diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703-0.txt | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703-8.txt | 4693 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703-8.zip | bin | 78268 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703-h.zip | bin | 80166 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703-h/42703-h.htm | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703.json | 5 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703.txt | 4693 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 42703.zip | bin | 78184 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703-8.txt | 4693 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703-8.zip | bin | 78268 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703-h.zip | bin | 80166 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703-h/42703-h.htm | 4766 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703.txt | 4693 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/42703.zip | bin | 78184 -> 0 bytes |
14 files changed, 3 insertions, 23547 deletions
diff --git a/42703-0.txt b/42703-0.txt index 768afe7..6518da9 100644 --- a/42703-0.txt +++ b/42703-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 *** OVERLOOKED @@ -4305,5 +4305,4 @@ know nothing. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 *** diff --git a/42703-8.txt b/42703-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f579323..0000000 --- a/42703-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4693 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Overlooked - -Author: Maurice Baring - -Release Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #42703] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By - -MAURICE BARING - -London: William Heinemann - -1922 - - - - -To - -M.A.T - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - -PART I - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me that -I must go to Haréville and stay there a month or, still better, two -months, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possible -pastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred from -that pastime. - -He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?" - -I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said that -a famous editor, of the _Figaro_, I think, had once said that every -man had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted for -newspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on my -typewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understand -by authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing a -book. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thought -no more about this till after I had been at Haréville a week. - -When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I made -acquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time was -taken up in idle conversation. - -After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintance -of James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed, -rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderly -ladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or country -gentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation, -which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government. - -James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. He -was passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem in -the least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted I -had read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind could -hardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read to -me. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I was -calling attention to the absence of his books in the series which have -been transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfied -that I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me, -but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him take -for granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken for -granted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar, -and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), to -be a non-smoker--I am, in fact, sure of that--a practical teetotaler, -not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather than -on experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of all -the arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but still -passionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of any -interest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating. -He had been sent to Haréville by Kennaway, which gave us a link. -Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if he -possibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longing -to write, but could think of no subject. - -I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people at -Haréville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that they -could form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea, -and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who is -not, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, _née_ Robert, who -married a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a lady -of so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom and experience, that I felt her -acquaintance must do any novelist good. I also introduced him to Mrs. -Lennox, who is here with her niece, Miss Jean Brandon. Mrs. Lennox, -I knew, would enjoy meeting a celebrity; she sacrificed an evening's -gambling for the sake of his society, and the next day, she asked him -to luncheon. In the evening he told me that Miss Brandon would be a -suitable heroine for his novel. - -I asked him if he had begun it. He said he was planning it, but as it -was a holiday novel, and as he had been forbidden to work, he was not -going to make it a real book. He was going to write this novel for -his own enjoyment, and not for the public. He would never publish it. -He would be very grateful, all the same, if I allowed him to discuss -it with me, as he could not write a story without discussing it with -someone. - -I said I would willingly discuss the story with him, and I have -determined to keep a record of our conversations, and indeed of -everything that affects this matter, in case he one day publishes the -novel, or publishes what the novel may turn into; for I feel that it -will not remain unpublished, even though it turns into something quite -different. I shall thus have all the fun of seeing a novel planned -without the trouble of writing one myself. - -"Of course you have the advantage of knowing these people quite well," -he said. I told him that he was mistaken. I had never met any of them, -except Princess Kouragine, before. And it was years since I had seen her. - -"The first problem is," he said, "Why is Miss Brandon not married? She -must be getting on for thirty, if she is not thirty yet, and it is -strange that a person with her looks----" - -"I have often wondered what she looks like," I said, "and I have made my -picture of her. Shall I tell it you, and you can tell me whether it is -at all like the reality?" - -He was most anxious to hear my description. I said that I imagined -Miss Brandon to be as changeable in appearance as the sky. I explained -to him that I had not always been blind, that my blindness had come -comparatively late in life from a shooting accident, in which I lost one -eye--the sight of the other I lost gradually afterwards. I had imagined -her as the lady who walked in the garden in Shelley's _Sensitive Plant_ -(I could not remember all the quotation): - - - "A sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean." - - -Still, and rather mysterious, elusive and rare. He said I was right -about the variability, but that he saw her differently. It was true -she was pale, delicate, and extremely refined, but her eyes were the -interesting thing about her. She was like a sapphire. She looked better -in the daytime than in the evening. By candle-light she seemed to fade. -She did not remind him of Shelley at all. She was not ethereal nor -diaphanous. She was a sapphire, not a moonstone. She belonged to the -world of romance, not to the world of lyric poetry. Something had been -left out when she had been created. She was unfinished. What had been -left out? Was it her soul? Was it her heart? Was she Undine? No. Was she -Lilith? No. All the same she belonged to the fairy-tale world; to the -Hans Andersen world, or to Perrault. The Princess without ... without -what? She was the Sleeping Beauty in the wood, who had woken up and -remembered nothing, and could never recover from the long trance. She -would never be the same again. Never really awake in the world. And yet -she had brought nothing back from fairyland except her looks. - -"She reminds me," he said, "of a line of Robert Lytton's: 'All her -looks are poetry and all her thoughts are prose.' It is not that she is -prosaic, but she is muffled. You see, during that long slumber which -lasted a hundred years----" Rudd had now quite forgotten my presence and -was talking or, rather, murmuring to himself. He was composing aloud. -"During that long exile which lasted a hundred years, and passed in a -flash, she had no dreams." - -"You mean she has no heart," I said. - -"No, not that," he answered, "heart as much as you like. She is kind. -She is affectionate. But no passion, no dreams. Above all, no dreams. -That is what she is. The Princess without any dreams. Do you think that -would do as a title? No, it is not quite right. _The Sleeping Beauty in -the World?_ No. Why did Rostand use the title, _La Princesse Lointaine_? -That would have done. No, that is not quite right either. She is not far -away. She is here. She looks far away and isn't. I must think about it. -It will come." - -Then, quite abruptly, he asked me what I imagined the garden of the -hotel looked like. I said that I had never been here before and that I -had only heard descriptions of the place from my acquaintances and from -my servant, but I imagined the end of the garden, where I had often -walked, to be rather like a Russian landscape. I had never been to -Russia, but I had read Russian books, and what I imagined to be a rather -untidy piece of long grass, fringed with a few birch trees and some -firs, the whole rather baked and dry, reminded me of the descriptions in -Tourgenev's books. - -Rudd said it was not like Russia. Russia had so much more space. So much -more atmosphere. This little garden might be a piece of Scotland, might -be a piece of Denmark, but it was not Russian. - -I asked him whether he had been to Russia. Not in the flesh, he said, -but in the spirit he had lived there for years. - -Perhaps he wanted to see how much the second-hand impressions of a blind -man were worth. - -He soon reverted to the original subject of our talk. - -"Why is Miss Brandon not married?" he said. - -I said I knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. I presumed her -parents were dead. She was travelling with her aunt. They came here -every year for her aunt's rheumatism. Mrs. Lennox had a house in London. -She was a widow, not very well off, I thought. I told him I knew nothing -of London life. I have lived in Italy for the last twenty years. I very -seldom went to London, only, in fact, to see Kennaway. I told him he -must find out about Miss Brandon's early history himself. - -"She is very silent," he said. - -"Mrs. Lennox is very talkative," I told him. - -"What can I call it?" he asked, in an agony of impatience. "She has -every beauty, every grace, except that of expression." - -"_The Dumb Belle?_" The words escaped me and I immediately regretted -them. - -"No," he said, quite seriously, "she is not dumb, that is just the -point. She talks, but she cannot express herself. Or rather, she has -nothing to express. At least, I think she has nothing to express: or -what she has got to express is not what we think it is. I imagine a -story like Pygmalion and Galatea. Somebody waking her to life and then -finding her quite different from what the stone image seemed to promise, -from what it _did_ promise. At any rate I have got my subject and I am -extremely grateful. It is a wonderful subject." - -"Henry James," I ventured. - -"Ah, James," said Rudd, "yes, James, a wonderful intellect, but a -critic, not a novelist. The French could do it. What would they have -called it? _La Princesse désenchantée,_ or _La Belle revenue du Bois_? -You can't say that in English." - -"Nor in French either," I thought to myself, but I said aloud, "_Out of -the Wood_ would suggest quite a different kind of book." - -"A very different kind of book," said Rudd, quite gravely. "The kind of -book that sells by the million." - -Rudd then left me. He was enchanted with the idea of having something to -write about. I felt that a good title for his novel would be _Eurydice -Half-regained_, but I was diffident about suggesting a title to him, -besides which I felt he would not like it. Miss Brandon, he would -explain, was not like Eurydice, and if she was, she had forgotten her -experiences beyond the Styx. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I am going to divide my record into chapters just as if I were writing -a novel. The length of the chapters will be entirely determined by my -inclination at the moment of writing. When I am tired the chapter will -end. I don't know if this is what novelists do. It does not matter, as -I am not writing a novel. I know it is not what Rudd does. He told me -he planned out his novel before writing a line, and decided beforehand -on the length of each chapter, but that he often made them longer in -the first draft, and then eliminated. If you want to be terse, he said, -you must not start by trying to be terse, by leaving out. You must say -everything _first_. You can rub out afterwards. He told me he worked in -charcoal, as it were, at first. - -I shall not work in charcoal. I have no plan. - -I asked Princess Kouragine what Rudd was like. She said he had something -rather prim and dapper about him. I was quite wrong about his -appearance. He wears a black tie. Princess Kouragine said, "_Il a l'air -comme tout le monde, plutôt comme un médecin de campagne._" - -I asked her if she liked him. She said she did not know. She said he was -agreeable, but she found no real pleasure in his society. - -"You see," she said, "I like the society of my equals, I hate being -with my superiors; that is why I hate being with royalties, authors -and artists. Mr. Rudd can talk of nothing except his art, and I like -Tauchnitz novels that one can read without any trouble. I hate realistic -novels, especially in English." - -I told her his novels were more often fantastic, with a certain amount -of psychology in them. - -"That is worse," she said, "I am old-fashioned. It is no use to try and -convert me. I like Trollope and Ouida." - -I offered to lend her a novel by Rudd, but she refused. - -"I would rather not have read it," she said. "It would make me -uncomfortable when I talked to him. As it is, as the idiot who has read -nothing newer than Ouida, I am quite comfortable." - -I said he was writing something now which I thought would interest her. -I told her how Rudd was making Miss Brandon the pivot of a story. - -"Ah!" she said. "He told me he was writing something for his own -pleasure. I will read _that_ book." - -I said he did not intend to publish it. - -"He will publish it," she said. "It will be very interesting. I wonder -what he will make of Jean Brandon. I know her well. I have known her -for five years. They come here every year. They stay a long time. It is -economical. She is a good girl. I like her. _Elle me plaît_." - -I asked whether she was pretty. - -The Princess said she was changeable--_journalière, "Elle a souvent -mauvaise mine."_ Not tall enough. A beautiful skin like ivory, but too -pale. Eyes. Yes, she had eyes. Most remarkable eyes. You could not tell -whether they were blue or grey. Graceful. Pretty hands. Badly dressed, -but from poverty and economy more than from _mauvais goût_. A very -_English_ beauty. "You will probably tell me she is Scotch or Irish. I -don't care. I don't mean Keapsake or Gainsborough, nor Burne-Jones, -but English all the same. But I can't describe her. She has charm and -it escapes one. She has beauty, but it doesn't fit into any of the -categories. - -"One feels there is a lamp inside her which has gone out, for the time -being, at any rate. She reminds me of some lines of Victor Hugo: - - "Et les plus sombres d'entre nous - Ont eu leur aube éblouissante." - -"I can imagine her having been quite dazzling when she was a young girl. -I can imagine her still being dazzling now if someone were to light the -lamp. It could be lit, I know. Once, two years ago, at the races here at -Bavigny, I saw her excited. She wanted a friend to win a steeplechase -and he won. She was transfigured. At that moment I thought I had seldom -seen anyone more _éblouissante_. Her face shone as though it had been -transparent." - -Of course the poor girl was unhappy, and why was she unhappy? The reason -was a simple one, she was poor, and Mrs. Lennox economized and used her -as an economy. - -"You see that the poor girl is obliged to make _de petites économies_ -in her clothes. She suffers from it I'm sure. Who wouldn't? This all -comes from your silly system of marriage in England. You let two totally -inexperienced beings with nothing to help them settle the question -on which the whole of their lives is to depend. You let a girl marry -her first love. It is too absurd. It never lasts. I do not say that -marriages in our country do not often turn out very badly. No one knows -that better than I do, Heaven knows; but I say that at least we give -the poor children a chance. We at least do not build marriages on a -foundation which we know to be unsound beforehand, or not there at all. -We do not let two people marry when we know that the circumstances -cannot help leading to disaster." - -I said I did not think there was much to choose between the two systems. -In France the young people had the chance of making a satisfactory -marriage; in our country the young people had the chance of marrying -whom they chose, of making the right choice. It was sometimes -successful. Besides, when there were real obstacles the marriages did -not as a rule come off. Mrs. Lennox had told me that Miss Brandon had -been engaged when she was nineteen to a man in the army. He was too -poor. The engagement had been broken off. The man had left the army and -gone to the colonies, and there the matter had remained. I didn't think -she would have been happier if she had been married off to a _parti_. - -"She would not have been poor," said Princess Kouragine. "And she would -have been more independent. She would have had a home." - -She said she did not attach an enormous importance to riches, but she -did attach great importance to real poverty, especially to poverty in -the class of people with whom Miss Brandon lived. She said the worst -kind of poverty was to live with people richer than yourself. It was a -continual strain, she knew it from experience. She had been through it -herself soon after she was married, after the first time her husband had -been ruined. And nobody who had not been through it knew what it meant, -the constant daily fret. - -"The little subterfuges. Having to think of every cab and every box of -cigarettes. Not that I thought of those," she said. "But it was clothes -which were the trouble. I can see that that poor Jean suffers in the -same way. And then, what a life! To spend all one's time with that Mrs. -Lennox, who is as hard as a stone and ruthlessly selfish. She does not -want Jean to marry. Jean is too useful to her." - -I said I wondered why she had not married. Surely lots of men must have -wanted to marry her. - -Princess Kouragine said that Mrs. Lennox was quite capable of preventing -it. She rarely took her out in London. She brought her to Haréville when -the London season began and they