, hesitating. - -Mrs. Pardiston was sitting up in bed, reading. Maggy's subsequent -impression of her was always that of a white-haired Madonna crowned with -folds of soft lace. - -"May I come in? Am--am I disturbing you?" she asked timidly. - -"No, my dear. I never get to sleep for hours. But what is it?" - -Maggy closed the door. Barefooted, in her nightgown, with her hair -ruffled, she looked and felt like a child caught in some reprehensible -act. - -"I didn't know whether you knew we--I--I'm a chorus-girl," she -stammered. - -Mrs. Pardiston shut her book. She had been reading the story of the -birth of Jesus. That lonely vigil of Mary and her outcast Son, the -friendlessness and loneliness of it, had its special appeal on this the -dawn of its anniversary. Her heart was touched. For some unknown -reason also it went out to the girl so wistfully standing by her bed. - -"Are you, dear?" she said tenderly. "Wrap yourself in the eider-down -and tell me all about it." - -Tell her all about it! Maggy was quite unprepared for the calm and -friendly overture. - -"Would you mind if I didn't?" she faltered. "It would take so long. I -dance and sing for my living, that's all. There's nothing interesting -about it. But I thought you ought to know, else you might have--" - -Mrs. Pardiston smiled reassuringly. - -"I should never think ill of a person because they worked for their -living. It was nice of you to want to trust me." - -"I did. You've been so kind.... But I'm interrupting you. You were -reading." - -"You can read to me, if you will." Mrs. Pardiston took off her -spectacles and handed Maggy the book, indicating the place. "Are you -quite warm? But perhaps you would rather go to bed?" - -"I'll read a little first, please." - -Not till then did Maggy observe that the book she held was the Bible. A -solemn look came into her face. Her voice was a little unsteady as she -began to read. - -"'Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the -King, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, - -"'Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen -his star in the east, and are come to worship him....'" - -Chalfont, passing the room on his way to bed, heard Maggy's voice, and -paused to listen. - - - - - XXXV - - -To get up of a winter's morning to see his cows milked was not a usual -diversion with Chalfont, but to please Maggy he turned out at seven and -took her to the home farm to witness that process. She was absorbed by -it. She had never before been nearer to a cow than the average hedge -permits of; and to see them, as she did now, in the family circle, so to -speak, was a delightful novelty to her. Her love of animals was very -real. She went into raptures over Chalfont's velvety-nosed prize -Jerseys. - -In her hurry to get up she had neglected to use any of the creams and -unguents which she deemed necessary for the adornment of her face. It -had been too dark for Chalfont to notice this omission at first, but on -their way back he became aware of it, and also of the flawlessness of -her complexion. Without stopping to think, he said: - -"What have you done to yourself?" - -"You mean, what have I not done?" she laughed. "I've forgotten my face. -Left it out." - -He was on the point of apologizing for his blunder, but said instead: "I -like you much better as you are." - -"That's what Lexie's always saying. But it's habit. When a girl -makes-up year in and year out she feels undressed without it. Savages -have that feeling, I suppose," she added comically. "I haven't wished -you a happy Christmas yet. I do hope you will be very happy--later on." - -"Thank you. And I hope you will be happy always." - -"I'm happy now, at any rate. I believe this is going to be the most -heavenly day of my life. I feel it in my bones." - -A few moments later she burst into Alexandra's bedroom. - -"Oh, Lexie dear, happy Christmas! I've been saying it to the cows and -the horses and the lodge-keeper's children ever since seven. Give me a -hug. I haven't got your Christmas present with me, because it's an -eider-down quilt. You'll find it on your bed when you get back. Don't -let's think of getting back though. It's so perfect here. What time -will church be? I suppose I mustn't take Onions to church? He chased -the fowls all over the farmyard this morning. Lord Chalfont says I can -leave him here if I like. It would be nice for Onions, but not for the -fowls. There's a bell! It must be for breakfast. Come along; I'm -famished." - -Church followed on the heels of breakfast. Maggy had never been to a -Christmas service before. She was tremendously impressed by it. The -maternal instinct, always very strong in her, tugged at her heart -strings. Once, as she knelt, Alexandra noticed that she was quietly -crying. So did Chalfont. - -Mrs. Pardiston and Alexandra stopped for Communion. Leaving the motor -for them, the other two walked back. Maggy was very quiet. With the -latent understanding that made Chalfont attune himself to her mood he -too refrained from speech. Presently she burst out: - -"Why does the world only appreciate people after they're dead? What is -the good of birthdays when you're not alive? That poor little baby! If -He came down from Heaven again they'd let Him be born in a manger just -the same. Only children ought to go to church on Christmas day. They're -good enough. We're not. Do you know, I wondered I wasn't struck dumb -for being anywhere near to God. God was in church this morning. I felt -Him. I'm not religious, but I believe in God now. Oh, I wish I was -good, like Lexie. I wish I didn't know what love is. I wish I'd never -been wicked!" - -She was wrought-up. She had forgotten the necessity for reticence. Her -confession had to come. The restraint of sex was forgotten. If she -thought of Chalfont at all at that moment, it was as a brother rather -than a man. - -"Hush," he said. "You're not wicked." - -"I am, I am," she reiterated. "_I_ ought to have had a baby.... People -must have thought the usual things of Mary because of hers.... But she -had Him." - -"You poor little woman," he said unsteadily. - -That he should express compassion where most men would have shown -despisement filled her with almost dog-like gratitude. - -"I _do_ like you," she said with sudden vehemence. "If I had been dear -Mrs. Lambert I would have loved you." - -"Thank you," he said very seriously. - -Like a passing cloud, the strange emotional mood soon left her. Her -volatile spirits rose again. By the time she had taken Onions for a -scamper in the grounds she was quite her old self. Chalfont, watching -her flitting here and there, thought only of her rapturous enjoyment of -innocent pleasures, and succeeded for a little while in forgetting that -such a person as Woolf with his sullying associations was in existence. - -The day passed with dream-like swiftness for the two girls. They -snatched at its fleeting pleasures according to their temperaments. To -Alexandra it was a delightful break in a life which she was beginning to -loathe, one for which she could not be too grateful. Its very -evanescence caused her to enjoy it with temperate zest. Maggy's -livelier feelings made her grasp at all it brought forth with both -hands. To her it was a glimpse into fairyland, or at least a world in -which she classed herself a complete outsider. - -Chalfont had not forgotten her desire for a Christmas tree and the -presence of children to enjoy it. All the youngsters on the estate had -been bidden to the treat. There were small boys, rosy of cheek, in -their best; small girls, eager-eyed, in the whitest of pinafores. -Maggy, at Mrs. Pardiston's request, presided over the feast arranged for -them. She it was who afterwards distributed the gifts from the loaded -Christmas tree. Within five minutes the children were under her spell; -in ten she seemed to know all their names and a great deal about each of -them. When at last the tree was stripped of all but its candles she -started games and joined in them. She romped. She was a child among -children. - -When they had all gone, Chalfont suggested that before dressing for -dinner the two girls should inspect the picture-gallery, which they had -not yet seen, and as soon as it was lighted up he led the way there. -Maggy's interest at once centered in the many portraits that lined the -walls. The landscapes and genre pictures that interspersed them she -passed by. Individualities only concerned her, and to these, in the -canvasses of dead and gone Chalfonts she gave a rapt attention, stopping -at each that appealed to her and asking for its history. One portrait -in particular, that of a very beautiful girl, she looked at for a long -time. - -"Who was she?" she inquired. - -"My grandmother," replied Chalfont. "It was painted just after her -marriage. She was only nineteen when she died, a year later." - -"Oh, what a pity! Why?" - -Chalfont passed to the next portrait. - -"Her son," he said. "My father." - -Maggy understood. She glanced back sadly at the youthful face of the -mother. - -Chalfonts in armor, in uniform, in silk and velvet and in lace, -confronted her everywhere. She flitted from one to the other, admiring, -impressed. - -"How proud of them all you must be," she said finally. "Fancy -having--ancestors!" - -As she spoke she paused before the portrait of a woman, perceiving in it -something different from the rest. The face was handsome, yet lacked a -high-bred look. - -"Another ancestress," said Chalfont. "An actress, a contemporary of -Mrs. Siddons." - -"How did she come here?" wondered Maggy, almost jealous for the honor of -his house. - -"She married the fourth Viscount." - -"Married him!" She stared at the painted lady. "It was a mistake," she -said, as though to herself, and in so odd a tone that the others -laughed. - - -When Chalfont set the two girls down at the stage-door on Boxing night -Maggy pressed a note into his hand. He read it at his club, where he -went to dine before returning to the theater. - -"'Thank you very much' sounds so beastly ordinary in words, so I must -write it, because I want you to know that I am ever so grateful for the -way you have treated me. It's proper for a darling saint like Lexie to -be asked to stay at Purton Towers. But me--that's another thing. I -shall get into hot water with Mr. Woolf for coming, and I don't suppose -he'll allow it again if you ask me, or even let me see you. But don't -ever think that I can forget your kindness. Although you know what I am -you have had me down to your beautiful home, with your sweet honorable -aunt just as if I wasn't a common girl, which I am. The only thing I -can say is that perhaps if I had been properly brought up and had a name -to be proud of I shouldn't have