stayed here two months. It was cheaper. -In the winter they went to Florence or Nice. - -I said I wondered whether she was still faithful to the man she had been -engaged to, and what he was like. - -Princess Kouragine said she did not know him. She had never seen him, -but she had heard he was charming, _très bien_, but he hadn't a penny. -It appeared, however, that he had a relation, possibly an uncle, who -was well off, and who would probably leave him money. But he was not an -old man and might live for years. - -I said that perhaps Miss Brandon was waiting for him. - -"Perhaps," said Princess Kouragine, "but she was only nineteen when -they were engaged, and he has been away for the last five years. People -change. She is no longer now what she was then, nor he, probably." - -She did not think this episode was a real obstacle; she was convinced -Miss Brandon did not feel bound, but she thought she had not yet met -anyone whom she felt she would like to marry. Nor was it likely for her -to do so considering the _milieu_ in which she lived, in which she was -obliged to live. - -Mrs. Lennox liked the continental, international world. The world in -which everyone spoke English and hardly anyone was English. It was not -even the best side of the continental world she liked. She did not -mean it was the shady side, not the world of adventurers and gamblers, -but the world of international "culture." All the intellectual snobs -were drawn instinctively to Mrs. Lennox. People who discovered new -musicians, new novelists, and new painters, who suddenly pronounced as a -dogma that Beethoven couldn't compose and that the old masters did not -know how to draw, and that there was a new music, a new science, and, -above all, a new religion. - -"She is always surrounded just by those one or two men and women -'_qui rendent l'Europe insupportable et qui la gobent_,' they swallow -everything in her, her views on art, her dyed hair, and her ridiculous -hats. Is it likely that Miss Brandon, the daughter of an old general, -brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, and passionately fond of -outdoor life, would find a husband among people who were discussing all -day long whether Wagner was not better as a writer than a musician? She -never complains of it, poor child, but I know quite well that she is -_écoeurée_. She has had five years of it. Her father died five years -ago. Till he died she used to look after him and that was probably not -an easy life, either, as I believe he was a very exacting old man. Her -mother had died years before, and she had no brothers and no sisters. No -relations who were friends, and few women friends. She is alone in a -world she hates." - -I said I wondered that she had not left it. Girls often struck out a -line for themselves now and found occupations. - -Princess Kouragine said that Miss Brandon was not that sort of girl. -She was shy and apathetic as far as that kind of thing was concerned, -apathetic now about everything. She had just given in. What else could -she do? Where could she live? She had not a penny. - -"You see if a sensible marriage had been arranged for her, all this -would not have happened. She would have now had a home and children." - -I said that perhaps she was being faithful to the young man. - -Princess Kouragine said I could take it from her that she had never -loved, "_elle n'a jamais aimé_" She had never had a _grande passion_. - -I asked the Princess whether she thought her capable of such a thing. -She seemed so quiet. - -"You have never seen the lamp lit," said the Princess, "but I have; only -for one moment, it is true, but I shall never forget it." - -She wondered what Rudd would make of the character. He hardly knew her. -Did he seem to understand her? - -I said I thought he spun people out of his own inner consciousness. A -face gave him an idea and he made his own character, but he thought -he was being very analytical, and that all he created was based on -observation. - -"He certainly observes nothing," said the Princess. - -She asked who would be the hero. I said we had not got as far as the -hero when he had discussed it with me. - -"And what will he call the novel?" she asked. - -Ah, that was just the question. He had discussed that at length. He -had not found a title that satisfied him. He had got so far as "_The -Princess without any Dreams_." - -"_Dieu qu'il est bête_," she said. "_Cette enfant ne fait que rêver_." - -She told me I must get Rudd to discuss it with me again. - -"Perhaps he will talk to me about it, too. I will make him do so, in -fact. It will not be difficult. Then we will compare notes. It will be -most amusing. The Princess without any dreams, indeed! He might just as -well call her the Princess without any eyes!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -This afternoon I was sitting on a bench in the most secluded part of the -park when I heard someone approach, and Miss Brandon asked if she might -sit down near me and talk a little. Mrs. Lennox had gone for a motor -drive with Mr. Rudd. - -"He is our new friend," she explained. "That is to say, more Aunt -Netty's friend than mine." - -I asked her whether she liked him. - -"Yes, but he doesn't take much notice of me. He asks me questions, but -never waits for the answer. I feel he has made up his mind about me, -that I am labelled and pigeon-holed. He loves Aunt Netty." - -I asked what they talked about. - -"Books," she said. - -"His books, I suppose," I said. - -I wondered whether Mrs. Lennox had read them. I could feel Miss Brandon -guessing my inward question. - -"Aunt Netty _is_ very clever," she said. "She makes people enjoy -themselves, especially those kind of people.... Last night he dined at -our table, and so did Mabel Summer. You don't know her? You must know -her, you would like her. She is going away to-morrow, for a fortnight -to the Lakes, but she is coming back then. We nearly laughed at one -moment. It was awful. They were discussing Balzac, and Aunt Netty said -that Balzac was a snob like all--and she was just going to say like all -novelists, when she caught herself up and said: 'like Thackeray.' Mr. -Rudd said that Balzac and Thackeray had nothing in common, and Mabel, -who had caught my eye, and I, were speechless. Just for a moment I was -shaking, and Mr. Rudd looked at us. It was awful, but Mabel recovered -and said she didn't think we could realize now the kind of atmosphere -that Thackeray lived in." - -I said I didn't suppose that Rudd had noticed anything. He didn't seem -to me to notice that kind of thing. - -She agreed, but said he had moments of lucidity which were unexpected -and disconcerting. "For one second," she said, "he suspected we were -laughing at him. Aunt Netty manages him perfectly. He loves her. She -knows exactly what to say to him. He knows she is not critical. I think -he is rather suspicious. How funny clever men are!" she said, after a -pause. - -I said she really meant to say, "How stupid clever men are!" I reminded -her of the profound saying of one of Kipling's women, that the stupidest -woman could manage a clever man, but it took a very clever woman to -manage a fool. - -She said she had always found the most disconcerting element in stupid -people--or people who were thought to be stupid--was their sudden -flashes of lucidity, when they saw things quite plainly. Clever men -didn't have these flashes, but the curious thing was that Rudd did. - -I said I thought this was because, apart from his literary talent, which -was an accomplishment like conjuring or acting, quite separate from the -rest of his personality, Rudd was not a clever man. All his cleverness -went into his books. I said I thought there were two kinds of writers: -those who were better than their books, and of whom the books were only -the overflow, and those who put every drop of their being into the books -and were left with a dry and uninteresting shell. - -She said she thought she had only met that kind. - -"Aunt Netty," she said, "loves all authors and it's odd considering----" - -She stopped, but I ended her sentence: "She has never read a book in her -life." - -Miss Brandon laughed and said I was unfair. - -"Reading tires her. I don't think anyone has time to read a book after -they are eighteen. I haven't. But I feel I am a terrible wet blanket to -all Aunt Netty's friends. I can't even pretend to be enthusiastic. You -see I like the other sort of people so much better." - -I said I was afraid the other sort of people were poorly represented -here just now. - -"We have another friend," she said, "at least, I have." - -"Also a new friend?" I asked. - -"I have known him in a way a long time," she said. "He is a Russian -called Kranitski. We met him first two years ago at Florence. He was -looking after his mother, who was ill and who lived at Florence. We used -to meet him often, but I never got to know him. We never spoke to each -other. We saw him, too, in the distance once on the Riviera." - -I asked what he was like. - -"He is all lucid intervals," she said, "it is frightening. But he is -very easy to get on with. Of course I don't know him at all really. I -have only seen him twice. But one didn't have to plough through the -usual commonplaces. He began at once as if we had known each other for -years, and I felt myself doing the same thing." - -I asked what he was. - -She didn't quite know. - -I said I thought I knew the name. It reminded me of something, but I -certainly did not know him. Miss Brandon said she would introduce me to -him. I asked what he looked like. - -"Oh, an untidy, comfortable face," she said. "He is always smiling. He -is not at all international. He is like a dog. The kind of dog that -understands you in a minute. The extraordinary thing is that after the -first time we had a talk I felt as if I knew him intimately, as if I -had met him on some other planet, as if we were going on, not as if we -were beginning. I suddenly found myself telling him things I had never -told anyone. Of course, this does happen to one sometimes with perfect -strangers, at least it does to me. Don't you think it easy sometimes to -pour out confidences to a perfect stranger? But I don't expect people -give you the opportunity. They tell you things." - -I said this did happen sometimes, probably because people thought I -didn't count, and that as I couldn't see their faces they needn't tell -the truth. - -"I would find it as difficult to tell you a lie," she said, "as to tell -a lie on the telephone. You know how difficult that is. I should think -people tell you the truth as they do in the Confessional. The priest -shuts his eyes, doesn't he?" - -I said I believed this was the case. - -"This Russian is a Catholic," she said. "Isn't that rare for a Russian?" - -I said he was, perhaps, a Pole. The name sounded Polish. - -No, he had told her he was not a Pole. He was not a man who explained. -Explanations evidently bored him. He was not a soldier, but he had been -to the Manchurian War. He had lived in the Far East a great deal, and in -Italy. Very little in Russia apparently. He had come to Haréville for a -rest cure. - -"I asked him," she said, "if he had been ill, and he said something had -been cut out of his life. He had been pruned. The rest of him went on -sprouting just the same." - -I said I supposed he spoke English. - -Yes, he had had an English nurse and an English governess. He had once -been to England as a child for a few weeks to the Isle of Wight. He knew -no English people. He liked English books. - -"Byron, and Jerome K. Jerome?" I suggested. - -"No," she said, "Miss Austen." - -I asked whether he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. Yes, they had -talked a little. - -"Aunt Netty talked to him about Tolstoi. Tolstoi is one of Mr. Rudd's -stock topics." - -I said I supposed she had retailed Rudd's views on the Russian. Was he -astonished? - -"Not a bit. I could see he had heard it all before," she said. "He was -angelic. He shook his ears now and then like an Airedale terrier. Aunt -Netty doesn't want him. Mr. Rudd is enough for her and she is enjoying -herself. She always finds someone here. Last year it was a composer." - -"Does Princess Kouragine know him?" I asked. - -No, she didn't. She had never met him, but she knew of him. - -I asked what Mr. Rudd thought about Princess Kouragine. - -"Mr. Rudd and Aunt Netty discuss her for hours. He has theories about -her. He began by saying she had the Slav indifference. Then Aunt Netty -said she was French. But Mr. Rudd said it was catching. People who lived -in Ireland became Irish, and people who lived in Russia became Russian. -Then Aunt Netty said Princess Kouragine had lived in France and Italy. -Mr. Rudd said she had caught the microbe, and that she was a woman who -lived only by half-hours. He meant she was only alive for half-an-hour -at a time." - -At that moment someone walked up the path. - -"Here is Monsieur Kranitski," she said. She introduced us. - -"I have been walking to the end of the park," he said. "It is curious, -but that side of the park with the dry lawn-tennis court, those birch -trees and some straggling fir trees on the hill and the long grass, -reminds me of a Russian garden which I used to know very well." - -I said that when people had described that same spot to me I had -imagined it like the descriptions of places in Tourgenev's books. - -He said I was quite right. - -I said it was a wonderful tribute to an author's powers that he could -make the character of a landscape plain, not only to a person who had -never been in his country, but even to a blind man. - -Kranitski said that Tourgenev described gardens very well, and a -particular kind of Russian landscape. "What I call the orthodox kind. -I hear James Rudd, the writer, is staying here. He has a gift for -describing places: Italian villages, journeys in France, little canals -at Venice, the Campagna." - -"You like his books?" I asked. - -"Some of them; when they are fantastic, yes. When he is psychological I -find them annoying, but one says I am wrong." - -"He is too complicated," Miss Brandon said. "He spoils things by seeing -too much, by explaining too much." - -I asked Kranitski if he was a great novel reader. He said he liked -novels if they were very good, like Miss Austen and Henry James, or -else very, very bad ones. He could not read any novel because it was a -novel. On the other hand he could read any detective story, good, bad or -middling. - -Miss Brandon asked him if he would like to know Rudd. - -"Is he very frightful?" he asked. - -I said I did not think he was at all alarming. - -Yes, he said, he would like to make his acquaintance. He had never met -an English author. - -"You won't mind his explaining the Russian character to you?" I said. - -Kranitski said he would not mind that, and that as his mother was -Italian, and as he had lived very little in Russia and spoke Russian -badly, perhaps Mr. Rudd would not count him as a Russian. - -Miss Brandon said that would make the explanation more complicated -still. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Life begins very early in the morning here. The water-drinkers and the -bathers begin their day at half-past six. My day does not begin till -half-past seven, as I don't drink many glasses of the water. - -At seven o'clock the village bell rings for Mass. - -It was some days after the conversations I recorded in my last chapter -I woke one morning early at half-past six and got up. I asked my -servant, Henry, to lead me to the village church. I went in and sat down -at the bottom of the aisle. Early Mass had not yet begun. The church -seemed to me empty. But from a corner I heard the whispered mutter of -a confession. Presently two people walked past me, the priest and the -penitent, I surmised. Someone walked upstairs. A boy's footsteps then -clattered past me. The church bell was rung. Someone walked downstairs -and up the aisle; the priest again, I thought. Then Mass began. Towards -the end someone again walked up the aisle. I remained sitting till the -end. - -At the door, outside the church, someone greeted me. It was Kranitski. -He walked back with me to the hotel. He asked me whether I was a -Catholic. I told him that Catholic churches attracted me, but that I was -an agnostic. He seemed slightly astonished at this; astonished at the -attraction in my case, I supposed. He said something which indicated -surprise. - -I told him I could not explain it. It was certainly not the exterior -panoply and trappings of the church which attracted me, for of those I -saw nothing. Nor was it the music, for although I was not a musician, my -long blindness had made me acutely sensitive to sound, and the sounds in -churches were often, I found, painful. - -I asked him if he was a Catholic. - -"I was born a Catholic," he said, "but for years I have not been -_pratiquant_, until I came here. Not for seven years." - -"You have not been inside a church for seven years?" I said. - -"Oh yes," he said, "inside a church very often." - -I said most people lost their faith as young men. Sometimes it came back. - -"I was not like that," he said, "I never lost my faith, not for a day, -not for an hour." - -I said I didn't understand. - -"There were reasons--an obstacle," he said. "But now they are not there -any more. Now I am once more inside." - -"Inside what?" I asked. - -"The church. During those seven years I was outside." - -"But as you went to church when you liked," I said, "I do not see the -difference." - -"I cannot explain it to you," he said. "You would not understand. At -least, you would understand if you knew and I could explain, only it -would be too long. But as it was it was like knowing you couldn't have -a bath if you wanted one--like feeling always starved. You see I am -naturally believing. If I had not been, it would have been no matter. I -cannot help believing. Many times I should have liked not to believe. -Many times I was envying people who feel you go out like a candle when -you die. I am not _mystique_ or anything like that; but something at the -back of my mind is keeping on saying to me: 'You know it _is_ true,' -just as in some people there is something inside them which is keeping -on saying: 'You know it is _not_ true.' And yet I couldn't do otherwise. -That is to say, I resolved not to do otherwise. Life is complicated. -Things are so mixed up sometimes. One has to sacrifice what one most -cares for. At least, I had to. I was caring for my religion more than -I can describe, but I had to give it up. No, that is wrong, I didn't -_have to_, but I gave it up. It was all very embarrassing. But now the -obstacle is not there. I am free. It is a relief." - -"But if you never lost your faith and went on going to church, and -_could_ go to church whenever you liked, I cannot see what you had to -give up. I don't see what the obstacle prevented." - -"To explain you that I should have to tell too long a story," he said. -"I will tell you some day if you have patience to listen. Not now." - -We had got back to the park. I went into the pavilion to drink the -water. I asked Kranitski if he was going to have a glass. - -"No," he said, "I do not need any waters or any cure. I am cured -already, but I need a long rest to forget it all. You know sometimes -after illness you regret the _maladie_, and I am still a little bit -dizzy. After you have had a tooth out, in spite of the relief from pain -you mind the hole." - -He went into the hotel. - -Later in the morning I met Princess Kouragine. - -She asked me how Rudd's novel was getting on. I said I had not seen -him, and had had no talk with him about it. I told her I had made the -acquaintance of Kranitski. - -"I too," she said. "I like him. I never knew him before, but I know a -little of his history. He has been in love a very long time with someone -I knew--and still know, I won't say her name. I don't want to rake up -old scandals, but she was Russian, and she lived, a long time ago, in -Rome, and she was unhappy with her husband, whom I always liked, and -thought extremely _comme il faut_, but they were not suited." - -"Why didn't she divorce him?" I asked. - -"The children," she said; "three children, two boys and a girl, and she -adored them, so did the father, and he would never have let them go, -nor would she have left them for anyone in the world." - -"If she lived at Rome, I may have met her," I said. - -"It is quite possible," said the Princess. "My friend was a charming -person, a little vague, very gentle, very graceful, very musical, very -attractive." - -"Is the husband still alive?" I asked. - -"Yes, he is alive. They do not live at Rome any more, but in the -Caucasus, and at Paris in the winter. I saw them both in Paris this -winter." - -I asked if the Kranitski episode was still going on. - -"It is evidently over," said Princess Kouragine. - -"Why?" I asked. - -"Because he is happy. _Il n'a plus des yeux qui regardent au delà._" - -"Was he very much in love with her?" I asked. - -"Yes, very much. And she too. He will be a character for Mr. Rudd," she -went on, "I saw him talking to him yesterday, with Mrs. Lennox and Jean. -Jean likes him. She looks better these last two days." - -I said I had noticed she seemed more lively. - -"Ah, but physically she looks different. That child wants admiration and -love." - -"Love?" I said. "Won't it be rather unfortunate if she looks for love in -that quarter? He won't love again, will he? Or not so soon as this." - -"You are like the people who think one can only have measles once," she -said. "One can have it over and over again, and the worse you have it -once, the worse you may get it again. He is just in the most susceptible -state of all." - -I said they both seemed to me in the same position. They were both of -them bound by old ties. - -"That is just what will make it easier." - -I asked whether there would be any other obstacles to a marriage between -them, such as money. Princess Kouragine said that Kranitski ought to be -quite well off. - -"There was no obstacle of that kind," she said. "He is a Catholic, but I -do not suppose that will make any difference." - -"Not to Miss Brandon," I said, "nor really to her aunt: Mrs. Lennox -might, I think, look upon it as a kind of obstacle; but a little more -an obstacle than if he was a radical and a little less of one than if he -was socialist." - -She said she did not think that Mrs. Lennox would like her niece to -marry anyone. - -"But if they want to get married nothing will stop them. That girl has a -character of iron." - -"And he?" I asked. - -"He has got some character." - -"Would the other person mind--the lady at Rome?" - -"She probably will mind, but she would not prevent it. _Elle est -foncièrement bonne._ Besides which she knows that it is over, there is -nothing more to be said or done. She is _philosophe_ too. A sensible -woman. She insisted on marrying her husband. She was in love with him -directly she came out, and they were married at once. He would have been -an excellent husband for almost anyone else except for her, and if she -had only waited two years she would have known this herself. As it was, -she married him, and found she had married someone else. The inevitable -happened. She is far too sensible to complain now. She knows she has -made a _gâchis_ of her life, and that she only has herself to thank. -As it is, she has her children and she is devoted to them. She will not -want to make a _gâchis_ of Kranitski's life as well as of her own, and -she nearly did that too. If he marries and is happy she ought to be -pleased, and she will be." - -"And what about the young man who was engaged to Miss Brandon?" I asked. - -"I do not give that story a thought," said the Princess. "They were -probably in the same situation towards each other as the Russian -couple I told you of were before they were married, only Jean had the -good fortune to do nothing in a hurry. She is probably now profoundly -grateful. How can a girl of eighteen know life? How can she even know -her own mind?" - -"It depends on the young man," I said. "We know nothing about him." - -"Yes, we know nothing about him; but that probably shows there is -nothing to know. If there were something to know we should know it by -now. It was all so long ago. They are both different people now, and -they probably know it." - -I said I would not like to speculate or even hazard a guess on such a -matter. It might be as she said, but the contrary might just as well be -true. I did not think Miss Brandon was a person who would change her -mind in a hurry. I thought she was one of the rare people who did know -her own mind. I could imagine her waiting for years if it was necessary. - -As I was saying this, Princess Kouragine said to me: - -"She is walking across the park now with Kranitski. They have sat down -on a seat near the music kiosk. They are talking hard. The lamp is being -lit--she looks ten years younger than she did last week, and she has got -on a new hat." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -During the rest of that day I saw nobody. I gathered there were races -somewhere, and Mrs. Lennox had taken a large party. Just before dinner I -got a message from Rudd asking whether he might dine at my table. - -I do not dine in the big dining-room, as I find the noise and the bustle -trying, but in a smaller room where some of the visitors have their -_petit déjeuner_. - -So we were alone and had the room to ourselves. I asked him if he had -been working. - -He said he had been making notes, plans and sketches, but he could not -get on unless he could discuss his work with someone. - -"The story is gradually taking shape," he said. "I haven't made up my -mind what the setting is to be. But I have got the kernel. My story is -what I told you it would be. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, but when -the Prince wakes her up she is no longer the same person as she was -when she went to sleep. The enchantment has numbed her. She will have -none of the Fairy Prince; she doesn't recognize him as a Fairy Prince, -and she lets him go away. As soon as he is gone she regrets what she -has done and begins to hope he will come back some day. Time passes and -he does come back, but he has forgotten her and he does not recognize -her. Someone else falls in love with her, and she thinks she loves him; -but, at the first kiss he gives her, the forest closes round her and she -falls asleep again." - -I asked him if it was going to be a fairy-tale. - -He said, No, a modern story with perhaps a mysterious lining to it. - -He imagined this kind of story. A girl brought up in romantic -surroundings. She meets a boy who falls in love with her. This, in a -way, wakens her to life, but she will not marry him; and he goes away -for years. Time passes. She leads a numbed existence. She travels, and -somewhere abroad she meets the love of her youth again. He has forgotten -her and loves someone else. Someone else wants to marry her. They are -engaged to be married. But as soon as things get as far as this the man -finds that in some inexplicable way she is different, and _he_ breaks -off the engagement, and she goes on living as she did before, apparently -the same, but in reality dead. - -"Then," I said, "she always loves the Fairy Prince of her youth." - -He said: "She thinks she loves him when it is too late, but in reality -she never loves anyone. She is only half-awake in life. She never gets -over the enchantment which numbs her for life." - -I asked what would correspond to the enchantment in real life. - -He said perhaps the romantic surroundings of her childhood. - -I said I thought he had not meant her to be a romantic character. - -"No more she is," he explained. "The romance is all from outside. -She looks romantic, but she isn't. She is like a person who has been -bewitched. She always thinks she is going to behave like an ordinary -person, but she can't. She has no dreams. She would like to marry, to -have a home, to be comfortable and free, but something prevents it. When -the young man proposes to her she feels she can never marry him. As -soon as he is gone, she regrets having done this, and imagines that if -he came back she would love him." - -"And when he does come back, does she love him?" I asked. - -"She thinks she does, but that is only because he has forgotten her. -If he hadn't forgotten her, and had asked her to marry him, she would -have said 'No' a second time. Then when the other person who is in love -with her wants to marry her, she _thinks_ she is in love with him; she -thinks _he_ is the Fairy Prince; but as soon as they are engaged, _he_ -feels that his love has gone. It has faded from the want of something -in _her_ which he discovers at the very first kiss; he breaks off the -engagement, and she is grateful at being set free, and glad to go back -to her forest." - -I asked if she is unhappy when it is over. - -He said, "Yes, she is unhappy, but she accepts it. She is not -broken-hearted because she never loved him. She realizes that she can't -love and will never love, and accepts the situation." - -I said that I saw no mysterious lining in the story as told that way. - -He said there was none; but the lining would come in the manner the -story was told. He would try and give the reader the impression that -she had come into touch with the fairy world by accident and that the -adventure had left a mark that nothing could alter. - -She had no business to have adventures in fairy land. - -She had strayed into that world by mistake. She was not native to it, -although she looked as if she were. - -I said I thought there ought to be some explanation of how and why she -got into touch with the fairy world. - -He said it was perhaps to be found in the surroundings of her childhood. -She perhaps inherited some strange spiritual, magic legacy. But whatever -it was it must come from the _outside_. Perhaps there was a haunted wood -near her home, and she was forbidden to go into it. Perhaps the legend -of the place said that anyone of her family who visited that wood before -they were fifteen years old, went to sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps -she visited the wood and fell asleep and had a dream. That dream was -the hundred years' sleep, but she forgot the dream as soon as she was -awake. - -I asked him if he thought this story fitted on to Miss Brandon's -character or to the circumstances of her life. - -He said he knew little about the circumstances of her life. Mrs. Lennox -had told him that her niece had once nearly married someone, but that it -had been an impossible marriage for many reasons, and that she did not -think her niece regretted it. That several people had wanted to marry -her abroad, but that she had never fallen in love. - -"As to her character, I am confirmed," he said, "in what I thought about -her the first time I saw her. All her looks are poetry and all her -thoughts are prose. She is practical and prosaic and unimaginative and -quite passionless. But I should not be in the least surprised if she -married a fox-hunting squire with ten thousand a year. All that does not -matter to me. I am not writing her story, but the story of her face. -What might have been her story. And not the story of what her face looks -like, but the story of what her face means. The story of her soul, which -may be very different from the story of her life. It is the story of a -numbed soul. A soul that has visited places which it had no business to -visit and had had to pay the price in consequence. - -"She reminds me of those lines of Heine: - - "Sie waren langst gestorben und wussten - es selber kaum." - - -"That is, of course, only one way of writing the story I have planned -to you. I shall not begin at the beginning at any rate. Perhaps I shall -never write the story at all. You see, I do not intend to publish it in -any case. People would say I was making a portrait. As if an artist ever -made a portrait from one definite real person. People give him ideas. -But on the other hand it is my holiday, and I do not want to have all -the labour of planning a real story, and at the same time I want an -occupation. This will keep me busy. I shall amuse myself by sketching -the story as I see it now." - -I asked who the hero would be. - -"The man who wants to marry her and whom she consents to marry will be a -foreigner," he said. - -"An Italian?" I asked. - -"No," he said, "not an Italian. Not a southerner. A northerner. Possibly -a Norwegian. A Norwegian or a Dane. That would be just the kind of -person to be attracted by this fairy-tale-looking, in reality, prosaic -being." - -"And who would the original Fairy Prince be?" I asked. - -"He would be an ordinary Englishman. Any of the young men I saw here -would do for that. The originality of his character would be in this: -that he would _look_ and be considered the type of dog-like fidelity -and unalterable constancy, and in reality he would forget all about her -directly he met someone else he loved. He would have been quite faithful -till then. Faithful for two or three years. Then he would have met -someone else: a married woman. Someone out of his reach, and he would -have been passionately devoted to her and have forgotten all about the -Fairy Princess. - -"The Norwegian would be attracted by her very apathy and seeming -coldness and aloofness. He would imagine that this would all melt -and vanish away at the first kiss. That she would come to life like -Galatea. It would be the opposite of Galatea. The first kiss would turn -her to stone once more. - -"Then being a very nice honest fellow he would be miserable. He would -not know what to do. He would be a sailor perhaps, and be called away. -That would have to be thought about." - -Then we talked of other things. I asked Rudd if he had made Kranitski's -acquaintance. He said, Yes, he had. He was quite a pleasant fellow, no -brains and very commonplace and rather reactionary in his ideas; not -politically, he meant, but intellectually. - -He had not got further than Miss Austen and he was taken in by -Chesterton. All that was very crude. But he was amiable and good-natured. - -I said Princess Kouragine liked him. - -"Ah," he said, "that is an interesting type. The French character -infected by the Slav microbe. - -"What a powerful thing the Slav microbe is; more powerful even than the -Irish microbe. Her French common sense and her Latin logic had been -stricken by that curious Russian intellectual malaria. She will never -get it out of her system." - -I asked him if he thought Kranitski had the same malaria. - -"It is less noticeable in him," Rudd said, "because he _is_ Russian; -there is no contrast to observe, no conflict. He is simply a Slav of -a rather conventional type. His Slavness would simply reveal itself -in his habits; his incessant cigarette-smoking; his good head for -cards--he was an admirable card-player--his facility for playing the -piano, and perhaps singing folk-songs--I don't know if he does, but he -well might; his good-natured laziness; his social facility; his quick -superficiality. There is nothing interesting psychologically there." - -I said that I believed his mother was Italian. - -Rudd said this was impossible. She might be Polish, but there was -evidently no southern strain in him. Although I knew for a fact that -Rudd was wrong, I could not contradict him; greatly as I wished to do so -I could not bring the words across my lips. - -I said he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. - -He said he knew that he had met him in their rooms. - -I asked whether he thought Miss Brandon liked him. - -Rudd said that Miss Brandon was the same towards everyone. Profoundly -indifferent, that is to say. He did not think, he was, in fact, quite -certain that there was not a soul at Haréville who raised a ripple of -interest on the perfectly level surface of her resigned discontent. - -Then we went out into the park and listened to the music. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The day after Rudd dined with me I was summoned by telegram to London. -My favourite sister, who is married and whom I seldom see, was seriously -ill. She wanted to see me. I started at once for London and found -matters better than I expected, but still rather serious. I stayed with -my sister nearly a month, by which time she was convalescent. Kennaway -insisted on my going back to Haréville to finish my cure. - -When I got back, I found all the members of the group to which I had -become semi-attached still there, and I made a new acquaintance: Mrs. -Summer, who had just come back from the Lakes. I know little about her. -I can only guess at her appearance. I know that she is married and that -she cannot be very young and that is all. On the other hand, I feel now -that I know a great deal about her. - -We sat after dinner in the park. She is a friend of Miss Brandon's. We -talked of her. Mrs. Summer said: - -"The air here has done her such a lot of good." - -She meant to say: "She is looking much better than she did when she -arrived," but she did not want to talk about _looks_ to me. - -I said: "She must get tired of coming here year after year." - -Mrs. Summer said that Miss Brandon hated London almost as much. - -I said: "You have known her a long time?" - -She said: "All her life. Ever since she was tiny." - -I asked what her father was like. - -"He was very selfish, violent-tempered, and rather original. When he -dined out he always took his champagne with him in a pail and in a -four-wheeler. He lived in an old house in the south of Ireland. He was -not really Irish. He had been a soldier. He played picquet with Jean -every evening. He went up to London two months every year--not in the -summer. He liked seeing the Christmas pantomime. He was devoted to -Jean, but tyrannized over her. He never let her out of his sight. - -"When he died he left nothing. The house in Ireland was sold, and -the house in London, a house in Bedford Square. I think there were -illegitimate children. In Ireland he entertained the neighbours, talked -politics, and shouted at his guests, and quarrelled with everyone." - -I presumed he was not a Radical. I was right. - -I said I supposed Miss Brandon could never escape. - -She had been engaged to be married once, but money--the want of it--made -the marriage impossible. Even if there had been money she doubted. - -"Because of the father?" I said. - -"Yes, she would never have left him. She couldn't have left him." - -"Did the father like the young man?" - -"Yes, he liked him, but regarded him as quite impossible, quite out of -the question as a husband." - -I said I supposed he would have thought anyone else equally out of the -question. - -"Of course," she said. "It was pure selfishness----" - -I asked what had happened to the young man. - -He was in the army, but left it because it was too expensive. He went -out to the Colonies--South Africa--as A.D.C. He was there now. - -"Still unmarried?" I asked. - -Mrs. Summer said he would never marry anyone else. He had never looked -at anyone else. He was supposed, at one time, to have liked an Italian -lady, but that was all nonsense. - -She felt I did not believe this. - -"You don't believe me," she said. "But I promise you it's true. He is -that kind of man--terribly faithful; faithful and constant. You see, -Jean isn't an ordinary girl. If one once loved her it would be difficult -to love anyone else. She was just the same when he knew her as she is -now." - -"Except younger." - -"She is just as beautiful now, at least she could be----" - -"If someone told her so." - -"Yes, if someone thought so. Telling wouldn't be necessary." - -"Perhaps someone will." - -Mrs. Summer said it was extremely unlikely she would ever meet anyone -abroad who would be the kind of man. - -I said I thought life was a play in which every entrance and exit was -arranged beforehand, and the momentous entrance and the _scène à faire_ -might quite as well happen at Haréville as anywhere else. - -Mrs. Summer made no comment. I thought to myself: "She knows about -Kranitski and doesn't want to discuss it." - -"The man