dragged it in the mud like I have my own -silly name which can't belong to me because it's the classy kind -actresses make up. Don't laugh. I'm not often serious, but I do say -God bless you and I mean it. - -"MAGGY." - - -The overture was coming to an end when Chalfont took his seat in the -stalls. As the curtain swished up his eyes went to Maggy, scantily clad -in diaphanous chiffon. He was thinking of the golden heart of the girl, -not at all of her compulsorily over-exposed beauty. - -But Maggy was blushing beneath her grease paint. A sudden access of -modesty had come over her. It was as baffling to herself as was the -remark she flung to the girl dancing beside her--one, two, three and a -kick. - -"What wouldn't I give for a blanket!" - - - - - XXXVI - - -One evening, a few days after Christmas, De Freyne waylaid Alexandra as -she was coming from her dressing-room. - -"Your cough doesn't seem to go," he said. "People in the stalls don't -want to be reminded of graveyards. It's rather suggestive. You ought -to see a doctor." - -"I'll find out who my panel doctor is," she said. - -"I should prefer you to go to Bernard Meer. Son of the late Sir Morton -Meer, you know. Like his father, he's a throat specialist, and not -given to charging fees to members of the profession. Say you're at the -Pall Mall and mention my name when you see him." - -She was reluctant to do as De Freyne wished, but he was insistent, and -she promised to call at the Wimpole Street address which he gave her. It -seemed rather absurd to go to a specialist for a bottle of cough -mixture. She took her slight throat affection as a matter-of-course, a -cold induced by the draughts on the stage and the change of temperature -to which she was exposed after leaving the theater at night. - -When, therefore, she presented herself next morning in Wimpole Street -she was in a very apologetic frame of mind. A full waiting-room, -testifying to the doctor's importance, did not help to restore her -confidence. She was the last to arrive and had a long time to wait. -When her turn came to enter the consulting room she was more nervous -than she had been when making her first appearance on the stage. She -had pictured Dr. Meer as an elderly man, and her discomfiture was all -the greater when she found him to be a young one, not over thirty. It -may have been prudish--in some respects she was apt to suffer from -excess of delicacy--but she had a maidenly dread of the physical -examination which she knew she would have to undergo. Hardly had the -door closed behind her when she felt that the specialist's keen gray -eyes had X-rayed through her sable coat and made a mental photograph of -her slightly protruding collarbones. - -Schooled to read faces, he saw how nervous she was and wondered at it. -Nervousness in De Freyne's young ladies was something of an anachronism. - -"Well, what's wrong?" he asked cheerfully. - -"Only a cold," she replied. "It seems ridiculous to bother you." - -He smiled. For so young a man and an unmarried one his manner was -reassuringly paternal. It was not artificial pretentiousness, but -genuine and natural to him. - -"You ought not to be in the habit of catching cold in such a gorgeous -fur coat. We'll have it off, please." - -Bereft of the garment, her fragility was evident enough. Bernard Meer -admired slight women; but this girl's physique struck him as too -delicate for stage-work. He thought, too, that he detected signs of -privation in her face. Why that should be when apparently she could -afford to dress so expensively was a puzzle to him. He sounded her -carefully. - -"There's nothing much the matter, is there?" she asked, when he had -done. - -"Not at present. But you're too thin. You want looking after, -coddling. Are you very keen on the stage?" - -"I don't find it altogether alluring," she made answer a little -reluctantly; "but I can't afford to give it up." - -"That isn't absolutely necessary. Only--well, the luxuries that the -average woman can easily do without are essential to you. Get the -person who gave you those furs to treat you to a few guinea jars of -turtle soup and--" - -Alexandra's flaming face made him stop. - -"The lady who gave them to me is dead," she said quietly. - -A little while ago she would have resented Meer's words as an -intentional insult. Now she knew that her connection with the stage had -suggested them to him. Probably he meant nothing offensive. As a -matter of fact he did not. Still, for some reason which she could not -define, she felt hurt that he should have thought it necessary to convey -what he did. - -She felt, too, that his scrutiny was not entirely that of the physician. -She sensed the man in it. Had she also been aware that he was admiring -her--a circumstance of which his impassive face gave no indication--and -that he was pleasantly surprised to find her free from a weakness common -to the general run of De Freyne's beauties, her perturbation would have -been greater than it was. - -"The trouble with you," he said with friendly intent, "is mainly want of -proper nourishment. Please forgive the question, but--are you hard up?" - -"No, not at present. At least, not very. I was rather, before I went -back to the Pall Mall." - -"Back? You were there before?" - -"Yes." - -He seemed to be thinking. - -"Are you in the chorus?" - -"I used to be. Now I have a small part." - -"But not much in the way of salary?" - -"Thirty-five shillings a week. But I have forty pounds a year of my own -besides. I should be quite reasonably well off if it were not for the -many little things I have to find for the theater. I ought not to -complain. There are thousands of girls far worse off than I am." - -"And you live--where?" - -He made a note of the address. - -"Your appetite?" was the next question. "For instance, what did you have -for breakfast this morning?" - -"Tea, and bread and butter ... and there was an egg." - -"The usual sort of egg?" he augmented cynically. - -"A little more than usual," she replied with a faint smile. - -"I see. And I suppose you will have lunch at a bunshop?" - -"Yes. Please don't look so prejudiced. Some bunshops are quite -satisfying places. One sees plenty of men there as well as women." - -"That's so. Anaemic clerks who should be eating a good midday meal to -make up for an indifferent supper at night, and girls who need meat -contenting themselves with coffee and a roll, or perhaps pastry! Now -I'm going to write you a prescription. Mind you get it made up and take -it. Let me see you again three days from now. If you don't come I -shall visit you. Seriously, you need to take care of yourself." - -He stopped the protest that rose to her lips, gave her the prescription, -and, again impressing on her the necessity of coming to report progress, -let her go. Why he, who had never previously felt any hankering after -an actress, should want to see more of a stray girl, and one of De -Freyne's at that, was more than he could explain to himself. - -Alexandra kept the appointment and several others after it. Her first -shyness vanished. Meer disguised his personal interest in her because he -wanted to benefit her professionally. Not until he had practically cured -her throat trouble did he give her any indication of his real feelings. - -"I think you'll be all right now if you take care of yourself," he told -her one morning. - -"I've given you a lot of trouble," she rejoined gratefully. - -She placed two guineas on a side table. He picked up the coins and -handed them back to her. - -"Certainly not." - -"But--please? You can't do it for nothing." - -"I haven't done it for nothing. If you want to recompense me, you can -quite easily. I should be honored if you will lunch with me. Will -you?" - -"But," she hesitated, "I don't go out to lunch with anybody--ever." - -"That's why I said I should be honored if you would. Come, we're quite -friends. I've seen you four times for ten minutes!" - -She wanted to accept. After all, as she had expressed it to Maggy when -Woolf had asked her out, there was no harm in lunching with a man. She -was reminded of that opinion, now that it applied to herself. She -wanted to accept Meer's invitation, but was held back by a suspicion of -what these lunches, suppers and dinners were meant to lead to. Men -seemed to think that a girl on the stage could be bought for the price -of a dinner! And then, in her indecision, she looked at Meer, saw the -friendly eagerness in his face, and let reason give way to inclination. - -"I don't want to refuse," she said. - -Five minutes later they were on their way to the Carlton. Meer would -have preferred enjoying her society in a less popular place, but there -was a matinee that day and the Pall Mall was so close to the great -restaurant. - -When Alexandra knew where they were bound for diffidence seized on her. -Maggy might be there. If she were, and saw her with a man, what would -she think? Alexandra felt that there could be no two answers to that -question. She entered the big, rose-colored room in fear and trembling. - -Maggy, however, was not lunching at the Carlton that day. But Lander, -the composer of Alexandra's new song, saw her and carried the news to De -Freyne. - -"Who do you think was lunching with Bernard Meer at the Carlton to-day?" -he began. - -"No woman," answered De Freyne. "He hates 'em. Thinks they've got -fluff in their heads instead of brains, and that's why they're so -light-headed. Told me so himself." - -"It was a woman for all that. Nobody less than little Hersey! And, by -Jove, it was quite fascinating to watch her. At first she hardly spoke -a word; but before long she might have been alone with him in the -restaurant. She seemed to have clean forgotten everybody else in the -place. And he was just as taken up with her. They couldn't take their -eyes off one another. Wonder what it means?" - -"Oh, nothing. You've got hold of the wrong end of the stick, my dear -chap. Why, she only met the fellow a fortnight ago. I sent her to him. -Meer wouldn't look at one of my lot, except professionally." - -However, when he saw Alexandra that evening he chaffed her. - -"I hear you were lunching with Meer to-day," he said. "Was that part of -his prescription?" Something in her face so entirely pure and at the -same time so piteous, made him refrain from saying more. He had once -seen much the same expression in his own daughter's face when she had -shyly told him that some one had proposed to her and was coming for his -consent. "Damn it all," he reflected. "She's going to fall in love -like any ordinary girl!" Aloud he said, "Meer isn't a marrying sort, -you know." - -Alexandra bent her head as she passed him. - -Bernard Meer was in the stalls that night. She saw him looking