who marries Jean would be very lucky," she said. "Jean -is--well--there is no one like her. She's more than _rare_. She's -_introuvable_." - -I said that Rudd thought she would never marry anyone. - -"Perhaps not," she said, "but if Mr. Rudd is right about her he will be -right for the wrong reasons. Sometimes the people who see everything -wrong _are_ right. It is very irritating." - -I asked her if she thought Rudd was always wrong. - -"I don't know," she said, "but he would be wrong about Jean. Wrong about -you. Wrong about me. Wrong about Princess Kouragine, and wrongest of -all about Netty Lennox. Perhaps his instincts as an artist _are_ right. -I think people's books are sometimes written by _someone else_, a kind -of planchette. All the authors I have met have been so utterly and -completely wrong about everything that stared them in the face." - -I asked whether she liked his books. - -Yes, she liked them, but she thought they were written by a familiar -spirit. She couldn't fit him into his books. - -"Then," I said, "supposing he wrote a book about Miss Brandon, however -wrong he might be about her, the book might turn out to be true." - -She didn't agree. She thought if he wrote a book about an imaginary Miss -Jones it might turn out to be right in some ways about Jean Brandon, and -in some ways about a hundred other people; but if he set out to write a -book about Jean it would be wrong. - -"You mean," I said, "he is imaginative and not observant?" - -"I mean," she said, "that he writes by instinct, as good actors act." - -She said there was a Frenchman at the hotel who had told her that he had -seen a rehearsal of a complicated play, in which a great actress was -acting. The author was there. He explained to the actress what he wanted -done. She said: "Yes, I see this, and this, and this." Everything she -said was terribly wide of the mark, the opposite of what he had meant. -He saw she hadn't understood a word he had said. Then the actress got on -to the stage and acted it exactly as if she understood everything. - -"I think," she said, "that Mr. Rudd is like that." - -I asked Mrs. Summer if she knew Kranitski. - -"Just a little," she said. "What do you think about him?" - -I said I liked him. - -"He's very quick and easy to get on with," she said. - -"Like all Russians." - -"Like all Russians, but I don't think he's quite like all Russians, at -least not the kind of Russians one meets." - -"No, more like the Russians one doesn't meet." - -"Tolstoi's Russians. Yes. It's a pity they have such a genius for -unhappiness." - -I said I thought Kranitski did not seem unhappy. - -"No, but more as if he had just recovered than if he was quite well." - -I said I thought he gave one the impression that he was capable of being -very happy. There was nothing gloomy about him. - -"All people who are unhappy are generally very happy, too," she said, -"at least they are often very...." - -"Gay?" I suggested. - -She agreed. - -I said I thought he was more than an unhappy person with high spirits, -which one saw often enough. He gave me the impression of a person -capable of _solid_ happiness, the kind of business-like happiness that -comes from a fundamental goodness. - -"Yes, he might, be like that," she said, "only one doesn't know quite -what his life has been and is." - -She meant she knew all too well that his life had not been one in which -happiness was possible. - -I agreed. - -"One knows so little about other people." - -"Nothing," I said. "Perhaps he is miserable. He ought to marry. I feel -he is very domestic." - -"I sometimes think," she said, "that the people who marry--the men I -mean--are those who want the help and support of a woman, women are so -far stronger and braver than men; and that those who don't marry are -sometimes those who are strong enough to face life without this help. Of -course, there are others who aren't either strong enough or weak enough -to need it, but they don't matter." - -I said I supposed she thought Kranitski would be strong enough to do -without marriage. - -"I think so," she said, "but then, I hardly know him." - -"Does your theory apply to women, too?" I asked. "Are there some women -who are strong enough to face life alone?" - -She said women were strong enough to do either. In either case life was -for them just as difficult. - -I asked if she thought Miss Brandon would be happier married or not -married. - -"Jean would never marry unless she married the right person, the man she -wanted to marry," she said. - -"Would the person she wanted to marry," I said, "necessarily be the -right person?" - -"He would be more right for her, whatever the drawbacks, than anyone -else." - -I said I supposed nearly everyone thought they were marrying the right -person, and yet how strangely most marriages turned out. - -"Nothing better than marriage has been invented, all the same," she -said, "and if people marry when they are old enough...." - -"To know better," I said. - -"Yes, it doesn't then turn out so very badly as a rule." - -I said that as things were at present Miss Brandon's life seemed to me -completely wasted. - -"So it is, but it might be worse. It might be a tragedy. Supposing she -married someone who became fond of someone else." - -"She would mind," I said. - -"She would mind terribly." - -I said I thought people always got what they wanted in the long run. -If she wanted a marriage of a definite kind she would probably end by -getting it. - -Mrs. Summer agreed in the main, but she thought that although one often -did get what one wanted in the long run, it often came either too late -or not quite at the moment when one wanted it, or one found when one had -got it that it was after all not quite what one had wanted. - -"Then," I said, "you think it is no use wanting anything?" - -"No use," she said, "no use whatever." - -"You are a pessimist." - -"I am old enough to have no illusions." - -"But you want other people to have illusions?" - -"I think there is such a thing as happiness in the world, and that when -you see someone who might be happy, missing the chance of it, it's a -pity. That's all." - -Then I said: - -"You want other people to want things." - -"Other people? Yes," she said. "Quite dreadfully I want it." - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox came up to us and said: - -"I have won five hundred francs, and I had the courage to leave the -Casino. I can't think what has happened to Jean. I have been looking for -her the whole evening." I left them and went into the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was the morning after the conversation I had with Mrs. Summer that I -received a message from Miss Brandon. She wanted to speak to me. Could I -be, about five o'clock, at the end of the alley? I was punctual at the -rendezvous. - -"I wanted to have a talk," she said, "to-day, if possible, because -to-morrow Aunt Netty has organized an expedition to the lakes, and the -day after we are all going to the races, so I didn't know when I should -see you again." - -"But you are not going away yet, are you?" I asked. - -No, they were not going away, they would very likely stay on till the -end of July. Then there was an idea of Switzerland; or perhaps the -Mozart festival at Munich, followed by a week at Bayreuth. Mr. Rudd -was going to Bayreuth, and had convinced Mrs. Lennox that she was a -Wagnerite. - -"I thought you couldn't be going away yet--but one never knows, here -people disappear so suddenly, and I wanted to see you so particularly -and at once. You are going to finish your cure?" - -I said my time limit was another fortnight. After that I was going back -to my villa at Cadenabbia. - -"Shall you come here next year?" - -I said it depended on my doctor. I asked her her plans. - -"I don't think I shall come back next year." - -There was a slight note of suppressed exultation in her voice. I asked -whether Mrs. Lennox was tired of Haréville. - -"Aunt Netty loves it, better than ever. Mr. Rudd has promised her to -come too." - -There was a long pause. - -"I can't bear it any longer," she said at last. - -"Haréville?" - -"Haréville and all of it--everything." - -There was another long pause. She broke it. - -"You talked to Mabel Summer yesterday?" - -I said we had had a long talk. - -"I'm sure you liked her?" - -I said I had found her delightful. - -"She's my oldest friend, although she's older than I am. Poor Mabel, -she's had a very unhappy life." - -I said one felt in her the sympathy that came from experience. - -"Oh yes, she's so brave; she's wonderful." - -I said I supposed she'd had great disappointments. - -"More than that. Tragedies. One thing after another." - -I asked whether she had any children. - -"Her two little girls both died when they were babies. But it wasn't -that. She'll tell you all about it, perhaps, some day." - -I said I doubted whether we would ever meet again. - -"Mabel always keeps up with everybody she makes friends with. She -doesn't often make new friends. She told me she had made two new friends -here. You and Kranitski." - -"She likes him?" I said. - -"She likes him very much. She's very fastidious, very hard to please, -very critical." - -I said everyone seemed to like Kranitski. - -"Aunt Netty says he's commonplace, but that's because Mr. Rudd said he -was commonplace." - -I said Rudd always had theories about people. - -"You like Mr. Rudd?" she asked. - -I said I did, and reminded her that she had told me she did. - -"If you want to know the truth," she said, "I don't. I think he's -awful." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? A week ago I would have rather -died than admit this to you, but now I don't care. Of course I know he's -a good writer and clever and subtle, and all that--but I've come to the -conclusion----" - -"To what conclusion?" - -"Well, that I don't--that I like the other sort of people better." - -"The stupid people?" - -"No." - -"The clever people?" - -"No." - -"What people?" - -"I don't know. Nice people." - -"People like----" - -"People like Mabel Summer and Princess Kouragine," she interrupted. - -"They are both very clever, I think," I said. - -"Yes, but it's not that that matters." - -I said I thought intelligence mattered a great deal. - -"When it's natural," she said. - -"Do you think people can become religious if they're not?" she asked -suddenly. - -I said that I didn't feel that I could, but it certainly did happen to -some people. - -"I'm afraid it will never happen to me," she said. "I used to hope it -might never happen, but now I hope the opposite. Last night, after you -went in, Aunt Netty took us to the café, and we all sat there: Mr. -Rudd, Mabel, a Frenchman whose name I don't know, and M. Kranitski. -The Frenchman was talking about China, and said he had stayed with a -French priest there. The priest had asked him why he didn't go to Mass. -The Frenchman said he had no faith. The priest had said it was quite -simple, he had only to pray to the Sainte Vierge for faith, _Mon enfant, -c'est bien simple: il faut demander la foi à la Sainte Vierge._ He -said this, imitating the priest, in a falsetto voice. They all laughed -except M. Kranitski, who said, seriously, 'Of course, you should ask the -Sainte Vierge.' When the Frenchman and M. Kranitski went away, Mr. Rudd -said that in matters of religion Russians were childish, and that M. -Kranitski has a _simpliste_ mind." - -I said that Kranitski was obviously religious. - -"Yes," she said, "but to be like that, one must be born like that." - -I said that curious explosions often happened to people. I had heard -people talk of divine dynamite. - -"Yes, but not to the people who want them to happen." - -I said perhaps the method of the French priest in China was the best. - -"Yes, if only one could do it--I can't." - -I said that I felt as she did about these things. - -"I know so many people who are just in the same state," she said. -"Perhaps it's like wishing to be musical when one isn't. But after all -one _does_ change, doesn't one?" - -I said some people did, certainly. When one was in one frame of mind one -couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in another. - -"Yes," she said, "but I suppose there's a difference between being in -one frame of mind and not wishing ever to be in another, and in being in -the same frame of mind but longing to be in another." - -I asked if she knew how long Kranitski was going to stay at Haréville. - -"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it all depends." - -"On his health?" - -"I don't think so. He's quite well." - -"Religion must be all or nothing," I said, going back to the topic. - -"Yes, of course." - -"If I was religious I should----" - -She interrupted me in the middle of my sentence. - -"Mr. Rudd is writing a book," she said. "Aunt Netty asked him what it -was about, and he said it was going to be a private book, a book that he -would only write in his holidays for his own amusement. She asked him -whether he had begun it. He said he was only planning it, but he had -got an idea. He doesn't like Mabel Summer. He thinks she is laughing -at him. She isn't really, but she sees through him. I don't mean he -pretends to be anything he isn't, but she sees all there is to see, -and no more. He likes one to see more. Aunt Netty sees a great deal -more. I see less probably. I'm unfair to him, I know. I know I'm very -intolerant. You are so tolerant." - -I said I wasn't really, but kept my intolerances to myself out of -policy. It was a prudent policy for one in my position. - -"Mr. Rudd adores you," she said. "He says you are so acute, so sensitive -and so sensible." - -I said I was a good listener. - -"Has he told you about his book?" - -I said that he had told me what he had told them. - -"M. Kranitski has such a funny idea about it," she said. - -I asked what the idea was. - -"He thinks he is writing a book about all of us." - -"Who is the heroine?" I asked. - -"Mabel--I think," she said. "She's so pretty. Mr. Rudd admires her. He -said she was like a Tanagra, and I can see she puzzles him. He's afraid -of her." - -"And who is the hero?" I asked. - -"I can't imagine," she said. "I expect he has invented one." - -"Why is the book private?" - -"Because it's about real people." - -"Then we may all of us be in it?" - -"Yes." - -"What made Kranitski think that?" I asked. - -"The way he discusses all our characters. Each person who isn't there -with all the others who are there. For instance, he discusses Princess -Kouragine with Aunt Netty, and Mabel with Princess Kouragine, and you -with all of us; and M. Kranitski says he talks about people like a -stage manager settling what actors must be cast for a particular play. -He checks what one person tells him with what the others say. I have -noticed it myself. He talked to me for hours about Mabel one day, and -after he had discussed Princess Kouragine with us, he asked Mabel what -she thought of her. That is to say, he told her what he thought, and -then asked her if she agreed. I don't think he listened to what she -said. He hardly ever listens. He talks in monologues. But there must be -someone there to listen." - -"You have left out one of the characters," I said. - -"Have I?" - -"The most important one." - -"The hero?" - -"And the heroine." - -"He's sure to invent those." - -"I'm not so sure, I think you have left out the most important -character." - -"I don't think so." - -"I mean yourself." - -"Oh no, that's nonsense; he never pays any attention to me at all. He -doesn't talk about me to Aunt Netty or to the others." - -"Perhaps he has made up his mind." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "that's just it. He has made up his mind. He -thinks I'm a--well, just a lay figure." - -I said I was certain she would not be left out if he was writing that -kind of book. - -She laughed happily--so happily that I imagined her looking radiant and -felt that the lamp was lit. I asked her why she was laughing. - -"I'm laughing," she said, "because in one sense my novel is over--with -the ordinary happy, conventional ending--the reason I wanted to talk to -you to-day was to tell you----" - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox joined us. Miss Brandon's voice passed quite -naturally into another key, as she said: - -"Here is Aunt Netty." - -"I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mrs. Lennox, "I've got a -headache, and we've so many letters to write. When we've done them you -can watch me doing my patience." - -She said these last words as if she was conferring an undeserved reward -on a truant child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Later on in the evening, about six o'clock, as I was drinking a glass -of water in the Pavilion, someone nearly ran into me and was saved from -doing so by the intervention of a stranger who saw at once I was blind, -although the other person had not noticed it. He shepherded me away from -the danger and apologized. He said he supposed I was an Englishman, -and that he was one too. He told me his name was Canning. We talked a -little. He asked me if I was staying at the _Splendide_. I said I was. -He said he had hoped to meet some friends of his, who he had understood -were staying there too, but he could not find their names on the list -of visitors. A Mrs. Lennox, he said, and her niece, Miss Brandon. Did I -know them? I told him they were staying at the hotel; not at the hotel -proper, but at the annexe, which was a separate building. I described -to him where it was. The man's voice struck me. It was so gentle, so -courteous, with a tinge of melancholy in it. I asked him if he was -taking the waters? He said he hadn't settled. He liked watering places. -Then our brief conversation came to an end. - -After dinner, Rudd fetched me and I joined the group. I was introduced -to the stranger I met in the morning: Captain Canning they called him. -Mrs. Summer and Princess Kouragine were sitting with them. They all -talked a great deal, except Miss Brandon, who said little, and Captain -Canning who said nothing. - -The next morning Kranitski met me at the Pavilion, and we talked a great -deal. He was in high spirits and looking forward to an expedition to -the lakes which Mrs. Lennox had organized. He was going with her, Miss -Brandon and others. While we were sitting on a seat in the _Galeries_ -the postman went by with the letters. There was a letter for Kranitski, -and he asked me if I minded his reading it. He read it. There was a -silence and then suddenly he laughed: a short rather mirthless chuckle. -We neither of us said anything for a moment, and I felt, I knew, -something had happened. There was a curious strain in his voice which -seemed to come from another place, as he said: "It is time for my -douche. I shall be late. I will see you this evening." He then left me. -I saw nobody for the rest of the day. - -The next day I saw some of the group in the morning just before -_déjeuner_. Rudd read out a short story to us from a magazine. After -luncheon Rudd came up to my room. He wished to have a talk. He had been -so busy lately. - -"With your book?" I asked. - -"No. I have had no time to touch it," he said. "It's all simmering in my -mind. I daresay I shall never write it at all." - -I asked him who Captain Canning was. He knew all about him. He was the -young man who had once been engaged to Miss Brandon, so Mrs. Lennox had -told him. But it was quite obvious that he no longer cared for her. - -"Then why did he come here?" I asked. - -"He caught fever in India and wanted to consult Doctor Sabran, the great -malaria expert here. He was not staying on. He was going away in a few -days' time. That was one reason. There was another. Donna Maria Alberti, -the beautiful Italian, had been here for a night on her way to Italy. -Canning had met her in Africa and was said to be devoted to her." - -I asked him why he thought Canning no longer cared for Miss Brandon. - -"Because," he said, "if he did he would propose to her at once." - -"But money," I said. - -That was all right now. His uncle had died. He was quite well off. He -could marry if he wanted to. He had not paid the slightest attention to -Miss Brandon. - -"And she?" I asked. - -"He is a different person now to what he was, but she is the same. She -accepts the fact." - -"But does she love anyone else?" - -"Oh! that----" - -"Is 'another story'?" I said. - -"Quite a different story," he said gravely. - -Rudd then left me. He was going out with Mrs. Lennox. Not long after -he had gone, Canning himself came and talked to me. He said he was not -staying long. He had not much leave and there was a great deal he must -do in England. He had come here to see a special doctor who was supposed -to know all about malaria. But he had found this doctor was no longer -here. He had meant to have a holiday, as he liked watering-places--they -amused him--but he found he had had so much to do in England. He kept -on getting so many business letters that he would have to go away much -sooner than he intended. He was going back to South Africa at the end of -the month. - -"I have still got another year out there," he said. "After that I shall -take up the career of a farmer in England, unless I settle in Africa -altogether. It is a wonderful place. I have been so much away that I -hardly feel at home in England now. At least, I think I shall hardly -feel at home there. I only passed through London on my way out here." - -I told him that if he ever came to Italy he must stay with me at -Cadenabbia. He said he would like to come to Italy. He had several -Italian friends. One of them, Donna Maria Alberti, had been here -yesterday, but she had gone. He sat for some time with me, but he did -not talk much. - -After dinner I found the usual group, all but Miss Brandon who had got a -headache, and Kranitski who was playing in the Casino. Canning joined -us for a moment, but he did not stay long. - -The next day I saw nothing of any of the group. There were races going -on not far off, and I had gathered that Mrs. Lennox was going to these. - -It was two or three days after this that Kranitski came up to my room at -ten o'clock in the morning, and asked whether he could see me. He said -he wanted to say "Good-bye," as he was going away. - -"My plans have been changed," he said. "I am going to London, and then -probably to South Africa at the end of the month. I have been making the -acquaintance of that nice Englishman, Canning. I am going with him." - -"Just for the sea voyage?" I asked. - -"No; I shall stay there for a long time. I am _Europamüde_, if you know -what that means--tired of Europe." - -"And of Russia?" I asked. - -"Most of all of Russia," he said. - -"I want to tell you one thing," he went on. "After our meeting the other -day I have been thinking you might think wrong. You are what we call in -Russia very _chutki_, with a very keen scent in impressions. I want -you not to misjudge. You may be thinking the obstacle has come back. It -hasn't. I am free as air, as empty air. That is what I have been wanting -to tell you. If you are understanding, well and good. If you are not -understanding, I can tell you no more. I have enjoyed our acquaintance. -We have not been knowing each other much, yet I know you very well now. -I want to thank you and go." - -I asked him if he would like letters. I said I wrote letters on a -typewriter. - -He said he would. I told him he could write to me if he didn't mind -letters being read out. My sister generally read my letters to me. She -stayed with me whenever she could at Cadenabbia. But now she was busy. - -He said he would write. He didn't mind who read his letters. I told him -I lived all the year in Italy, and very seldom saw anyone, so that I -should have little news to send him. "Tell me what you are thinking," he -said. "That is all the news I want." - -I asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He said, "Yes, -send me any books that Mr. Rudd writes. They would interest me." - -I promised him I would do this. Then he said "Good-bye." He went away by -the seven o'clock train. - -That evening I saw no one. The next morning I learnt that Canning had -gone too. - -Rudd came up to my rooms to see me, but I told Henry I was not well and -he did not let him come in. - -The next morning I talked to Princess Kouragine at the door of the -hotel. She was just leaving. I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"They have gone," said the Princess. "They went last night to Paris. -They are going to Munich and then to Bayreuth. Jean asked me to say -'Good-bye' to you. She said she hopes you will come here next year." - -"Has Rudd gone with them?" I asked. - -"He will meet them at Bayreuth later. He does not love Mozart. And there -is a Mozart festival at Munich." - -I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"The same as before," said the Princess. "The lamp was lit for a moment, -but they put it out. It is a pity. The man behaved well." - -At that moment we were interrupted. I wanted to ask her a great deal -more. But the motor-bus drove up to the door. She said "Good-bye" to me. -She was going to Paris. She would spend the winter at Rome. - -In the afternoon I saw Mrs. Summer, but only for a moment. She told me -Miss Brandon had sent me a lot of messages, and I wanted to ask her -what had happened and how things stood, but she had an engagement. We -arranged to meet and have a long talk the next morning. - -But when the next morning came, I got a message from her, saying she had -been obliged to go to London at once to meet her husband. - -A little later in the day, I received a letter by post from my unmarried -sister, saying she would meet me in Paris and we could both go back to -Italy together. So I decided to do this. I saw Rudd once before I left. -He dined with me on my last night. He said that his holiday was shortly -coming to an end. He would spend three days at Bayreuth and then he -would go back to work. - -"On the Sleeping Beauty?" I asked. - -"No, not on that." He doubted whether he would ever touch that again. -The idea of it had been only a holiday amusement at first. "But now," he -said, "the idea has grown. If I do it, it will have to be a real book, -even if only a short one, a _nouvelle._ The idea is a fascinating one. -The Sleeping Beauty awake and changed in an alien world. Perhaps I may -do it some day. If I do, I will send it to you. In any case I was right -about Miss Brandon. She would be a better heroine for a fairy tale than -for a modern story. She is too emotionless, too calm for a modern novel." - -"I have got another idea," he went on, "I am thinking of writing a story -about a woman who looked as delicate as a flower, and who crushed those -who came into contact with her and destroyed those who loved her. The -idea is only a shadow as yet. But it may come to something. In any case -I must do some regular work at once. I have had a long enough holiday. -I have been wasting my time. I have enjoyed it, it has done me good, -and conversations are never wasted, as they are the breeding ground of -ideas. Sometimes the ideas do not flower for years. But the seed is sown -in talk. I am grateful to you too, and I hope I shall meet you here -again next year. I can't invent anything unless I am in sympathetic -surroundings." - -The next day I left Haréville and met my sister in Paris. We travelled -to Cadenabbia together. - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - - - -PART II - - -FROM THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY. - - -I - - -Two years after I had written these few chapters, I was sent once more -to Haréville. Again I went early in the season. There was nobody left -of the old group I had known during my first visit. Mrs. Lennox and her -niece were not there, and they were not expected. They had spent some -months at Haréville the preceding year. - -I had spent the intervening time in Italy. I had heard once or twice -from Mrs. Summer, and sometimes from Kranitski. He had gone to South -Africa with Canning and had stayed there He liked the country. Miss -Brandon was not yet married. Princess Kouragine I had not seen again. -Rudd I had neither heard from nor of. Apparently he had published one -book since he had been to Haréville and several short stories in -magazines. The book was called _The Silver Sandal_, and had nothing to -do with any of his experiences here or with any of the fancies which -they had called up. It was, on the contrary, a semi-historical romance -of a fantastic nature. - -During the first days of my stay here I made no acquaintances, and I was -already counting on a dreary three weeks of unrelieved dullness when my -doctor here introduced me to Sabran, the malaria specialist, who had -been away during my first cure. - -Dr. Sabran, besides being a specialist with a reverberating reputation -and a widely travelled man of great experience and European culture, had -a different side to his nature which was not even suspected by many of -his patients. - -Under the pseudonym of Gaspard Lautrec he had written some charming -stories and some interesting studies in art and literature. Historical -questions interested him; and still more, the quainter facts of human -nature, psychological puzzles, mysterious episodes, unvisited by-ways, -and baffling and unsolved problems in history, romance and everyday -life. He was a voracious reader, and there was little that had escaped -his notice in the contemporary literature of Europe. - -I found him an extraordinarily interesting companion, and he was kind -enough, busy as I knew him to be, either to come and see me daily, or -to invite me to his house. I often dined with him, and we would remain -talking in his sitting-room till late in the night, while he would tell -me of some of the remarkable things that had come under his notice or -sometimes weave startling and paradoxical theories about nature and man. - -I asked him one day if he knew Rudd's work. He said he admired it, -but it had always struck him as strange that a writer could be as -intelligent as Rudd and yet, at the same time, so obviously _à côté_ -with regard to some of the more important springs and factors of human -nature. - -I asked him what made him think that. - -"All his books," he said, "any of them. I have just been reading his -last book in the Tauchnitz edition, a book of stories, not short -stories: _nouvelles_. It is called _Unfinished Dramas_. I will lend it -you if you like." - -We talked of other things, and I took the book away with me when I went -away. The next day I received a letter from Rudd, sending me a privately -printed story (one of 500 signed copies) called _Overlooked_, which, he -said, completed the series of his "Unfinished Dramas," but which he had -not published for reasons which I would understand. - -Henry read out Rudd's new book to me. There were three stories in the -book. They did not interest me greatly, and I made Henry hurry through -them; but the privately printed story _Overlooked_ was none other than -the story he had thought of writing when we were at Haréville together. - -He had written the story more or less as he had said he had intended -to. All the characters of our old group were in it. Miss Brandon was -the centre, and Kranitski appeared, not as a Swede but as a Russian. I -myself flitted across the scene for a moment. - -The facts which he related were as far as I knew actually those which -had occurred to that group of people during their stay at Haréville two -years ago, but the deductions he drew from them, the causes he gave as -explaining them, seemed to me at least wide of the mark. - -His conception of such of his characters as I knew at all well, and -his interpretation of their motives were, in the cases in which I had -the power of checking them by my own experience, I considered quite -fantastically wrong. - -When I had finished reading the book, I sent it to Sabran, and with it -the MS. I had written two years ago, and I begged the doctor to read -what I had written and to let me know when he had done so, so that we -might discuss both the documents and their relation one to the other and -to the reality. - -(_Note_.--Here, in the bound copy of Anthony Kay's Papers, follows the -story called _Overlooked,_ by James Rudd.) - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By JAMES RUDD. - - -1 - -It was the after-luncheon hour at Saint-Yves-les-Bains. The Pavilion, -with its large tepid glass dome and polished brass fountains, where the -salutary, and somewhat steely, waters flowed unceasingly, the Pompeian -pillared "Galeries" were deserted; so were the trim park with its -kiosk, where a scanty orchestra played rag-time in the morning and in -the evenings; the florid Casino, which denoted the third of the three -styles of architecture that distinguished the appendages of the Hôtel de -La Source, where a dignified, shabby, white Louis-Philippe nucleus was -still to be detected half-concealed and altogether overwhelmed by the -elegant improvements and dainty enlargements of the Second Empire and -the over-ripe _Art Nouveau_ excrescences of a later period. - -Kathleen Farrel had the park to herself. She was reading the _Morning -Post_, which her aunt, Mrs. Knolles, took in for the literary articles, -and which you would find on her table side by side with newspapers and -journals of a widely different and sometimes, indeed, of a startling and -flamboyant character; for Mrs. Knolles was catholic in her ideas and -daring in her tastes. - -Kathleen Farrel was reading listlessly without interest. She had lived -so much abroad that English news had little attraction for her, and she -was no longer young enough to regret missing any of the receptions, -race-meetings, garden-parties, and other social events which she was -idly skimming the record of. For it was now the height of the London -season, but Mrs. Knolles had let the London house in Hill Street. She -always let it every summer, and in the winter as well, whenever she -could find a tenant. - -A paragraph had caught Kathleen's eye and had arrested her attention. -It began thus: "The death has occurred at Monks-well Hall of Sir James -Stukely." - -Sir James Stukely was Lancelot Stukely's uncle. Lancelot would inherit -the baronetcy and a comfortable income. He had left the army some years -ago. He was at present abroad, performing some kind of secretarial -duties to the Governor of Malta. He would give up that job, which was -neither lucrative nor interesting, he would come home, and then---- - -At any rate, he had not altogether forgotten her. His monthly letters -proved that. They had been unfailingly regular. Only--well, for the -last year they had been undefinably different. Ever since that visit -to Cairo. She had heard stories of an attachment, a handsome Italian -lady, who looked like a Renaissance picture and who was said to be -unscrupulous. But she really knew nothing, and Lancelot had always -been so reserved, so reticent; his letters had always been so bald, -almost formal, ever since their brief engagement six years before had -been broken off. Ever since that memorable night in Ireland when she -confessed to her father, who was more than usually violent and had drunk -an extra glass of old Madeira, that she had refused to marry Lancelot. -At first she had asked him not to write, and he had dutifully accepted -the restriction. But later, when her father died, he had written to her -and she had answered his letter. Since then he had written once a month -without fail from India, where his regiment had been quartered, and -then from Malta. But never had there been a single allusion to the past -or to the future. The tone of them would be: "Dear Miss Farrel, We are -having very good sport." Or "Dear Miss Farrel, We went to the opera last -night. It was too classical for me." And they had always ended: "Yours -sincerely, Lancelot Stukely." - -And yet she could not believe he was really different. Was she -different? "Am I perhaps different?" she thought. She dismissed the -idea. What had happened to make her different? Nothing. For the last -five years, ever since her father had died, she had lived the same -life. The winter at her aunt's villa at Bordighera, sometimes a week or -two at Florence, the summer at Saint-Yves-les-Bains, where they lived -in the hotel, on special terms, as Mrs. Knolles was such a constant -client. Never a new note, always the same gang of people round them; -the fashionable cosmopolitan world of continental watering-places, the -English and foreign colonies of the Riviera and North Italy. She had -never met anyone who had roused her interest, and the only persons whose -attention she had seemed to attract were, in her Aunt Elsie's words, -"frankly impossible." - -She would be thirty next year. She already felt infinitely older. "But -perhaps," she thought, "he will come back the same as he was before. He -will propose and I will accept him this time." Why had she refused him? -Their financial situation--her poverty and his own very small income -had had nothing to do with it, because Lancelot had said he was willing -to wait for years, and everyone knew he had expectations. She could not -have left her father, but then her father died a year after she refused -Lancelot. - -No, the reason had been that she thought she did not love him. She -had liked Lancelot, but she hoped for something more and something -different. A fairy prince who would wake her to a different life. As -soon as he had gone away, and still more when his series of formal -letters began, she realized that she had made a mistake, and she had -never ceased to repent her action. The fact was, she said to herself, -I was too young to make such a decision. I did not know my own mind. -If only he had come back when father died. If only he had been a little -more insistent. He had accepted everything without a murmur. And yet now -she felt certain he had been faithful and was faithful still, whatever -anyone might say to the contrary. - -"Perhaps I am altered," she thought. "Perhaps he won't even recognize -me." And yet she knew she did not believe this. For although her Aunt -Elsie used to be seriously anxious about her niece's looks--fearing -anaemia, so much so that they sometimes visited dreary places on the -sea-coasts of England and France--she knew her looks had not altered -sensibly. People still stared at her when she entered a room, for -although there was nothing classical nor brilliant about her features -and her appearance, hers was a face you could not fail to observe -and which it was difficult to forget. It was a face that appealed to -artists. They would have liked to try and paint that clear white, -delicate skin, and those extraordinarily haunting round eyes which -looked violet in some lights and a deep sea-blue in others, and to try -and render the romantic childish glamour of her person, that wistful, -fairy-tale-like expression. It was extraordinary that with such an -appearance she should have been the inspirer of no romance, but so it -was. Painters had admired her; one or two adventurers had proposed to -her; but with the exception of Lancelot Stukely no one had fallen in -love with her. Perhaps she had frightened people. She could not make -conversation. She did not care for books. She knew nothing of art, and -the people her aunt saw--most of whom were foreigners--talked glibly and -sometimes wittily of all these things. - -Kathleen had been born for a country life, and she was condemned to live -in cities and in watering-places. She was insular; though she had lived -a great deal in Ireland, she was not Irish, and she had been cast for a -continental part. She was matter-of-fact, and her appearance promised -the opposite. She was in a sense the victim of her looks, which were so -misleading. - -But perhaps the solution, the real solution of the absence of romance, -or even of suitors, was to be found in her unconquerable listlessness -and apathy. She was, as it were, only half-alive. - -Once, when she was a little girl, she had gone to pick flowers in the -great dark wood near her home, where the trees had huge fantastic -trunks, and gnarled boles, and where in