at her. -Once he smiled, and, trembling, she smiled back, and despised herself -for smiling, since now like nearly all the others she had "a friend" in -the house. - - - - - XXXVII - - -Prince's was filling up for supper. The diapason of many voices, the -tinkle of silver and glass, merged pleasantly with the music of the -band; the sound was like a paean of praise to Amphitryon. - -Maggy and Woolf occupied a table at the end of the room opposite the -balcony. The latter had been back about ten days, and Maggy was happy -again. She lived so entirely in the present that she had actually and -honestly forgotten to tell him about her visit to Purton Towers. Of -Chalfont she had seen nothing more. Woolf so filled her thoughts that, -for once, she was even out of touch with Alexandra. A minute or two at -night between entrances and exits was all they were able to give to one -another. Then Maggy's one subject was "her Fred," and Alexandra's -reserve kept her silent about Bernard Meer. - -"Look over there," said Woolf rather suddenly. His straying eyes, ever -in search of youth and beauty, had lit on a face he knew. - -"Where?" asked Maggy, gazing about at random. - -"On your left. Four tables away." - -Maggy gave a start of astonishment when at last she discerned Alexandra -with a man, a highly-presentable man, rather stern of face, good-looking -and comparatively young. Her Lexie with a man! She stared, -tongue-tied. - -"See her?" asked Woolf, and broke the spell of silence that held her. - -Maggy in her excitement half rose from her chair and called a greeting -to Alexandra. Until then, the latter, though fully prepared to see -Maggy in such a place, had been unaware of her presence. At the sound -of her voice she looked up, nodded and smiled. Meer, turning to see who -had attracted her attention, gave Maggy a glance full of interest. It -was evident to him that she and Alexandra were something more than mere -acquaintances. - -"What a striking-looking girl," he said. "Who is she?" - -"Her name is Maggy Delamere," replied Alexandra. "We used to live -together at Sidey Street." - -"And now?" - -"She has a flat," she said with a little constraint. - -"Is she on the stage?" - -"Yes. At the Pall Mall. Haven't you noticed her? She's in the front -row." - -"I didn't know De Freyne had any married women in his chorus," said Meer -thoughtfully. - -"But Maggy isn't married," began Alexandra, and then stopped in -confusion, suspecting that he must have seen the conspicuously broad -wedding ring on Maggy's left hand, just as she herself could see it. -She crumbled her bread nervously. - -"Are you in favor of that sort of thing?" Meer asked abruptly, showing -that he had been following her line of thought. - -"It's very usual--on the stage," she answered evasively. - -"You don't condemn it." - -"I don't condemn my friend, if that's what you mean." - -"But do you condone it?" he persisted. - -"Oh, how can I tell you? It's a question of what one feels -individually," she countered desperately. "With a woman it doesn't -necessarily mean that she has chosen that way.... Sometimes she has no -alternative." - -"You mean that your friend would rather be married?" - -"Much rather." - -After a pause he said: "Then what is your opinion of a man who only -offers a woman love without marriage?" - -"Not a very high one. I couldn't respect him," she replied, greatly -embarrassed. "It seems such an unfair advantage to take of a girl who -has more than enough of unfair things to contend with already. I--I -would rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." - -It seemed to her that he was deliberately sounding her code of morality -before making the proposition which she felt was imminent if she -continued to see him. She could no longer disguise from herself that he -wanted her, and that her own instinct was not one of flight. Had she -met him before she had gone on the stage she would have estimated his -feelings toward her correctly, seen that he was honorably attracted to -her. But her recent experiences had distorted her views about -courtship. Her heart would have beaten to a different tune had she -known that his motive in questioning her about Maggy was merely to -ascertain her opinion on a matter which, owing to her connection with -the stage, must be familiar to her. After her expressed desire to avoid -it he let it drop, and turned to another, more vital to himself and her, -on which he had made up his mind to speak to her that evening. - -"How long must you and I go on like this?" he asked in an undertone, -full of suppressed feeling. - -Her heart thumped in her throat so that she could not answer. - -"I mean," he said, "that it's not very satisfying seeing you so -occasionally. It's true we haven't known one another very long as time -goes, but it has been long enough for me to realize my own feelings. I -want you. Those three words mean everything that a man can say to a -woman. What is your answer?" - -The surge of feeling, the thrill she experienced as he said "I want -you," left her in no doubt as to her own emotions. She not only loved, -she loved without reservation, with a magnitude so huge that it seemed -as though a transport of yearning were being pumped into her by some -external Titanic force. And it came from him, the man facing, close to -her. She heard the clarion cry of sex for the first time in a crowded -restaurant, where she could not even cover her face with her hands and -so hide her besieged virginity from the sight of men. She could only -sit still and feel her shame creeping into her face. Maggy, glancing -her way every now and then, saw the agitation that was moving her and -thought she was going to faint. - -"Lexie's ill!" she whispered anxiously, and was about to get up and go -to her. - -Woolf's hand detained her. He had been watching Meer, and also seen -Alexandra's face. - -"Sit still," he commanded. - -"But she's going to faint!" - -"Not she!" - -"Then--what's the matter with her?" - -"_Can't you see?_" he chuckled. - -Maggy gasped. Lexie, of all people--at last! It was as if she saw a -huge warm wave gathering, gaining speed, advancing on the game little -swimmer and bearing her off captive. - - - - - XXXVIII - - -Alexandra sat on the edge of her bed. In the little room with the -cistern the temperature was bitterly cold, but she was insensible to it. - -He had said wonderful things. He had said she was beautiful.... By the -light of the candle she peered into the glass, trying to see her face as -he had seen it. Perhaps it was the effect of the two great plaits of -dark hair that hung framing it, or of a certain new softness in her -eyes, of something knowledgeable that she had not seen there before, but -she felt that she was looking at herself for the first time unveiled. - -Her hands went to her nightgown, holding it to her; then, as -involuntarily, they loosened. - -Shyly, as though she were not alone, she gazed back at the dim -reflection in the mirror and knew that girlhood was behind her, that she -was no longer, as Kipling's little maid, - - "A field unfilled, a web unwove, - A bud withheld from sun or bee, - An alien in the courts of Love, - And priestess of his shrine is she." - - -All rosy, she blew out the light. - - - - - XXXIX - - -Next morning Maggy was round at Sidey Street. She felt that confidences -were in the air. If Alexandra was not dying to impart them she at least -was "all of a twitter" to hear them. - -"Lexie," she cried, bursting in, "don't have any secrets from me. Who -is he?" - -Alexandra was in the act of writing a letter. She looked up -apathetically. - -"You mean the man I was with last night?" she said. "I'm not going to -see him any more, so we won't talk about him." - -"Oh, yes, we will! Why, I do believe you're writing to him now!" - -"You can read what I've written." - -Thus invited, Maggy looked over her shoulder. Alexandra had begun a -stilted little note to Bernard Meer in which she briefly refused to meet -him any more. - -"I don't think you'll post it," said Maggy shrewdly. "It doesn't ring -true. Besides, what do you want to run away from him for? He looked -just the sort of man one could trust, not a bit like the stage-door pest -kind." - -She cross-examined Alexandra, dragged from her the few bald details of -her half-dozen meetings with Meer. - -"Of course you're in love with him," she declared. "I saw it in your -face. If I hadn't been so taken up with Fred I should have found out -things before last night. Lexie, what's going to happen?" - -The tone in which Maggy asked the question showed that she expected a -particular answer, that she would be surprised if it were not the one -which followed the line of least resistance. It set Alexandra wavering. - -"Oh, Maggy," she said desperately, "if any one had told me a few months -ago that I should ever have had to fight against that sort of temptation -I should have died of shame! All last night I lay awake hating and -despising myself, and all the time I was trying to find excuses for -myself. I never thought love would come like this, taking one unawares, -giving one no time to prepare for it. If I ever let myself think of it -at all it was as of some fragrant and beautiful little plant that one -could watch shoot and grow and bud--" - -"Instead of that it's gone and done a kind of Mango trick like I saw at -St. George's Hall once--sprouted up into a full-grown tree while you -waited, or rather while you didn't wait. I daresay love might have come -as you picture it, Lexie, if you'd stayed at home. Plants grow faster -in a forcing-house; and the stage is, well--a hot-bed. If you're really -in love you might as well try and get away from it as from an express -train when it's bowled you over. After all, there's just a chance you -won't get scrunched to pieces if you take it lying down." - -For the hundredth time in the last twelve hours Alexandra found herself -wondering whether she dared follow Maggy's example, and give herself to -the man she loved. If she did, what would be the outcome of it? How -long would such an affection, at least on the man's part, last? Always -those old set views of hers about life and morality rose up to haunt her -indecision. Was she, after all, to recant, give up the fight, own -herself beaten? - -"Poor old Lexie," murmured Maggy, taking her hand after a long silence. - -"Maggy,"--Alexandra held her eyes questioningly--"tell me honestly: do -you in any way regret what you did? You know why I want to know." - -Maggy looked within herself. - -"No," she answered thoughtfully, "I don't. I do admit there's one thing -that spoils it, makes it different to being married. You often wonder -at night, or first thing in the morning, sometimes even in daytime, -whether