the spring-time the blue-bells -stretched beneath them like an unbroken blue sea. After she had been -picking blue-bells for nearly an hour, she had felt sleepy. She lay down -under the trunk of a tree. A gipsy passed her and asked to tell her -fortune. She had waved her away, as she had no sympathy with gipsies. -The gipsy had said that she would give her a piece of good advice -unasked, and that was, not to go to sleep in the forest on the Eve of -St. John, for if she did she would never wake. She paid no attention -to this, and she dozed off to sleep and slept for about half-an-hour. -She was an obstinate child, and not at all superstitious. When she -got home, she asked the housekeeper when was the Eve of St. John. -It happened to fall on that very day. She said to herself that this -proved what nonsense the gipsies talked, as she had slept, woken up, -come back to the house, and had high tea in the schoolroom as usual. -She never gave the incident another thought; but the housekeeper, who -was superstitious, told one of the maids that Miss Kathleen had been -_overlooked_ by the fairy-folk and would never be quite the same again. -When she was asked for further explanations, she would not give any. But -to all outward appearances Kathleen was the same, and nobody noticed any -difference in her, nor did she feel that she had suffered any change. - -As long as she had lived with her father in Ireland, she had been fairly -lively. She had enjoyed out-door life. The house, a ramshackle, Georgian -grey building, was near the sea, and her father who had been a sailor -used sometimes to take her out sailing. She had ridden and sometimes -hunted. All this she had enjoyed. It was only after she dismissed -Lancelot, who had known her ever since she was sixteen, that the mist -of apathy had descended on her. After her father's death, this mist had -increased in thickness, and when her continental life with her aunt had -began, she had altogether lost any particle of _joie de vivre_ she had -ever had. Nor did she seem to notice it or to regret the past. She never -complained. She accepted her aunt's plans and decisions, and never made -any objection, never even a suggestion or a comment. - -Her aunt was truly fond of her, and she tried to devise treats to please -her, and tried to awaken her interest in things. One year she had -taken Kathleen to Bayreuth, hoping to rouse her interest in music, but -Kathleen had found the music tedious and noisy, although she listened to -it without complaining, and when her aunt suggested going there another -year, she agreed to the suggestion with alacrity. The only thing which -ever roused her interest was horse-racing. Sometimes they went to the -races near Saint-Yves, and then Kathleen would become a different girl. -She would be, as long as the racing lasted, alive for the time being, -and sink back into her dreamless apathy as soon as they were over. - -At the same time, whenever she thought of Lancelot Stukely she felt a -pang of regret, and after reading this paragraph in the _Morning Post_, -she hoped, more than ever she had hoped before, that he would come back, -and come back unchanged and faithful, and that she would be the same for -him as she had been before, and that she would once more be able to -make his slow honest eyes light up and smoulder with love, admiration -and passion. - -"This time I will not make the same mistake," she said to herself. "If -he gives me the chance----" - - - -2 - - -Her reverie was interrupted by the approach of an hotel acquaintance. It -was Anikin, the Russian, who had in the last month become an accepted -and established factor in their small group of hotel acquaintances. -Kathleen had met him first some years ago at Rome, but it was only at -Saint-Yves that she had come to know him. - -As he took off his hat in a hesitating manner, as if afraid of -interrupting her thoughts, she registered the fact that she knew him, -not only better than anyone else at the hotel, but better almost than -anyone anywhere. - -"Would you like a game?" he asked. He meant a game which was provided in -the park for the distraction of the patients. It consisted in throwing -a small ring, attached to a post by a string, on to hooks which were -fixed on an upright sloping board. The hooks had numbers underneath -them, which varied from one to 5,000. - -"Not just at present," she said, "I am waiting for Aunt Elsie. I must -see what she is going to do, but later on I should love a game." - -He smiled and went on. He understood that she wanted to be left alone. -He had that swift, unerring comprehension of the small and superficial -shades of the mind, the minor feelings, social values, and human -relations that so often distinguishes his countrymen. - -He might, indeed, have stepped out of a Russian novel, with his -untidy hair, his short-sighted, kindly eyes, his colourless skin, and -nondescript clothes. Kathleen had never reflected before whether she -liked him or disliked him. She had accepted him as part of the place, -and she had not noticed the easiness of relations with him. It came upon -her now with a slight shock that these relations were almost peculiar -from their ease and naturalness. It was as if she had known him for -years, whereas she had not known him for more than a month. All this -flashed through her mind, which then went back to the paragraph in the -_Morning Post_, when her aunt rustled up to her. - -Mrs. Knolles had the supreme elegance of being smart without looking -conventional, as if she led rather than followed the fashion. There was -always something personal and individual about her Parisian hats, her -jewels, and her cloaks; and there was something rich, daring and exotic -about her sumptuous sombre hair, with its sudden gold-copper glints and -her soft brown eyes. There was nothing apathetic about her. She was -filled to the brim with life, with interest, with energy. She cast a -glance at the _Morning Post_, and said rather impatiently: - -"My dear child, what are you reading? That newspaper is ten days old. -Don't you see it is dated the first?" - -"So it is," said Kathleen apologetically. But that moment a thought -flashed through her: "Then, surely, Lancelot must be on his way home, if -he is not back already." - -"I've brought you your letters," said her aunt. "Here they are." - -Kathleen reached for them more eagerly than usual. She expected to see, -she hoped, at least, to see, Lancelot's rather childish hand-writing, -but both the letters were bills. - -"Mr. Arkright and Anikin are dining with us," said her aunt, "and Count -Tilsit." - -Kathleen said nothing. - -"You don't mind?" said her aunt. - -"Of course not." - -"I thought you liked Count Tilsit." - -"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen. - -Kathleen felt that she had, against her intention, expressed -disappointment, or rather that she had not expressed the necessary -blend of surprise and pleasure. But as Arkright and Anikin dined with -them frequently, and as she had forgotten who Count Tilsit was, this -was difficult for her. Arkright was an English author, who was a friend -of her aunt's, and had sufficient penetration to realize that Mrs. -Knolles was something more than a woman of the world; to appreciate her -fundamental goodness as well as her obvious cleverness, and to divine -that Kathleen's exterior might be in some ways deceptive. - -"You remember him in Florence?" said Mrs. Knolles, reverting to Count -Tilsit. - -"Oh, yes, the Norwegian." - -"A Swede, darling, not a Norwegian." - -"I thought it was the same thing," said Kathleen. - -"I have got a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Knolles. - -Kathleen made an effort to prepare her face. She was determined that it -should reveal nothing. She knew quite well what was coming. - -"Lancelot Stukely is in London," her aunt went on. "He came back just in -time to see his uncle before he died. His uncle has left him everything." - -"Was Sir James ill a long time?" Kathleen asked. - -"I believe he was," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, then I suppose he won't go back to Malta," said Kathleen, with -perfectly assumed indifference. - -"Of course not," said Mrs. Knolles. "He inherits the place, the title, -everything. He will be very well off. Would you like to drive to Bavigny -this afternoon? Princess Oulchikov can take us in her motor if you would -like to go. Arkright is coming." - -"I will if you want me to," said Kathleen. - -This was one of the remarks that Kathleen often made, which annoyed -her aunt, and perhaps justly. Mrs. Knolles was always trying to devise -something that would amuse or distract her niece, but whenever she -suggested anything to her or arranged any expedition or special treat -which she thought might amuse, all the response she met with was a -phrase that implied resignation. - -"I don't want you to come if you would rather not," she said with -beautifully concealed impatience. - -"Well, to-day I _would_ rather not," said Kathleen, greatly to her -aunt's surprise. It was the first time she had ever made such an answer. - -"Aren't you feeling well, darling?" she asked gently. - -"Quite well, Aunt Elsie, I promise," Kathleen said smiling, "but I said -I would sit and talk to Mr. Asham this afternoon." - -Mr. Asham was a blind man who had been ordered to take the waters at -Saint-Yves. Kathleen had made friends with him. - -"Very well," said Mrs. Knolles, with a sigh. "I must go. The motor will -be there. Don't forget we've got people dining with us to-night, and -don't wear your grey. It's too shabby." One of Miss Farrel's practices, -which irritated her aunt, was to wear her shabbiest clothes on an -occasion that called for dress, and to take pains, as it were, not to do -herself justice. - -Her aunt left her. - -Kathleen had made no arrangement with Asham. She had invented the excuse -on the spur of the moment, but she knew he would be in the park in the -afternoon. She wanted to think. She wanted to be alone. If Lancelot had -been in England when Sir James died, then he must have started home at -least a fortnight ago, as the news that she had read was ten days old. -She had not heard from him for over a month. This meant that his uncle -had been ill, he had returned to London, and had experienced a change of -fortune without writing her one word. - -"All the same," she thought, "it proves nothing." - -At that moment a friendly voice called to her. - -"What are you doing all by yourself, Kathleen?" - -It was her friend, Mrs. Roseleigh. Kathleen had known Eva Roseleigh -all her life, although her friend was ten years older than herself and -was married. She was staying at Saint-Yves by herself. Her husband was -engrossed in other occupations and complications besides those of his -business in the city, and of a different nature. Mrs. Roseleigh was -one of those women whom her friends talked of with pity, saying "Poor -Eva!" But "Poor Eva" had a large income, a comfortable house in Upper -Brook Street. She was slight, and elegant; as graceful as a Tanagra -figure, fair, delicate-looking, appealing and plaintive to look at, with -sympathetic grey eyes. Her husband was a successful man of business, and -some people said that the neglect he showed his wife and the publicity -of his infidelities was not to be wondered at, considering the contempt -with which she treated him. It was more a case of "Poor Charlie," they -said, than "Poor Eva." - -Kathleen would not have agreed with these opinions. She was never tired -of saying that Eva was "wonderful." She was certainly a good friend to -Kathleen. - -"Sir James Stukely is plead," said Kathleen. - -"I saw that in the newspaper some time ago. I thought you knew," said -Mrs. Roseleigh. - -"It was stupid of me not to know. I read the newspapers so seldom and so -badly." - -"That means Lancelot will come home." - -"He has come home." - -"Oh, you know then?" - -"Know what?" - -"That he is coming here?" - -Kathleen blushed crimson. "Coming here! How do you know?" - -"I saw his name," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "on the board in the hall of the -hotel, and I asked if he had arrived. They told me they were expecting -him to-night." - -At that moment a tall dark lady, elegant as a figure carved by Jean -Goujon, and splendid as a Titian, no longer young, but still more than -beautiful, walked past them, talking rather vehemently in Italian to a -young man, also an Italian. - -"Who is that?" asked Kathleen. - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "is Donna Laura Bartolini. She is still -very beautiful, isn't she? The man with her is a diplomat." - -"I think," said Kathleen, "she is very striking-looking. But what -extraordinary clothes." - -"They are specially designed for her." - -"Do you know her?" - -"A little. She is not at all what she seems to be. She is, at heart, -matter-of-fact, and domestic, but she dresses like a Bacchante. She has -still many devoted adorers." - -"Here?" - -"Everywhere. But she worships her husband." - -"Is he here?" - -"No, but I think he is coming." - -"I remember hearing about her a long time ago. I think she was at Cairo -once." - -"Very likely, Her husband is an archaeologist, a _savant_." - -Was that the woman, thought Kathleen, to whom Lancelot was supposed to -have been devoted? If so, it wasn't true. She was sure it wasn't true. -Lancelot would never have been attracted by that type of woman, and -yet---- - -"Aunt Elsie has asked a Swede to dinner. Count Tilsit. Do you know him?" - -"I was introduced to him yesterday. He admired you." - -"Do you like him?" - -"I hardly know him. I think he is nice-looking and has good manners and -looks like an Englishman." - -But Kathleen was no longer listening. She was thinking of Lancelot, of -his sudden arrival. What could it mean? Did he know they were here? -The last time he had written was a month ago from London. Had she said -they were coming here? She thought she had. Perhaps she had not. In any -case that would hardly make any difference, as he knew they went abroad -every year, knew they went to Saint-Yves most years, and if he didn't -know, would surely hear it in London. Yes, he must know. Then it meant -either that--or perhaps it meant something quite different. Perhaps -the doctor had sent him to Saint-Yves. He had suffered from attacks of -Malta fever several times. Saint-Yves was good for malaria. There was a -well-known malaria specialist on the medical staff. He might be coming -to consult him. What did she want to be the truth? What did she feel? -She scarcely knew herself. She felt exhilarated, as if life had suddenly -become different, more interesting and strangely irridescent. What -would Lancelot be like? Would he be the same? Or would he be someone -quite different? She couldn't talk about it, not even to Eva, although -Eva had known all about it, and Mrs. Roseleigh with her acute intuition -guessed that, and guessed what Kathleen was thinking about, and said -nothing that fringed the topic; but what disconcerted Kathleen and gave -her a slight quiver of alarm was that she thought she discerned in Eva's -voice and manner the faintest note of pity; she experienced an almost -imperceptible chill in the temperature; an inkling, the ghost of a -warning, as if Eva were thinking. "You mustn't be disappointed if----" -Well, she wouldn't be disappointed _if_. At least nobody should divine -her disappointment: not even Eva. - -Mrs. Roseleigh guessed that her friend wanted to be alone and left her -on some quickly invented pretext. As soon as she was alone Kathleen rose -from her seat and went for a walk by herself beyond the park and through -the village. Then she came back and played a game with Anikin at the -ring board, and at five o'clock she had a talk with Asham to quiet her -conscience. She stayed out late, until, in fact, the motor-bus, which -met the evening express, arrived from the station at seven o'clock. -She watched its arrival from a distance, from the galleries, while she -simulated interest in the shop windows. But as the motor-bus was emptied -of its passengers, she caught no sight of Lancelot. When the omnibus had -gone, and the new arrivals left the scene, she walked into the hall of -the hotel, and asked the porter whether many new visitors had arrived. - -"Two English gentlemen," he said, "Lord Frumpiest and Sir Lancelot -Stukely." She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and even her Aunt -Elsie was satisfied with her appearance that night. She had put on her -sea-green tea-gown: a present from Eva, made in Paris. - -"I wish you always dressed like that," said Mrs. Knolles, as they walked -into the Casino dining-room. "You can't think what a difference it -makes. It's so foolish not to make the best of oneself when it needs so -very little trouble." But Mrs. Knolles had the untaught and unlearnable -gift of looking her best at any season, at any hour. It was, indeed, no -trouble to her; but all the trouble in the world could not help others -to achieve the effects which seemed to come to her by accident. - - - -3 - - -As they walked into the large hotel dining-room, Kathleen was conscious -that everyone was looking at her, except Lancelot, if he was there, and -she felt he _was_ there. Arkright and Count Tilsit were waiting for them -at their table and stood up as they walked in. They were followed almost -immediately by Princess Oulchikov, whose French origin and education -were made manifest by her mauve chiffon shawl, her buckled shoes, and -the tortoise-shell comb in her glossy black hair. Nothing could have -been more unpretentious than her clothes, and nothing more common to -hundreds of her kind, than her single row of pearls and her little -platinum wrist-watch, but the manner in which she wore these things was -French, as clearly and unmistakably French and not Russian, Italian, -or English, as an article signed Jules Lemaître or the ribbons of a -chocolate Easter Egg from the _Passage des Panoramas_. She looked like a -Winterhalter portrait of a lady who had been a great beauty in the days -of the Second Empire. - -Her married life with Prince Oulchikov, once a brilliant and reckless -cavalry officer, and not long ago deceased, after many vicissitudes -of fortune, ending by prosperity, since he had died too soon after -inheriting a third fortune to squander it, as he had managed to squander -two former inheritances, and her at one time prolonged sojourns in the -country of her adoption had left no trace on her appearance. As to -their effect on her soul and mind, that was another and an altogether -different question. - -Mrs. Knolles, whose harmonious draperies of black and yellow seemed to -call for the brush of a daring painter, sat at the further end of the -table next to the window, on her left at the end of the table Arkright, -whom you would never have taken for an author, since his motto was what -a Frenchman once said to a young painter who affected long hair and -eccentric clothes: "_Ne savez-vous pas qu'il faut s'habiller comme tout -le monde et peindre comme personne?_" On his other side sat Princess -Oulchikov; next to her at the end of the table, Kathleen, and then Count -Tilsit (fair, blue-eyed, and shy) on Mrs. Knolles's right. - -Kathleen, being at the end of the table, could not see any of the tables -behind her, but in front of her was a gilded mirror, and no sooner -had they sat down to dinner than she was aware, in this glass, of the -reflection of Lancelot Stukely's back, who was sitting at a table with -a party of people just opposite to them on the other side of the room. -There was nothing more remarkable about Lancelot Stukely's front view -than about his back view, and that, in spite of a certain military -squareness of shoulder, had a slight stoop. He was small and seemed made -to grace the front windows of a club in St. James's Street; everything -about him was correct, and his face had the honest refinement of a -well-bred dog that has been admirably trained and only barks at the -right kind of stranger. - -But the sudden sight of Lancelot transformed Kathleen. It was as if -someone had lit a lamp behind her alabaster mask, and in the effort -to conceal any embarrassment, or preoccupation, she flushed and became -unusually lively and talked to Anikin with a gaiety and an uninterrupted -ease, that seemed not to belong to her usual self. - -And yet, while she talked, she found time every now and then to study -the reflections of the mirror in front of them, and these told her that -Lancelot was sitting next to Donna Laura Bartolini. The young man she -had seen talking to Donna Laura was there also. There were others whom -she did not know. - -Mrs. Knolles was busily engaged in thawing the stiff coating of ice -of Count Tilsit's shyness, and very soon she succeeded in putting him -completely at his ease; and Arkright was trying to interest Princess -Oulchikov in Japanese art. But the Princess had lived too long in Russia -not to catch the Slav microbe of indifference, and she was a woman -who only lived by half-hours. This half-hour was one of her moment -of eclipse, and she paid little attention to what Arkright said. He, -however, was habituated to her ways and went on talking. - -Mrs. Knolles was surprised and pleased at her niece's behaviour. Never -had she seen her so lively, so gay. - -"Miss Farrel is looking extraordinarily well to-night," Arkright said, -in an undertone, to the Princess. - -"Yes," said Princess Oulchikov, "she is at last taking waters from -the right _source._" She often made cryptic remarks of this kind, and -Arkright was puzzled, for Kathleen never took the waters, but he knew -the Princess well enough not to ask her to explain. Princess Oulchikov -made no further comment. Her mind had already relapsed into the land of -listless limbo which it loved to haunt. - -Presently the conversation became general. They discussed the races, the -troupe at the Casino Theatre, the latest arrivals. - -"Lancelot Stukely is here," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," said Kathleen, with great calm, "dining with Donna Laura -Bartolini." - -"Oh, Laura's arrived," said Mrs. Knolles. "I am glad. That is good news. -What fun we shall all have together. Yes. There she is, looking lovely. -Don't you think she's lovely?" she said to Arkright and the Princess. - -Arkright admired Donna Laura unreservedly. Princess Oulchikov said she -would no doubt think the same if she hadn't known her thirty years ago, -and then "those clothes," she said, "don't suit her, they make her look -like an _art nouveau_ poster." Anikin said he did not admire her at all, -and as for the clothes, she was the last person who should dare those -kind of clothes; her beauty was conventional, she was made for less -fantastic fashions. He looked at Kathleen. He was thinking that her type -of beauty could have supported any costume, however extravagant; in fact -he longed to see her draped in shimmering silver and faded gold, with -strange stones in her hair. Count Tilsit, who was younger than anyone -present, said he found her young. - -"She is older than you think," said Princess Oulchikov. "I remember her -coming out in Rome in 1879." - -"Do you think she is over fifty?" said Kathleen. - -"I do not think it, I am sure," said the Princess. - -"Her figure is wonderful," said Mrs Knolles. - -"Was she very beautiful then?" asked Anikin. - -"The most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said the Princess. "People -stood on chairs to look at her one night at the French Embassy. It is -cruel to see her dressed as she is now." - -Count Tilsit opened his clear, round, blue eyes, and stared first at -the Princess and then at Donna Laura. It was inconceivable to his young -Scandinavian mind that this radiant and dazzling creature, dressed up -like the Queen in a Russian ballet, could be over fifty. - -"To me, she has always looked exactly the same," said Arkright. "In -fact, I admire her more now than I did when I first knew her fifteen -years ago." - -"That is because you look at her with the eyes of the past," said the -Princess, "but not of a long enough past, as I do. When you first saw -her you were young, but when I first saw her _she_ was young. That makes -all the difference." - -"I think she is very beautiful now," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"And so do I," said Kathleen. "I could understand anyone being in love -with her." - -"That there will always be people in love with her," said the Princess, -"and young people. She has charm as well as beauty, and how rare that -is!" - -"Yes," said Anikin, pensively, "how rare that is." - -Kathleen looked at the mirror as if she was appraising Donna Laura's -beauty, but in reality it was to see whether Lancelot was talking to -her. As far as she could see he seemed to be rather silent. General -conversation, with a lot of Italian intermixed with it, was going up -from the table like fireworks. Kathleen turned to Count Tilsit and made -conversation to him, while Anikin and the Princess began to talk in a -passionately argumentative manner of all the beauties they had known. -The Princess had come to life once more. Mrs. Knolles, having done her -duty, relapsed into a comfortable conversation with Arkright. They -understood each other without effort. - -The Italian party finished their dinner first, and went out on to the -terrace, and as they walked out of the room the extraordinary dignity -of Donna Laura's carriage struck the whole room. Whatever anyone might -think of her looks now, there was no doubt that her presence still -carried with it the authority that only great beauty, however much it -may be lessened by time, confers. - -"_Elle est encore très belle_," said Princess Oulchikov, voicing the -thoughts of the whole party. - -Mrs. Knolles suggested going out. Shawls were fetched and coffee was -served just outside the hotel on a stone terrace. - -Soon after they had sat down, Lancelot Stukely walked up to them. He was -not much changed, Kathleen thought. A little grey about the temples, -a little bit thinner, and slightly more tanned--his face had been -burnt in the tropics--but the slow, honest eyes were the same. He said -how-do-you-do to Mrs. Knolles and to herself, and was presented to the -others. - -Mrs. Knolles asked him to sit down. - -"I must go back presently," he said, "but may I stay a minute?" - -He sat down next to Kathleen. - -They talked a little with pauses in between their remarks. She did not -ask him how long he was going to stay, but he explained his arrival. He -had come to consult the malaria specialist. - -"We have all been discussing Donna Laura Bartolini," said Mrs. Knolles. -"You were dining with her?" - -"Yes," he said, "she is an old friend of mine. I met her first at Cairo." - -"Is she going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"No," he said, "she is only passing through on her way to Italy. She -leaves for Ravenna to-morrow morning." - -"She is looking beautiful," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful, isn't she?" - -Then he got up. - -"I hope we shall meet again to-morrow," he said to Kathleen and to Mrs. -Knolles. - -"Are you staying on?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I only wanted to see the doctor. I have got to go -back to England at once. I have got so much business to do." - -"Of course," said Mrs. Knolles. "We will see you to-morrow. Will you -come to the lakes with us?" - -Lancelot hesitated and then said that he, alas, would be busy all day -to-morrow. He had an appointment with the doctor--he had so little time. - -He was slightly confused in his explanations. He then said good-night, -and went back to his party. They were sitting at a table under the trees. - -Kathleen felt relieved, unaccountably relieved, that he had gone, and -she experienced a strange exhilaration. It was as if a curtain had been -lifted up and she suddenly saw a different and a new world. She had -the feeling of seeing clearly for the first time for many years. She -saw quite plainly that as far as Lancelot was concerned, the past was -completely forgotten. She meant nothing to him at all. He was the same -Lancelot, but he belonged to a different world. There were gulfs and -gulfs between them now. He had come here to see Donna Laura for a few -hours. He had not minded doing this, although he knew that he would meet -Kathleen. He had told her himself that he knew he would meet her. He -had mentioned the rarity of his letters lately. He had been so busy, and -then all that business ... his uncle's death. - -The situation was quite simple and quite clear. But the strange thing -was that, instead of feeling her life was over, as she had expected to -feel, she felt it was, on the contrary, for the first time beginning. - -"I have been waiting for years," she thought to herself, "for this fairy -Prince, and now I see that he was not the fairy Prince, after all. But -this does not mean I may not meet the fairy Prince, the _real_ one," and -her eyes glistened. - -She had never felt more alive, more ready for adventure. Anikin -suggested that they should all walk in the garden. It was still -daylight. They got up. The Princess, Arkright, Mrs. Knolles, and Count -Tilsit walked down the steps first, and passed on down an avenue. - -Kathleen delayed until the others walked on some way, and then she said -to Anikin, who was waiting for her: - -"Let us stay and talk here. It is quieter. We can go for a walk -presently." - - - -4 - - -They did not stay long on the terrace. As soon as they saw which -direction the rest of the party had taken they took another. They walked -through the hotel gates across the street as far as a gate over which -_Bellevue_ was written. They had never been there before. It was an -annexe of the hotel, a kind of detached park. They climbed up the hill -and passed two deserted and unused lawn-tennis courts and a dusty track -once used for skittles, and emerged from a screen of thick trees on to a -little plateau. Behind them was a row of trees and a green corn-field, -beneath them a steep slope of grass. They could see the red roofs of the -village, the roofs of the hotels, the grey spire of the village church, -the park, the green plain and, in the distance rising out of the green -corn, a large flat-topped hill. The long summer daylight was at last -fading away. The sky was lustrous and the air was quite still. - -The fields and the trees had that peculiar deep green they take on in -the twilight, as if they had been dyed by the tints of the evening. -Anikin said it reminded him of Russia. - -Kathleen had wrapped a thin white shawl round her, and in the dimness -of the hour she looked as white as a ghost, but in the pallor of her -face her eyes shone like black diamonds. Anikin had never seen her look -like that. And then it came to him that this was the moment of moments. -Perhaps the moon had risen. The cloudless sky seemed all of a sudden to -be silvered with a new light. There was a dry smell of sun-baked roads -and of summer in the air, and no sound at all. - -They had sat down on the bench and Kathleen was looking straight in -front of her out into the west, where the last remains of the sunset had -faded some time ago. - -This Anikin felt was the sacred minute; the moment of fate; the -imperishable instant which Faust had asked for even at the price of his -soul, but which mortal love had always denied him. In a whisper he asked -Kathleen to be his wife. She got up from the seat and said very slowly: - -"Yes, I will marry you." - -The words seemed to be spoken for her by something in her that was not -herself, and yet she was willing that they should be spoken. She seemed -to want all this to happen, and yet she felt that it was being done for -her, not of her own accord, but by someone else. Her eyes shone like -stars. But as he touched her hand, she still felt that she was being -moved by some alien spirit separate from herself and that it was not she -herself that was giving herself to him. She was obeying some exterior -and foreign control which came neither from him nor from her--some -mysterious outside influence. She seemed to be looking on at herself as -she was whirled over the edge of a planet, but she was not making the -effort, nor was it Anikin's words, nor his look, nor his touch, that -were moving her. He had taken her in his arms, and as he kissed her they -heard footsteps on the path coming towards them. The spell was broken, -and they gently moved apart one from the other. It was he who said -quietly: - -"We had better go home." - -Some French people appeared through the trees round the corner. A -middle-aged man in a nankin jacket, his wife, his two little girls. -They were acquaintances of Anikin and of Kathleen. It was the man who -kept a haberdasher's shop in the _Galeries_. Brief mutual salutations -passed and a few civilities were bandied, and then Kathleen and Anikin -walked slowly down the hill in silence. It had grown darker and a little -chilly. There was no more magic in the sky. It was as if someone had -somewhere turned off the light on which all the illusion of the scene -had depended. They walked back into the park. The band was playing an -undulating tango. Mrs. Knolles and the others were sitting on chairs -under the trees. Anikin and Kathleen joined them and sat down. Neither -of them spoke much during the rest of the evening. Presently Mrs. -Roseleigh joined them. She looked at Kathleen closely and there was a -slight shade of wonder in her expression. - -The next day Mrs. Knolles had organized an expedition to the lakes. -Kathleen, Anikin, Arkright, Princess Oulchikov and Count Tilsit were -all of the party. When they reached the first lake, they separated into -groups, Anikin and Kathleen, Count Tilsit and Mrs. Roseleigh, while -Arkright went with the Princess and Mrs. Knolles. - -Ever since the moment of magic at Bellevue, Kathleen had been like a -person in a trance. She did not know whether she was happy or unhappy. -She only felt she was being irresistibly impelled along a certain -course. It is certain that her strange state of mind affected Anikin. It -began to affect him from the moment he had held her in his arms on the -hill and that the spell had so abruptly been broken. He had thought this -had been due to the sudden interruption and the untimely intervention -of the prosaic realities of life. But was this the explanation? Was it -the arrival of the haberdasher on the scene that had broken the spell? -Or was it something else? Something far more subtle and mysterious, -something far more serious and deep? - -Curiously enough Anikin had passed through, on that memorable evening, -emotions closely akin to those which Kathleen had experienced. He said -to himself: "This is the Fairy Princess I have been seeking all my -life." But the morning after his moment of passion on the hill he began -to wonder whether he had dreamed this. - -And now that he was walking beside her along the broad road, under the -trees of the dark forest, through which, every now and then, they caught -a glimpse of the blue lake, he reflected that she was like what she had -been _before_ the decisive evening, only if anything still more aloof. -He began to feel that she was eluding him and that he was pursuing a -shadow. Just as he was thinking this ever so vaguely and tentatively, -they came to a turn in the road. They were at a cross-roads and they did -not know which road to take. They paused a moment, and from a path on -the side of the road the other members of the party emerged. - -There was a brief consultation, and they were all mixed up once more. -When they separated, Anikin found himself with Mrs. Roseleigh. Mrs. -Knolles had sent Kathleen on with Count Tilsit. - -Anikin was annoyed, but his manners were too good to allow him to show -it. They walked on, and as soon as they began to talk Anikin forgot his -annoyance. They talked of one thing and another and time rushed past -them. This was the first time during Anikin's acquaintance with Mrs. -Roseleigh that he had ever had a real conversation with her. He all at -once became aware that they had been talking for a long time and talking -intimately. His conscience pricked him; but, so far from wanting to -stop, he wanted to go on; and instead of their intimacy being accidental -it became on his part intentional. That is to say, he allowed himself to -listen to all that was not said, and he sent out himself silent wordless -messages which he felt were received instantly on an invisible aerial. - -For the moment he put all thoughts of what had happened away from him, -and gave himself up to the enchantment of understanding and being -understood so easily, so lightly. He put up his feet and coasted down -the long hill of a newly discovered intimacy. - -Presently there was a further meeting and amalgamation of the group as -they reached a famous view, and the party was reshuffled. This time -Anikin was left to Kathleen. Was it actually disappointment he was -feeling? Surely not; and yet he could not reach her. She was further off -than ever and in their talk there were long silences, during which he -began to reflect and to analyse with the fatal facility of his race for -what is their national moral sport. - -He reflected that except during those brief moments on the hill he had -never seen Kathleen alive. He had known her well before, and their -friendship had always had an element of easy sympathy about it, but -she had never given him a glimpse of what was happening behind her -beautiful mask, and no unspoken messages had passed between them. But -just now during that last walk with Mrs. Roseleigh, he recognized only -too clearly that notes of a different and a far deeper intimacy had -every now and then been struck accidently and without his being aware -of it at first, and then later consciously, and the response had been -instantaneous and unerring. - -And something began to whisper inside him: "What if she is not the -Fairy Princess after all, not your Fairy Princess?" And then there came -another more insidious whisper which said: "Your Fairy Princess would -have been quite different, she would have been like Mrs. Roseleigh, and -now that can never be." - -The expedition, after some coffee at a wayside hotel, came to an end -and they drove home in two motor cars. - -Once more he was thrown together with Mrs. Roseleigh, and once more -the soul of each of them seemed to be fitted with an invisible aerial -between which soundless messages, which needed neither visible channel -nor hidden wire, passed uninterruptedly. - -Anikin came back from that expedition a different man. All that night -he did not sleep. He kept on repeating to himself: "It was a mistake. -I do not love her. I can never love her. It was an illusion: the spell -and intoxication of a moment." And then before his eyes the picture of -Mrs. Roseleigh stood out in startling detail, her melancholy, laughing, -mocking eyes, her quick nervous laugh, her swift flashes of intuition. -How she understood the shade of the shadow of what he meant! - -And that mocking face seemed to say to him: "You have made a mistake -and you know it. You were spellbound for a moment by a face. It is a -ravishing face, but the soul behind it is not your soul. You do not -understand one another. You never will understand one another. There is -an unpassable gulf between you. Do not make the mistake of sacrificing -your happiness and hers as well to any silly and hollow phrases of -honour. Do not follow the code of convention, follow the voice of your -heart, your instincts that cannot go wrong. Tell her before it is too -late. And she, she does not love you. She never will love you. She was -spellbound, too, for the moment. But you have only to look at her now -to see that the spell is broken and it will never come back, at least -you will never bring it back. She is English, English to the core, -although she looks like the illustration to some strange fairy-tale, and -you are a Slav. You cannot do without Russian comfort, the comfort of -the mind, and she cannot do without English solidity. She will marry a -squire