it's one day nearer the end or how far off the end is. I'm -prepared for Fred to get tired of me one day, though I hope it won't -come for years and years. But so long as he's straight over it I'll -meet him half way. I'll go to my own funeral, and not sniffle. It -wouldn't be reasonable to refuse to take the consequences. You've got to -choose for yourself. I believe it's the only way for us girls on the -stage. With most of us marriage is an accident. Only go into it with -your eyes open. Leave out the fairy-tale notion that 'they lived -happily ever afterwards,' or at least half of it. Thank goodness for -the 'happily,' and be satisfied with it." - -"If only I could get right away," murmured Alexandra. "Here I feel -hunted down. I sit and think and think and get weaker and weaker. And -this room and the street simply shriek to me to leave them." - -"I know all the symptoms, dear. They're new to you, but I've had them -over and over again. The funny part is, Lexie, now it's come to the -point I feel different about you. Although I was always telling you to -climb over the garden wall to the little boy next door, now that you're -half way up I'm afraid to give you a push. You might drop into -something you didn't expect.... Oh, Lexie, pet, in my mind's eye I only -see you dressed in white and orange blossoms. It's a damned shame you -shouldn't have them.... And yet, if you don't, it may be worse later -on, because you know as well as I do that you can't do any good on the -stage all by yourself, and it's better to have the man you'd have -married if you'd been given the chance than one you don't care a rap -about except for what he can give you. It all sounds so muddley when I -try and put things into words, but I know what I mean myself." - -She stayed a little longer, but, after this, they both instinctively -kept to the shallows of conversation, avoiding the depths. When she had -gone, Alexandra, as Maggy had prophesied, tore up her letter. She took -a fresh sheet and without hesitating wrote, "Just when you -wish--Alexandra." - -Then she went out and posted it, and, having betrayed herself, came home -and wept bitterly. - - - - - XL - - -The crisis of surrender once passed Alexandra shed no more tears. Not -that she ceased to feel. Indeed, her sensibilities were all on edge and -remained so. But other feminine instincts soon asserted themselves. -One was the blessed refuge of clothes. Tragedy notwithstanding, she -must make herself presentable. She thought it would distract her. At -first it did because she had to scheme to make the most of her dwindling -store of wearing apparel. All that she was rich in were those outer -garments bequeathed to her by Mrs. Lambert. For hours she adapted this -and repaired that, improvising a pretense at a trousseau. That it was -only pretense burnt itself into her brain. Every ribbon she threaded -through slotted embroidery was not unlike a tug at her heart strings. -All her things had been marked with her name in full by the hands of the -loved mother who had put every stitch into them. Well, there would be -no change of name. She tried not to think what the dead mother, who had -treasured her and taught her to pray, would feel if she could know of -the step her only daughter was about to take. And though God now seemed -to have turned His face from her, or she hers from God, she thanked Him -for the dead's sake that avowal of it could not be made. Her mood was -one of thankfulness for small mercies. She no longer rebelled against -the laxity of stage morals. She was going to conform to them. The -stage had deadened her susceptibilities to right and wrong. She was of -it. She had elected to go the way it pointed. She had let down the -drawbridge of her maidenhood for the besieging host to walk over as an -invited guest. - -In the midst of her needlework and her bitter thoughts there came the -sound of feet mounting the stairs. Mrs. Bell opened the door and -announced "The doctor to see you, Miss Hersey," in a tone that clearly -proclaimed that his visit provided her with a touch of the same kind of -excitement which she derived from a funeral. Alexandra was on her feet -by this time, painfully conscious of the litter of garments that lay -around her. Coloring, she gathered them all up in a heap, and turned to -face her lover. He stood still, impatiently waiting for Mrs. Bell to -depart, and only spoke when the sound of her descending footsteps had -died away. Then he took Alexandra in his arms and kissed her. - -"I got your note a quarter of an hour ago," he said. "I couldn't wait. -I want to know about this wretched stage business. How soon can you get -out of it?" - -The question took her aback. She could not understand why he should -wish her to leave the stage. She assumed that her connection with it -had been the spur to his desire of her. - -"But--" she faltered, "do you want me to leave it?" - -"Don't _you_ want to?" - -"I--I don't think I ought to, now that I've made a start--" - -"But, my dear child," he interrupted, "you won't want to work for your -living when you're my wife!" - -She almost doubted the evidence of her ears. - -"What did you say?" she managed to ask. - -"I said: When you're my wife. What else could you be? You didn't -propose to be a sister to me, did you? I'm impatient, dear. In your -letter you wrote: 'Just when you wish.' Didn't you mean it?" - -She hid her burning face on his shoulder as she thought of what she had -meant. And all the while his one idea had been marriage! His wife! -Wife! Surely no word ever spoken could be so full of hallowed -significance! ... What would he think of her if he knew what she had -really meant? Ought she to tell him? Maidenly modesty counseled -reserve, to take what the gods had given her. But would that be honest? -Maggy, in her position, would have blurted out the truth at once in her -downright way: "Married and respectable! Oh, my dear, I didn't think -you meant to include that in the program!" or some such easy phrase. -But she was not Maggy, and words would not come. She heard Meer asking -her how soon she could marry him; heard him outline a honeymoon in -places that would cure her cough. And all the while she could say -nothing. Meer, as happy as a schoolboy, was making an inspection of the -room. Love lent a glamour to its cramped proportions and mean -appurtenances. His eyes went to the small bed, resplendent now by reason -of Maggy's eiderdown; an exasperating little bed nevertheless because it -made nearly as many sleep-dispelling noises as the too obtrusive -cistern. - -"And that's where you sleep!" he said softly. The lacy pillow-case with -her monogram on it, another of Maggy's gifts, lay uppermost. He bent -and kissed it, then laughed diffidently and moved toward her. She -shrank back a step, making a gesture with her hands that was almost -supplicatory. - -"There's something I must say. I owe it to you," she said with quick -breaths. "You may not want to marry me when you know." - -He saw that she was nerving herself to make some confession. Her -connection with the stage and his own intimate knowledge of it, gained -through professional attendance on many of its members, brought the -disquieting thought that it might have to do with that ethical laxity -that pervades its atmosphere. But none-the-less his arms went round -her. - -"I know the stage is a dashed hard place for a girl," he said gruffly. -"So if it's anything that's finished and done with don't tell me." - -She shook her head. "It's to do with me ... now." - -"Not some other man?" - -"No. Only you; you are the only one there ever has been, or ever will -be." - -"Then what in the world is wrong?" - -Alexandra's words came tumbling out as though she feared her courage -would evaporate before she could speak them. - -"You said the stage was a hard place for girls. It is. It's all so -wrong everywhere that the idea of a man proposing marriage is--is a -surprise.... Oh, won't you understand?" She clasped her hands tensely. -"You need not marry me--unless you want to, because I--didn't expect -it." - -She buried her head for very shame. Her last words were barely audible. -She longed to look at him to learn what was in his face, but did not -dare. - -Meer did not leave her long in doubt. - -"My dear," he said, moved to the very heart of him. "That is between -you and me--and God." - - - - - XLI - - -After leaving Alexandra that morning Maggy had driven to Woolf's club. -They had arranged to lunch together at some restaurant, but instead he -bore her off to her flat, scarcely vouchsafing a word to her on the way. -That he was in a towering rage she could see plainly enough. The reason -for it she could not guess. He was apt to lose his temper. At such -times she would tactfully wait until he had calmed down. Now, however, -she was hungry and wanted her lunch, so she naturally asked for it. - -"Where did you think of going for lunch?" - -To her surprise he burst out violently: "Lunch be damned! You'll have -lunch by yourself in future." - -"What's the matter? What have I done?" she asked, placably enough. - -"I've found you out, that's all." - -Not another word could she extract from him until they were in the flat. -Coaxing and gentleness only made him more morose. She began to feel -afraid. What she could not see, because she did not know that the stage -had lost quite a convincingly bombastic actor in Woolf, was that much of -his anger was assumed; nor did she know that he was spoiling for a -quarrel and that he had found a very good handle upon which to hang one. -So blinded was she by her devotion that, except for the fact that since -his return she had seen less of him than usual, she had not observed a -certain weariness in his manner toward her. She did not at all know -what he meant by saying he had found her out. Hoping to placate him by -a show of affection she made an attempt to kiss him. But he repulsed -her. - -"I've had enough of that," he scowled. "It's all shammed, and it comes -easy to you, my girl. I was up here half-an-hour ago and I saw your -dressing-case." - -"Well," she rejoined, "you've seen it before, haven't you?" - -"Not with a sheet of headed notepaper sticking out of it--Purton Towers, -that swine Chalfont's place!" - -Maggy's face cleared. She thought she knew now what the storm portended -and how to weather it. - -"Oh, is that all?" she said lightly. "I took it to wrap my toothbrush -in, you goose! I was going to tell you about it all, but I forgot -because I was so happy at having you back." - -"A likely story! You expect me to believe you forgot to admit you've -been carrying on with Chalfont!" - -"Oh, Fred!" she cried, horrified at the allegation. - -"Well, let's have your expurgated version of it." - -"I went there for Christmas with Lexie. And the Honorable Mrs. -Pardiston, his aunt, was there too. We went to church, and there was a -Christmas tree and a children's party. It was all quite proper and -perfectly glorious. Lord Chalfont wouldn't do anything that was -underhand." - -"Of course you're bound to say that for your own sake. Look here, -Maggy, you needn't tell me lies. I won't swallow them. You know -perfectly well that if I'd known he'd asked you down to his rotten place -I'd have stopped your going." - -"I did think of that, Fred," she admitted; "but then I knew there was no -harm in it, and if I hadn't gone Lexie wouldn't have been able to, -either; and I wasn't looking forward to spending Christmas alone here. -No flesh and blood girl could resist a square invitation like that. Why -didn't you take me abroad with you if you couldn't trust me? I haven't -asked you questions about where you've been or what you did while you -were away. Besides, if it comes to that, husbands and wives often pay -visits apart." - -"Do you consider yourself particularly qualified to give an opinion -about the habits of married people?" he sneered. - -"That's a caddish thing to fling in my face," she cried indignantly. - -Woolf flinched a little under her flashing eyes. - -"This quarrel's getting vulgar," he retorted uneasily. - -"It's of your making. Look me in the face, Fred, and you'll see I -couldn't tell you a lie. Look at me, please." - -He did so reluctantly. - -"On my solemnest word of honor, on my awful love for you," she said with -terrible earnestness, "I swear to you, Fred, that never once have I been -unfaithful to you, even in thought." - -"Never seen Chalfont in town, I suppose?" It was a chance shot, but -Woolf saw that it had struck home. "Oh, so you have!" he followed up -quickly. "Well--upon my word! That means, before I went away." - -"Yes. You shan't say I'm deceiving you. I went to him to borrow some -diamonds for Lexie." - -The astonishing avowal staggered him. - -"That's a pretty admission!" he laughed satirically. "Gentlemen are not -in the habit of lending girls diamonds for nothing!" - -"Oh, what do you know what _gentlemen_ do?" she retorted, losing control -of her temper. - -Had she deliberately tried to wound his self-esteem she could have -chosen no better way. Inadvertently she had touched on the raw. Woolf -would not have admitted it for the world, but deep down in his -consciousness he knew that he was not a gentleman and had no pretensions -to be called one. What galled him more than all was that Maggy, whose -status would have been considered a grade lower than his own, must have -detected the social difference between himself and a man like Chalfont. -Accidentally she found the vulnerable chink in his armor of swagger and -carefully acquired polish. - -"That will do," he said, getting up and flushing darkly. "It's a bit -too thick when a girl of your class sets up to criticise a man of mine. -I'm not a gentleman? Very well, that ends it between you and me." - -The stark finality of his words and manner made her tremble all over. - -"You mean--Oh, my God, Fred, you can't mean you're done with me?" - -"That's about it.... You've got nothing to complain of. You'll be -better off with Chalfont." - -She ran to him and held him. - -"You can't believe there's anything like that," she cried piteously. -"Why, he wouldn't look at me--not in that way. He knows I belong to -you. If he thinks of me at all it's as he would of the little East-end -children that people take down into the country for a day. He's a lord -and I'm just common Maggy, and he condescended to be kind to me. -Believe me, Fred, believe me, or I--I shall die. I can't live without -you. You know I can't!" - -Woolf did believe her. Although he hated Chalfont and his -exclusiveness, which had once been the means of humbling him, he knew -well enough that because of that very exclusiveness he would be -punctilious in his attitude toward Maggy. He did not make the mistake -of comparing Maggy's position with that of Mrs. Lambert. The latter was -a woman of some social standing, separated from her husband. What did -genuinely enrage Woolf was that Chalfont should be so contemptuous of -his, Woolf's, relations with Maggy that he could be friendly with her in -spite of them. It meant that he was ignored. It was inconceivable to -him that Chalfont's attitude toward her was largely dictated by a -touching respect for her personality, and pity that she should be -associated with such a man as himself. - -"Don't make a scene," was his unmoved rejoinder. "We can settle things -quite quietly if you'll be sensible." - -Maggy felt a fierce desire to scream and laugh and cry and so break her -nightmare by noise. The cataclysm had come upon her so suddenly; the -break seemed so imminent; her hold over Woolf so frail. She seemed to -have held him by a thread and that thread had now snapped. Her -sensation was one of absolute shipwreck. She experienced the very -paralysis of actual drowning, the throbbing of pulses in her head, the -suffocation in her throat, the sense of being entirely submerged. And -just as the drowning person is said to survey the past with startling -clearness so she now had a rapid mental vista of her brief season of -love and the desolation that would follow it if Woolf meant what he -said. - -"I'm _not_ sensible," she pleaded. "You can't give me up for such a -little thing as that. Oh, you're cruel, cruel!" - -"If you're going to be hysterical I shan't stop." - -His unrelenting manner had a steadying effect on her. Tortured, but -silent, she stared at him. Could this be the man whom she had been able -to soften and cajole with a mere pose of her body; the man who had taken -possession of her with such controlling ardor that she was oblivious of -the very details of her capitulation; the man whom she had loved with -such devastating vehemence? She could see by the utterly unmoved -expression of his face that it was impossible to stir his pity. There -might be a bare chance of exciting his passion, but a new-born delicacy -of feeling in her prevented an appeal to that side of his nature. She -made a strong effort to keep a hold on herself. - -"I won't be hysterical," she said. "But--I can't understand why you're -going on like this. You loved me before you went abroad. What has -happened since?" - -His eyes shifted from her face. - -"What has happened since?" she repeated. - -Woolf would not answer her. He got up and went to her little inlaid -bureau, picked up a pen, squared his elbows and began writing something. -Quivering with emotion, her breast heaving, her breath coming in gasping -sobs, she stood where she was, incurious as to what he was doing. -Presently he turned, and placed a piece of paper on the table. - -"You can stay on here till the end of the quarter," he said. "After -that I shall sublet it. And here"--he pushed the paper toward her--"is -a little present for you." - -She took a stumbling step toward him, arms outstretched, her poor face -working. - -"Fred! Don't go!" she shrieked. - -But he had got to the door. He would go. Nothing she could say or do -would stop him. She had just enough presence of mind left not to follow -him. Even in that moment of distress she had the sublime unselfishness -to refrain from making a scene beyond the privacy of the flat--on his -account. - -She tottered back to the table, clutching at it for support, stared down -at the slip of paper he had left there--paper with a pretty lacy -pattern, and read: - -"_Pay to_ Miss Delamere ... _or order_ Twenty-five pounds." - -The words danced before her eyes like little black mocking devils.... -_Twenty-five pounds_! The price which Woolf thought sufficient to buy -her off! - -Mad now, she scrawled her name on the back of the cheque, caught up her -hat and ran downstairs into the street. At the corner there generally -stood a miserable woman with a baby, selling flowers. She was there -now. Maggy was a regular customer of hers. She thrust the cheque upon -her. - -"It's signed on the back. Take it--oh, take it!" she said wildly, -closed the dumfounded woman's fingers on the cheque, and sped on. - -She went fast, walking aimlessly, conscious of nothing but the desire -for movement. She wanted to lose herself, to forget herself. Of the -things around her she saw nothing, heard nothing. Her processes of -thought seemed to be exhausted. Her brain was a mere reservoir of utter -hopelessness. - -Yet, all the while, it was insensibly driving her in a given direction. -In a dull way she realized this when she found herself in the street -where Woolf lived. She had never been there since the day of that -eventful lunch with him, seven months ago. The memory of it had a -clarifying effect on her troubled mind. It calmed her frenzy. She asked -herself what she meant to do, but could find no answer. She had not -consciously intended going to his house. All motive for doing so was -absent. Yet she could not pass it. - -She rang the bell, and when the door was opened enquired for Woolf. - -"Mr. Woolf is not in, miss," said the servant; "but Lady Susan is, if -you would like to see her." - -Maggy, still mentally benumbed, entered and followed her. - - - - - XLII - - -The room Maggy was shown into was occupied by a woman of about -twenty-seven, busy at the telephone. She looked up casually, keeping -the receiver at her ear. - -"Take a pew," she said, and addressed herself to the instrument again, -continuing a momentarily interrupted conversation. - -It was spirited, and apparently had to do with a bookmaker, for it -involved a "pony" on this and a "pony" on that and a "tenner both ways" -on something else. Several sporting papers, one of them _The Jockey's -Weekly_ owned by Woolf, lay on the table at her elbow, with -"Weatherby's" to keep them company. - -Maggy did not sit down as invited. There was something about the woman -at the telephone that gave her a mental stimulus, almost put her on the -defensive. All her torpidity left her. The other went on speaking into -the instrument, interspersing her instructions with slang and -stable-talk. She was untidily dressed in clothes of an accentuated -sporting cut. Maggy, catching sight of herself in a mirror, twitched -her hat straight, turned her back and powdered her nose. Then she stood -still, waiting for eventualities. - -With an "All right, see you on Thursday. Cheer-O," the woman rang off -and swung round in her chair, bestowing on Maggy a hard-eyed scrutiny. - -"Don't think I know you, do I?" she asked. "And that half-baked woman of -mine didn't announce your name." - -"Come to think of it I don't know yours," returned Maggy, instinctively -full of a sense of antagonism. "She said something about Mr. Woolf -being out and Lady Susan in." - -"That's right. My name's Susan.... Have a drink?" - -Maggy, flabbergasted, said, "No, thank you." She was puzzling her mind -to account for this young woman's presence in Woolf's house when it -suddenly occurred to her that there could only be one explanation of it. -"You seem to be at home here," she remarked. - -"That's rather cool," the other laughed. "I _am_ at home. Who the -deuce d'you think I am?" - -"I haven't an idea. All I know is, you said your name was Susan, and -the maid said you were a lady." - -This rather wicked thrust only called forth another laugh, curiously -unresentful. - -"Oh, well, if you want the whole of it, I'm Lady Susan Woolf, sister of -the Earl of Cantire." Without a trace of _mauvaise honte_ the speaker -went on, "You've heard of us, I should think: the hottest lot in the -peerage." - -Maggy's blank look showed that she was still at fault. - -"But what relation--" she began. - -"I'm Mr. Woolf's wife," cut in that lady. "Are you--the other woman?" - -A quiver, not unlike that which vibrates through a ship when it runs on -a sunken rock, convulsed Maggy. Like a stricken ship she seemed to hear -the waters of desolation rushing through her vitals. But she kept her -nerve. She would go down, if she had to, with band playing and flags -flying, so to speak. Not to this woman, who was regarding her with lazy -indifference, would she show the white feather, admit defeat or -desertion. But Fred secretly married! ... He had lied to get away on -his honeymoon ... and then come back to her after it! ... The rank -infidelity of it ... to two women at once. All Maggy's womanhood was up -in arms, outraged. - -"You use rather odd language," she said with dreadful calm. "I think I -must have come to the wrong house." - -"Well, if you came to see Fred Woolf he lives here--when he's in." -Again the low, lazy laugh accompanied the rejoinder. - -"Do I amuse you?" asked Maggy. - -"No, not you personally. You look too dashed serious. Drawing room -melodrama sort of expression. The situation's a bit quaint. Not many -wives would take it calmly when their husband's pasts come knocking at -their front door and walking in without being asked. _I_ don't care. -Daresay some of my old flames will flicker up now and then. I'm -easy-going because it pays. But, honestly, I hope Fred hasn't left you -on the mat?" - -The question was quite devoid of offense. - -"I said I must have come to the wrong house," reiterated Maggy. "I've -only been in this street once before, and I wasn't sure of the number." - -"This photograph tell you anything?" Lady Susan passed one across. -"It's Fred's. I think I hear his gentle footfall in the hall, so you'll -know how things are in a minute." - -Maggy braced herself to look at the silver-framed portrait. She had a -facsimile of it at the flat on the side-table by her bed, signed "Your -warm friend." This one was similarly inscribed. Evidently Woolf -followed a routine in such matters. - -She heard his step outside and his voice calling "Susan, where are you?" -but she did not look up when he opened the door. Only Lady Susan saw -his startled glance of recognition. It confirmed what she had already -guessed. She watched the two of them with the zest she would have given -to a prize fight. - -Maggy took her eyes from the photograph and set it down on the table so -that from where he stood Woolf could see that it was his. - -"No. I don't know that--gentleman," she said with calm incisiveness. -And then, as if she had only just become aware of his presence, looked -straight at him. The absence of all recognition in that look was quite -perfectly done. With her eyes still on him she moved to the door and -paused there. - -And then she addressed him in the tone one adopts toward a person who -exhibits a lack of ordinary manners. - -"Will you please open the door?" - -She passed out, band playing, flags flying. - - - - - XLIII - - -Somewhere about three o'clock Maggy got back to her flat. She was as -calm as death, and knew exactly what she had to do. In her nature there -were few complexities: intuition guided her most of the time. Now she -simply did not want to live. She was not only heart-broken because of -Woolf's desertion but utterly crushed in spirit at having discovered -that every foolish ideal with which she had endowed him had had no -existence except in her imagination. That reflection made her despise -herself as much as she despised him. If the breach could have occurred -without such callous perfidy on his part, she might still have retained -her self-respect. How much more preferable that would have been, even -though it meant she might have gone on loving him. - -How she had loved him! She had poured out to him all the passionate -first-love of an exceedingly ardent nature; she had gloried in him, -suffered for him. She had been content with an illicit position, even -to the extent of refraining from urging him to legitimize their union -when there was a reason for it--one that would have stirred the -compassion of any other man. She had not thought herself good enough to -be his wife, because, in effect if not in direct words, he had told her -so. She saw him now as he really was, an unutterable cad, despicable, -utterly snobbish. He had married with the sole object of associating -himself with a titled family. That it was in bad odor made no -difference to him. To hear the announcement or to read in print of "Mr. -Woolf and the Lady Susan Woolf" had no doubt been the prevailing factor -with him. It was clear enough to Maggy. He had not considered her a -fit wife for himself because she was a chorus-girl, yet he had married a -woman infinitely more common in the slangy sister of a decadent peer. - -And all the time he had been contemplating this marriage she had made a -jest of it, teasing him about a honeymoon abroad, unwittingly joking -about the terrible truth! To think of it was gall and wormwood. She -had trusted the man. Her own honesty had made her assume that he was -incapable of deception. Conformity with the easy code of honor which -men generally adhere to, even in an irregular union, was all she had -expected. It had been denied her. - -She was filled with a distaste for life. It could be so simply ended. -There was a bottle of laudanum in the cupboard over her washstand. -Without any hesitation she poured its contents into a tumbler and drank -it off. It tasted so nasty that she ate a chocolate afterwards. Then -she locked her door and lay down on her bed. Nothing in the world -mattered now, not even Alexandra. She was too weary to think of her, -even to analyze what she believed to be her own last sensations. -Mentally exhausted she fell asleep. - -She slept from half-past three until half-past nine, woke up suddenly -and felt horribly ill. Her memory was quite clear. She remembered -everything that had happened that day and what she had done, and -wondered whether she was dead. A dreadful nausea and discomfort left her -in doubt. Presently she decided she was not dead but wished she were. -She dragged herself to her feet and, obeying instinct, made herself an -emetic. Though she did not wish to live she wanted to put an end to her -appalling sensations. Later on, she drank two cups of strong black -coffee, and soon after knew she was recovering. She must have taken -either too little or too much of the horrid stuff. - -She lay back, waiting for its nauseating effect to wear off. -Half-an-hour passed inertly. Then abruptly her mind went to Alexandra, -and she sat up. Lexie was on the verge of taking the reckless step -which she, Maggy, had so long been advising, and Lexie must be stopped. -She gave a hurried look at the clock. Nearly eleven! She might just -catch her at the theater. She flew downstairs, found a taxi and drove -there, just too late. Lexie had left a few minutes ago. On her way out -again she ran up against the stage-manager. - -"Hullo, Miss Delamere," he began; "what do you mean by turning up after -the show? You seem quite indifferent to fines." Then he observed her -livid face and the dark circles round her eyes. "Why, you look like -death! What's the matter?" - -"Nothing.... Let me go, Mr. Powell. I'll be all right soon. I want to -find Miss Hersey." - -She tore away, jumped into another cab and drove to Sidey Street. - -Alexandra was luxuriating in the unwonted extravagance of a fire. That -and the song she was humming were evidence of a new serenity of mind -that had come to her. She was leisurely undressing, thinking of her -impending marriage, when Maggy burst into the room, a Maggy whom she -scarcely recognized. She had not been much concerned at her absence -from the theater that night. She so often played truant. - -Maggy reeled toward her. Alexandra caught her in her arms. - -"Darling, what is it?" she cried in alarm. - -Maggy clung to her like a terrified child. - -"Lexie," she gasped, "am I too late? Am I too late? You haven't--Oh, -my God! Lexie, it isn't worth it. Men--" - -And then she fainted. Alexandra got her on to the bed, loosened her -things, and called for Mrs. Bell. Together they managed to get a little -brandy between her lips. The landlady dabbed her face with a wet towel; -Alexandra held smelling salts to her nose, and presently she drew the -reluctant breath of returning consciousness. - -"Please go now," Alexandra requested Mrs. Bell. "I'll look after her. -She shall stay with me to-night." - -Mrs. Bell protested that she wanted to stop. Her _penchant_ for any form -of illness enchained her. She argued that she might be needed, and only -reluctantly left the room when Maggy opened her eyes and murmured a -request to be alone with her friend. She lay with her face against -Alexandra's shoulder, and then began to cry, weakly but uncontrollably. - -"Lexie, I've been through Hell since I left you," she sobbed. "Suddenly -I remembered you and rushed to the theater and then on here. You -mustn't! Promise me you won't!" - -"Never mind me, dear. Something has upset you. Won't you tell me? I -shall understand better then." - -"Fred's left me," said Maggy in a cracked voice. "He's married! ... -Never trust a man, Lexie! Never trust a man! Keep straight if you -starve for it. Promise me you won't go off like I did. I've come to -_make_ you promise." - -Pity kept Alexandra silent. To make that promise would involve an -avowal of her own happiness. How could she do that in face of the -misery in which her poor friend was sunk? - -Maggy clutched at her hand. - -"A ring!" she cried, fearfully. "On that finger--!" - -"Oh, hush, dear! I--I'm quite safe. Believe me, Maggy." - -"But what does it mean? You wouldn't wear a ring on that finger if--" - -"Maggy, darling, it means that I'm going to be married." - -Maggy sat up the better to look at her. One glance at Alexandra's -clear, illumined face told her that in some wondrously blest way her -future had been happily arranged. All thought of her own disaster -temporarily vanished in the joy she felt for the safety of her friend. - -"That's all right," she said with a sigh of relief. "Lexie ... have you -got anything to eat?" - - - - - XLIV - - -Although she had eaten nothing since breakfast that morning, a few -biscuits and the remainder of Mrs. Bell's brandy sufficed Maggy. - -"Now I'll go," she said, getting up. "I was in a fearful state about -you, but now that everything has turned out so splendidly I feel quite -all right again. Bless your sweet face, Lexie. I'd like to kiss you -only I'm such a bad creature." Her lips trembled. - -"Nonsense! Then I'll kiss you." Alexandra did so. "You're not going -to-night, Maggy. You've got to stay here with me. We'll tuck in -together. Here's a nightie." - -"Tuck in--with you!" Maggy repeated. "But, Lexie--I'm not--like you." - -"Nothing that's happened can make any difference between us, Maggy. Try -and forget you ever left me. Get undressed, dear." - -Very soon they were lying together in the little bed in the darkness. -Alexandra did not talk. She wanted Maggy to get to sleep. It was so -evident that she needed it. Half-an-hour passed in silence. A whisper -from Maggy broke it. - -"Asleep, Lexie?" - -"No, dear." - -"Have you enough room?" - -"Heaps." - -"May I have your hand to hold, Lexie? I feel so lonely." - -"You poor pet!" Alexandra's hand sought hers. - -"Lexie ... may I tell you things?" - -"Yes, if it helps." - -"I don't think anything ever will help. I'm done for, Lexie." - -"You won't always feel like that," was the consoling rejoinder. - -Maggy sat up in bed. - -"I tried to kill myself to-day," she said abruptly. "But the stuff only -made me sick. That's why I wasn't at the theater. I should be dead by -now if it had worked properly." - -"Maggy!" - -"Yes, I did. How could I go on living? It's not worth it. Alone -again: a room like this without even you to make it bearable ... or men. -I won't do that. I went to the bad for love. I won't do it out of -habit." - -"Don't be so despondent. You won't have to live alone, dear. You shall -leave the stage and be with me." - -"Is it likely?" asked Maggy, with a touch of her old independence. "I -wouldn't tell anybody but you, but I gave Fred more than he gave me. -It's the meanness of it all that hurts so. There was the flat, I know, -and the car; but they were only mine so long as he wanted me. And I -paid for the meals I had in the place out of my salary. He gave me money -for dresses because he liked me showy, but I went to sales and bought -bargains, and what I saved that way I spent on him. And all the time I -gave love, love, love! Oceans of it! Let me go on. Then, just before -you went on tour I knew I was going to have a baby. Lexie, I longed for -it! I think I'm the sort of woman that's meant to have babies without -much pain or trouble, just for the sheer joy of mothering them and -kissing their dear, pink, crumply palms. But Fred was annoyed about it. -I told him he could put me in a laborer's cottage in the country and I'd -live on ten shillings a week if only he would let me be a mother. Mrs. -Lambert knew. I told her.... I had to go to a dreadful place in -Bayswater until--until it was over.... Fred arranged everything. He -seemed to know all about it. And I wasn't even a mother, Lexie. I -nearly died. I wish I had. And when I was back again with Fred, -instead of hating him it somehow made me feel more than ever bound up -with him in my heart, because of having gone through so much for him. -He was quite kind to me afterwards, almost tender for him. He used to -bring me flowers. I wonder why. He couldn't have loved me.... But now -it's all over...." - -Alexandra put her arms round the shaking girl. - -"Lie still," she said. - -She held Maggy to her as she would have held a child, and kissed her and -cried over her in sheer pity, so stirred was she by the heartrending -story. Presently Maggy lay very still, breathing evenly, asleep in -Alexandra's arms. But Alexandra lay awake for a long time, trying to -find a reason for the discrepancies of life. Why, for her, should there -be provided a haven of safety, and for Maggy nothing but a desolate sea -with breakers ahead? - -Mutely, she prayed to the Providence that had tided her over so many -storms to safeguard Maggy until she, too, made harbor in calm and -peaceful waters. Praying, she feel asleep and did not stir when, some -hours later, Maggy awoke and gently disengaged herself from the -encircling arm. - -Maggy sat up. By the light of the street lamps she could just make out -Alexandra's peaceful face. She looked so happy and innocent. Maggy -watched her for a long time very fondly. It was the only way in which -she could bid her farewell, a long and final one. For Maggy intended -making no mistake this time. She had dreamt of what she meant to do. -The dream had been inspired by the noises in the street, and it still -obsessed her. The thunder of heavy wheels resounded in her ears.... She -was going to employ a monster crushing power to blot herself out. - -Very quietly and silently she got out of bed and groped for her clothes. -Dressed, she hovered for a moment over Alexandra's sleeping form, bent -and touched her forehead with her lips ... and crept out in search of -her Juggernaut car. - - - - - XLV - - -Maggy intended making for Covent Garden. She had once seen it in the -early hours after a fancy-dress ball to which Woolf had taken her, and -she had marked the leviathan motor-lorries, freighted with perishable -produce, converging on it. She meant to end her troubles under the -wheels of one of these. The drug had failed her because of her -ignorance of the fatal dose. This would be a sure and decisive way. In -her dream it had seemed so feasible. - -There would be something fitting in such an end. The very monstrousness -of the ponderous vehicle was symbolical of the violence of the feeling -that she had had for Woolf, the strength of passion that had drawn her -to him. Her spirit had succumbed to strength and violence: strength and -violence should annihilate her body. - -The deserted streets were very silent. Maggy wandered along them, -insensibly diverging from her route. She was thinking dully of a scene -that long ago had made a dreadful impression on her mind. It had been a -disconnected incident at the time: now its significance was almost -personal. She had once seen a number of dogs pursuing a small mongrel, -typical of the ownerless cur that gets its living in the streets. It -was looking over its shoulder, heedless of the traffic. A motor-lorry -came along at top speed. The mongrel made an unexpected dart across its -track. There was an agonizing yelp, suddenly cut short; and though -Maggy had quickly averted her eyes she had not been able to avoid -witnessing the canine tragedy. - -A shudder went through her at the recollection of it, a shudder of pity -for the dog, not of apprehension for herself. She was too wretched to -feel fear; but she was very weary and to some extent stupefied. When, -therefore, she found herself in Portland Place instead of Covent Garden -she was indifferent at having wandered in the wrong direction. She -hardly met a soul. It was too late for night-prowlers and still too -early for those who steal a march upon the day's work. An occasional -policeman was all she came across. One flashed his lantern in her face, -but satisfied by the serious look on it and her appearance generally, -took no further notice of her. - -It seemed to her that she had been walking interminably before the -silence of the streets was broken by any sound of traffic. She had -crossed the top of Regent Street, gone on due west by Cavendish Square -and Wigmore Street, and was now in one of the turnings that give on -Great Cumberland Place. At the corner a lighted doorway and an awning -over the pavement told of a dance in progress. One or two carriages and -a motor car were drawn up before the house. She did not look up as she -passed it, but she slackened her pace when it was behind her, for she -had heard the sound of a heavy vehicle. A slowly-moving van drawn by -horses lumbered across the top of the turning. There surely she would -find her _coup de grace_! - -She stood in Great Cumberland Place, listening. The faint rumble of the -morning traffic coming along Edgware and Bayswater Roads was audible -now. Presently it was silenced by a nearer sound, the reverberation of -machinery. It was coming at last. She kept on the edge of the pavement -waiting and listening, trying to discern the advancing monster. The -clank and rattle of it filled the wide street with stridulous echoes. -She moved into the roadway, telling herself that she must make no -mistake, give it no chance of avoiding her. She stood still, nerving -herself for the moment of impact. It was very close now; its noise -deafened her; a breath of hot metal filled her nostrils.... - -_Now!_ - -She stood poised, her body bent forward ready for the spring; and at -that moment a heavy hand fell on her, jerked her roughly back and held -her while the motor-lorry thundered by. - -"Let me go!" she muttered thickly, pulling ineffectually against a -uniformed arm. - -"No, that I shan't," was the firm rejoinder. "Trying to do for yourself, -eh?" - -"I was crossing the road," she gasped, maddened by this second defeat. - -The stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against her. Why -should they prevent her taking her worthless life? And now, to add to -her inflictions, she was in the grip of a policeman. She would be -charged, cautioned, watched, so that another attempt would be well-nigh -impossible. Besides, she wanted to make it now, while the madness was -upon her. - -"Crossing the road," she repeated. "Here comes a gentleman. He must -have seen me. He'll believe me, if you won't." - -She said it to gain time, in the hope that the policeman would relax his -hold, so that she might run away. But though he took her suggestion, he -gave her no chance of escaping. - -"Beg pardon, sir, did you witness this young lady step off the pavement -sudden-like in front of that there lorry?" he inquired. - -The pedestrian, thus addressed, came to a stop. Maggy stared at him. -The street lamp at the corner was behind him. But while she stared a -motor car slipped past, the beam of its headlights full on his face, and -she caught her breath as their eyes met--hers and Chalfont's. He was -clearly too astonished to speak. - -"He--the constable--thinks I was going to commit suicide, I believe," -said Maggy, conjuring up a laugh that made Chalfont shiver. "It's -fortunate you came along, Lord Chalfont. Please assure him I'm much too -level-headed to do anything like that. I--I'm on my way home." - -No part of her statement convinced him, but he took care that neither -she nor the policeman should see that. - -"So am I," he said in the most ordinary tone. "This lady is a friend of -mine, constable. Here's my card. You've erred a little on the side of -discretion, but that's excusable considering how dark it is. I'll see -her home myself. Good morning." - -The policeman looked at the card and then touched his hat. - -"Very well, m'lord. I apologize to the young lady for the mistake. At -this hour of the night if we're not very careful--" - -"That's all right," said Chalfont. - -He took Maggy's arm, holding it almost as tightly as the policeman had -done, and walked her on in the direction of the Marble Arch. - -"Thank you," she said in a subdued tone when they had gone a dozen -paces. "Now I can manage to--to go on by myself." - -"I don't think so," he rejoined sternly. "What are you doing, wandering -about at this time of night?" - -"I--I might as well ask you the same question." - -"I can answer it. I have just left a friend's house--a late -affair--fortunately for you." - -"Why fortunately for me?" she asked, trying to assume an air of innocent -resentment. "You're making too much fuss about a mistake in crossing the -street." - -He stopped, still holding her, compelling her to look at him. - -"Maggy, are you going to tell me lies?" - -"No," she choked, lowering her head. - -"Then--" Chalfont did not proceed with what he was about to say. A -taxi was passing and he hailed it. "I'll take you to your flat," he -said. - -"No, not there! I'm never going there again!" she cried, drawing back. - -That she had some potent reason for that decision was evident to him. -He did not ask her what it was. He guessed it. - -"In that case," he said, "you must come to my house. I'm not going to -leave you." - -His determined tone put a stop to her spirit of rebelliousness. -Passively she got into the cab and sat silent in its obscurity. When it -stopped Chalfont opened his door with a latchkey. His servants had gone -to bed, but in the room where Maggy had breakfasted with him there were -sandwiches and consomme. He helped her to some of this, and she, beyond -resistance now, took it. Then she shrank into the depths of the big -chair which he had drawn up to the fire for her. She was unconscious of -the tears of weakness that were welling from her eyes. Her hair had -come down and was tumbled over her shoulders. Emotion had played havoc -with her face. - -Chalfont, watching her, was stirred by feelings that had their birth in -pity. If they were gathering force, changing into others more personal, -more tender, there was nothing of disloyalty to the memory of the dead -woman on whom he had once lavished great affection. - -"Maggy," he said quietly, "he has left you." - -She lifted heavy eyes. - -"How--how did you know?" - -"I thought it would come." - -A dry sob broke from her. Then she said: "He really was on his -honeymoon.... Did you know?" - -"No. But a few days ago I heard something.... I knew he was very thick -with Cantire. I saw it coming." - -"Why didn't you tell me?" - -"How could I?" - -"No; I see.... I had to find out for myself.... Well, it's finished -now." She stared blankly in front of her. - -"Do you care so terribly?" he asked, after a pause. - -She shook her head. "That's dead, I think. Everything's dead except -myself, and I want to be. I can't stand it: the hardness--and the -loneliness." - -"I thought you were brave." - -"Not when I don't want to be." - -"I'm lonely too," he said; "but I haven't turned my back on life, partly -because your advice helped me when I was feeling very down. Don't you -think suicide is rather a craven thing?" - -"Perhaps.... I shall have to go on living now, I suppose," she admitted -dully. "Oh, damn that policeman! I should have been pulp by this time! -That's the second failure. I took laudanum this afternoon, and was only -sick." - -Chalfont went over to her chair, sat on its arm-rest and took one of her -hands. - -"Don't you think we have something in common?" he said, and waited for a -reply that should warrant him speaking more definitely. - -She rested her head against his shoulder like one who is spent. - -"You make me feel peaceful," she murmured. "I wish you would give me -some poison and let me die while you held me." - -"You tragic person!" He tried to speak lightly. "You'll laugh at -yourself, later on.... I want you to live." - -"I'll live," she consented. "It's only a matter of breathing." - -"You must promise me that--and something else." - -"All right. What's the else?" Her voice was unutterably tired. - -"Everything, in effect. I'm not good at explaining, but, first of all, -I want you to understand that I honor you." - -Maggy sat bolt upright. Two fierce spots of color came into her cheeks. - -"Also," he continued, "that from the beginning, ever since I first met -you, even when you made that admission about--him, I always thought of -you apart from him, as Maggy--the nice girl." - -"Maggy--the nice girl!" she echoed in wonder. - -"When you came down to Purton Towers I seemed to see you as belonging -there. Even after you had gone I felt that." - -"But--how could I belong to Purton Towers?" she asked in a wondering -voice. - -"By marrying me," he said very deliberately. - -She looked at him blankly for a few seconds. - -"Marry you!" she faltered. "_Me_--marry you?" - -"Suppose," he went on, "suppose I said I needed you? I do say it. I -believe that we can bring something into each other's lives that at -present is missing, and perhaps always has been. We should, at any rate, -be very perfect friends. That would be something." - -All her face lit up. Her lips quivered. - -"What an idea! Me and you! At breakfast, at dinner--always.... Purton -Towers, and me--your wife! Oh, you dear, I do believe you mean it! As -if I could! But I tell you what: let me live in a little cottage in the -grounds and sell eggs!" - -"Oh, Maggy, you child!" he said tenderly. - -Her eyes brimmed over. She took his hand and kissed it. - -"Thank you so much," she said. "But it's--it's not in the picture. -What sort of a wife should I make? No, it wouldn't do.... And there -are other reasons." - -"Ada Lambert?" he asked gently. "Is that one of them? I loved her as a -young man loves the first good woman who comes into his life. I don't -think I do her any disloyalty." - -"No, it's not that. What difference could that make? If I could I -would make you happy because you lost her. It's me. I don't come from -a good man. I wouldn't let any one say that except myself. I loathe -what he's done to me and the way he's treated me. But I've loved him. -There's something I gave him I can never get back. It's strange: though -I never want to hear of him or see him again, I don't want anything bad -to happen to him. I should be sorry." - -"I understand," nodded Chalfont. "But it need not stand between you and -me, Maggy. We should start fair." - -The ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. - -"Think of the racket there would be in the papers about us! You would -be ashamed. And I'm not worth it, really. 'Another peer weds actress. -Romance of the stage. The third this season. Below we append other -instances of brilliant marriages of stage beauties.' Think of it!" - -"I fancy we could keep it out of the papers," he said. "We would be -married in the country--in church." - -"In church!" Her eyes grew misty. "You would--go to church with me? -Oh, my dear, that would be more of my dream coming true, like the cedar -trees and the cows!" - -"It's going to come true," declared Chalfont. - -She held him away from her. - -"Don't tempt me. It's not the title. That's only--funny. Me, my lady! -What tempts me is the thought of being with you in that place where my -heart is." - -"My home?" - -She nodded, appeared to be considering. - -"There is this," she said. "If I married you I would do my best to try -and be a lady--not vulgar. I think, after a little, it would come -easy.... You said we should be perfect friends; but suppose--suppose I -couldn't help loving you?" - -"I was asking myself if that would come about--hoping it. In my case it -is an eventuality not very remote." - -His very quietness impressed her. She knew he was not demonstrative, -yet behind every word he spoke the intensity of his feelings was -manifest to her. She had to fight hard to keep in check the ferment of -emotion he had stirred in her. She picked up her hat from the chair -where she had been sitting on it. - -"It might have been more crushed," she said quaintly, but with a meaning -that had a hint of tragedy averted in it. She went to a mirror and -began arranging her tumbled hair. "I must go back to Lexie. I stole -out while she was asleep. Perhaps I shall get there before she wakes -up." - -"I'll take you," he said. "Only--aren't you going to give me an answer -first, Maggy?" - -She made a last desperate and unsuccessful effort at calmness. - -"Yes--but I'm not worth having," she sobbed and collapsed in a crumpled -heap at his feet. "Don't stop me!" she gasped, waving him away. "Let -me--_burst_!" - -And Chalfont stood where he was, waiting while her pent-up feelings -exhausted themselves in a flood of choking tears, until she should be -ready for him. Presently her sobs ceased. She struggled to her knees; -her hands were clasped; her face, with a faint presage of happiness upon -it, was turned to the window where the dawn of a new morning glimmered. -Her lips moved. She was murmuring something beneath her breath. "What -are you saying, dear?" he asked gently. "I--I think I'm saying my -prayers," she answered huskily. - -There, on her knees, with her hair still hanging in disorder, the tears -drying on her face, thanksgiving and humility in her heart, she repeated -the words of her rhymed creed, with a reverence that surely gave it the -consecration of a prayer. - - "All's well with the world, my friend, - And there isn't an ache that lasts; - All troubles will have an end, - And the rain and the bitter blasts. - There is sleep when the evil is done, - There's substance beneath the foam; - And the bully old yellow sun will shine - Till the cows come home!" - - -She held out her arms to Chalfont. - -"Lift me up," she whispered. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONEY-POT *** - - - - -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/42531 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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