or, perhaps, who knows, a man of business; but someone solid and -rooted to the English soil and nested in the English conventions. What -can you give her? Not even talent. Not even the disorder and excitement -of a Bohemian life; only a restless voyage on the surface of life, -and a thousand social and intellectual problems, only the capacity of -understanding all that does not interest her." - -That is what the conjured-up face of Mrs. Roseleigh seemed to say to him. - -It was not, he said to himself, that he was in love or that he ever -would be in love with Mrs. Roseleigh. It was only that she had, by her -quick sympathy, revealed his own feelings to himself. She had by her -presence and her conversation given him the true perspective of things -and let him see them in their true light, and in that perspective and in -that light he saw clearly that he had made a mistake. He had mistaken -a moment of intoxication for the authentic voice of passion. He had -pursued a shadow. He had tried to bring to life a statue, and he had -failed. - -Then he thought that he was perhaps after all mistaken, that the next -morning he would find that everything was as it had been before; but -he did not sleep, and in the clear light of morning he realized quite -clearly that he did not love Kathleen. - -What was he to do? He was engaged to be married. Break it off? Tell her -at once? It sounded so easy. It was in reality--it would be to him at -any rate--so intensely difficult. He hated sharp situations. - -He felt that his action had been irrevocable: that there was no way out -of it. The chain around him was as thin as a spider's web. But would -he have the necessary determination to make the effort of will to snap -it? Nothing would be easier. She would probably understand. She would -perhaps help him, and yet he felt he would never be able to make the -slight gesture which would be enough to free him for ever from that -delicate web of gossamer. - - - -5 - - -When Anikin got up after his restless and sleepless night he walked out -into the park. The visitors were drinking the waters in the Pavilion -and taking monotonous walks between each glass. Asham was sitting in -a chair under the trees. His servant was reading out the _Times_ to -him. Anikin smiled rather bitterly to himself as he reflected how many -little dramas, comedies and tragedies might be played in the immediate -neighbourhood of that man without his being aware even of the smallest -hint or suggestion of them. He sat down beside him. The servant left -off reading and withdrew. - -"Don't let me interrupt you," said Anikin, but after a few moments -he left Asham. He found he was unable to talk and went back to the -hotel, where he drank his coffee and for a time he sat looking at the -newspapers in the reading room of the Casino. Then he went back to the -park. One thought possessed him, and one only. How was he to do it? -Should he say it, or write? And what should he say or write? He caught -sight of Arkright who was in the park by himself. He strolled up to him -and they talked of yesterday's expedition. Arkright said there were -some lakes further off than those they had visited, which were still -more worth seeing. They were thinking of going there next week--perhaps -Anikin would come too. - -"I'm afraid not," said Anikin. "My plans are changed. I may have to go -away." - -"To Russia?" asked Arkright. - -"No, to Africa, perhaps," said Anikin. - -"It must be delightful," said Arkright, "to be like that, to be able to -come and go when one wants to, just as one feels inclined, to start at -a moment's notice for Rome or Moscow and to leave the day after one has -arrived if one wishes to--to have no obligations, no ties, and to be at -home everywhere all over Europe." - -Arkright thought of his rather bare flat in Artillery Mansions, the -years of toil before a newspaper, let alone a publisher, would look at -any of his manuscripts, and then the painful, slow journey up the stairs -of recognition and the meagre substantial rewards that his so-called -reputation, his "place" in contemporary literature, had brought him; he -thought of all the places he had not seen and which he would give worlds -to see--Rome, Venice, Russia, the East, Spain, Seville; he thought of -what all that would mean to him, of the unbounded wealth which was there -waiting for him like ore in quarries in which he would never be allowed -to dig; he reflected that he had worked for ten years before ever being -able to go abroad at all, and that his furthest and fullest adventure -had been a fortnight spent one Easter at a fireless Pension in Florence. -Whereas here was this rich and idle Russian who, if he pleased, could -roam throughout Europe from one end to the other, who could take an -apartment in Rome or a palace in Venice, for whom all the immense spaces -of Russia were too small, and who could talk of suddenly going to -Africa, as he, Arkright, could scarcely talk of going to Brighton. - -"Life is very complicated sometimes," said Anikin. "Just when one -thinks things are settled and simple and easy, and that one has turned -over a new leaf of life, like a new clean sheet of blotting-paper, one -suddenly sees it is not a clean sheet; blots from the old pages come -oozing through--one can't get rid of the old sheets and the old blots. -All one's life is written in indelible ink--that strong violet ink which -nothing rubs out and which runs in the wet but never fades. The past is -like a creditor who is always turning up with some old bill that one -has forgotten. Perhaps the bill was paid, or one thought it was paid, -but it wasn't paid--wasn't fully paid, and there the interest has gone -on accumulating for years. And so, just as one thinks one is free, one -finds oneself more caught than ever and obliged to cancel all one's new -speculations because of the old debts, the old ties. That is what you -call the wages of sin, I think. It isn't always necessarily what you -would call a sin, but is the wages of the past and that is just as bad, -just as strong at any rate. They have to be paid in full, those wages, -one day or other, sooner or later." - -Arkright had not been an observer of human nature and a careful student -of minute psychological shades and impressions for twenty years for -nothing. He had had his eyes wide open during the last weeks, and Mrs. -Knolles had furnished him with the preliminary and fundamental data of -her niece's case. He felt quite certain that something had taken place -between Anikin and Kathleen. He felt the peculiar, the unmistakeable -relation. And now that the Russian had served him up this neat discourse -on the past he knew full well that he was not being told the truth. -Anikin was suddenly going away. A week ago he had been perfectly happy -and obviously in an intimate relation to Miss Farrel. Now he was -suddenly leaving, possibly to Africa. What had happened? What was the -cause of this sudden change of plan? He wanted to get out of whatever -situation he found himself bound by. But he also wanted to find for -others, at any rate, and possibly for himself as well, some excuse -for getting out of it. And here the fundamental cunning and ingenious -subtlety of his race was helping him. He was concocting a romance which -might have been true, but which was, as a matter of fact, untrue. He was -adding "the little more." He was inventing a former entanglement as an -obstacle to his present engagements which he wanted to cancel. - -Arkright knew that there had been a former entanglement in Anikin's -life, but what Anikin did not know was that Arkright also knew that this -entanglement was over. - -"It is very awkward," said Arkright, "when the past and the present -conflict." - -"Yes," said Anikin, "and very awkward when one is between two duties." - -I think I have got him there, thought Arkright. "A French writer," -he said aloud, "has said, '_de deux devoirs, il faut choisir le plus -désagréable_; that in chosing the disagreeable course you were likely to -be right." - -Anikin remained pensive. - -"What I find still more complicated," he said, "is when there is a -right reason for doing a thing, but one can't use it because the right -reason is not the real reason; there is another one as well." - -"For doing a duty," said Arkright. "Is that what you mean?" - -"There are circumstances," said Anikin, "in which one could point to -duty as a motive, but in which the duty happens to be the same as one's -inclinations, and if one took a certain course it would not be because -of the duty but because of the inclinations. So one can't any more talk -or think of duty." - -"Then," said Arkright, a little impatiently, "we can cancel the word -duty altogether. It is simply a case of choosing between duty and -inclination." - -"No," said Anikin, "it is sometimes a case of choosing between a -pleasure which is not contrary to duty (_et qui pourrait même avoir -l'excuse du devoir_)" he lapsed into French, which was his habit when -he found it difficult to express himself in English, "and an obligation -which is contrary both to duty and inclination." - -"What is the difference between an obligation and a duty?" asked -Arkright. He wished to pin the elusive Slav down to something definite. - -"Isn't there in life often a conflict between them?" asked Anikin. "In -practical life, I mean. You know Tennyson's lines: - - "His honour rooted in dishonour stood - And faith unfaithful made him falsely true." - -"Now I understand," thought Arkright, "he is going to pretend that he is -in the position of Lancelot to Elaine, and plead a prior loyalty to a -Guinevere that no longer counts." - -"I think," he said, "in that case one cannot help remaining 'falsely -true.'" That is, he thought, what he wants me to say. - -"One cannot, that is to say, disregard the past," said Anikin. - -"No, one can't," said Arkright, as if he had entirely accepted the -Russian's complicated fiction. - -He wanted, at the same time, to give him a hint that he was not quite so -easily deceived as all that. - -"Isn't it a curious thought," he said, "how often people invoke the -engagements of a past which they have comfortably disregarded up to -that moment when they no longer wish to face an obligation in the -present, like a man who in order to avoid meeting a new debt suddenly -points to an old debt as something sacred, which up till that moment he -had completely disregarded, and indeed, forgotten?" - -Anikin laughed. - -"Why are you laughing?" asked Arkright. - -"I am laughing at your intuition," said Anikin. "You novelists are -terrible people." - -"He knows I have seen through him," thought Arkright, "and he doesn't -mind. He wanted me to see through him the whole time. He wants me to -know that he knows I know, and he doesn't mind. I think that all this -elaborate romance was perhaps only meant for me. He will choose some -simpler means of breaking off his engagement with Miss Farrel than by -pleading a past obligation. He is far subtler and deeper than I thought, -subtler and deeper in his simplicity. I should not be surprised if he -were to give her no explanation whatsoever." - -Arkright was in a sense right. What Anikin had said to Arkright was -meant for him and not for Miss Farrel. It was not a rehearsal of a -possible explanation for her, but it was the testing of a possible -justification of himself to himself. He had not thought out what he was -going to say before he began to talk to Arkright. He had begun with -fact and had involuntarily embroidered the fact with fiction. It was -_Wahrheit und Dichtung_ and the _Dichtung_ had got the better of the -_Wahrheit_. His passion for make-belief and self-analysis had carried -him away, and he had said things which might easily have been true and -had hinted at difficulties which might have been his, but which, in -reality, were purely imaginary. When he saw that Arkright had divined -the truth, he laughed at the novelist's acuteness, and had let him see -frankly that he realized he had been found out and that he did not mind. - -It was cynical, if you called that cynicism. Anikin would not have -called it something else: the absence of cement, which a Russian writer -had said was the cardinal feature of the Russian character. He did -not mean to say or do anything to Kathleen that could possibly seem -slighting. He was far too gentle and far too easy-going, far too weak, -if you will, to dream of doing anything of the kind. With her, infinite -delicacy would be needed. He did not know whether he could break off -his engagement at all, so great was his horror of ruptures, of cutting -Gordian-knots. This knot, in any case, could not be cut. It must be -patiently unravelled if it was to be untied at all. - -"I think," said Arkright, "that all these cases are simple to reason -about, but difficult to act on." Anikin was once more amazed at the -novelist's perception. He laughed again, the same puzzling, quizzical -_Slav_ laugh. - -"You Russians," said Arkright, "find all these complicated questions of -conflicting duties, divided conscience and clashing obligations, much -easier than we do." - -"Why?" asked Anikin. - -"Because you have a simple directness in dealing with subtle questions -of this kind which is so complete and so transparent that it strikes us -Westerners as being sometimes almost cynical." - -"Cynical?" said Anikin. "I assure you I was not being cynical." - -He said this smiling so naturally and frankly that for a moment Arkright -was puzzled. And Anikin had been quite honest in saying this. He could -not have felt less cynical about the whole matter; at the same time -he had not been able to help taking momentary enjoyment in Arkright's -acute diagnosis of the case when it was put to him, and at his swift -deciphering of the hieroglyphics and his skilful diagnosis, and he had -not been able to help conveying the impression that he was taking a -light-hearted view of the matter, when, in reality, he was perplexed -and distressed beyond measure; for he still had no idea of what he was -to do, and the threads of gossamer seemed to bind him more tightly than -ever. - - - -6 - - -Anikin strolled away from Arkright, and as he walked towards the -Pavilion he met Mrs. Roseleigh. She saw at a glance that he had a -confidence to unload, and she determined to take the situation in hand, -to say what she wanted to say to him before he would have time to say -anything to her. After he had heard what she had to say he would no -longer want to make any more confidences, and if he did, she would know -how to deal with them. They strolled along the _Galeries_ till they -reached a shady seat where they sat down. - -"You are out early," he said, "I particularly wanted----" - -"I particularly wanted to see you this morning," she said. "I wanted to -talk to you about Lancelot Stukely. You know his story?" - -"Some of it," said Anikin. - -"He is going away." - -"Because of Donna Laura?" - -"Oh, it's not that." - -"I thought he was devoted to her." - -"He likes her. He thinks she's a very good sort. So she is, but she's a -lot of other things too." - -"He doesn't know that?" - -"No, he doesn't know that." - -"You know how he wanted to marry Kathleen Farrel?" she said, after a -moment's pause. - -"Yes," said Anikin, "I heard a little about it." - -"It was impossible before." - -"Because of money?" - -"Yes, but now it is possible. He's been left money," she explained. -"He's quite well off, he could marry at once." - -"But if he doesn't want to?" - -"He does want to, that is just it." - -"Then why not? Because Miss Farrel does not like him?" - -"Kathleen _does_ like him _really_; at least she would like him -really--only--" - -"There has been a misunderstanding," said Mrs. Roseleigh. She put an -anxious note into her voice, slightly lowering it, and pressing down as -it were the soft pedal of sympathy and confidential intimacy. - -"They have both misunderstood, you see; and one misunderstanding has -reacted on the other. Perhaps you don't know the whole story?" - -"Do tell it me," he said. Once more he had the sensation of coasting or -free-wheeling down a pleasant hill of perfect companionship. - -"Many years ago," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "she was engaged to Lancelot -Stukely. She wouldn't marry him because she thought she couldn't leave -her father. She couldn't have left him then. He depended on her for -everything. But he died, and Lancelot, who was away, didn't come back -and didn't write. He didn't dare, poor man! It was very silly of him. -He thought he was too poor to offer her to share his poverty, but she -wouldn't have minded. Anyhow he waited and time passed, and then the -other day his uncle died and left him money, and he came back at once, -and came here at once, to see her, not to see Donna Laura. That was just -an accident, Donna Laura being here, but when he came here he thought -Kathleen no longer cared, so he decided to go away without saying -anything. - -"Kathleen had been longing for him to come back, had been expecting him -to come back for years. She had been waiting for years. She was not -normal from excitement, and then she had a shock and disappointment. She -was not, you see, herself. She was susceptible to all influences. She -was magnetic for the moment, ready for an electric disturbance; she was -like a watch that is taken near a dynamo on board ship, it makes it go -wrong. And now she realizes that she is going wrong and that she won't -go right till she is demagnetized." - -"Ah!" said Anikin, "she realizes." - -"You see," said Mrs. Roseleigh gently, "it wasn't anyone's fault. It -just happened." - -"And how will she be demagnetized?" asked Anikin. - -"Ah, that is just it," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "We must all try and help -her. We must all try to show her that we want to help. To show her that -we understand." - -Anikin wondered whether Mrs. Roseleigh was speaking on a full knowledge -of the case, or whether she knew something and had guessed the rest. - -"I suppose," he said, "you have always known what has happened to Miss -Farrel?" - -"I know everything that has happened to Kathleen," she said. "You see, I -have known her for years. She's my best friend. And now I can judge just -as well from what she doesn't say, as from what she says. She always -tells me enough for it not to be necessary to tell me any more. If it -was necessary, if I had any doubt, I could, and should always ask." - -"Then you think," said Anikin, "that she will marry Stukely?" - -"In time, yes; but not at once." - -Anikin remembered Stukely's conduct and was puzzled. - -"I am sure," he said, "that since he has been here he has made no -effort." - -"Of course he didn't," she said, "He saw that it was useless. He knew at -once." - -"Is he that kind of man, that knows at once?" - -"Yes, he's that kind of man. He saw directly; directly he saw her, and -he didn't say a word. He just settled to go." - -Anikin felt this was difficult to believe; all the more difficult -because he wanted to believe it. Was Mrs. Roseleigh making it easy, too -easy? - -"But he's going back to Africa," he said. - -"How do you know?" she asked. - -"He told Mr. Asham, and he told me." - -"He will go to London first. Kathleen will not stay here much longer -either. I am going soon to London, too, and I shall see Lancelot Stukely -there before he goes away, and do my best. And if you see him----" - -"Before he goes?" - -"Before he goes," she went on, "if you see him, perhaps you could help -too, not by saying anything, of course, but sometimes one can help----" - -"I have a dread," said Anikin, "of some explanations." - -"That is just what she doesn't want--explanations, neither he nor -she," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "Kathleen wants us to understand without -explanations. She is praying we may understand without her having to -explain to us, or without our having to explain to her. She wants to be -spared all that. She has already been through such a lot. She is ashamed -at appearing so contradictory. She knows I understand, but she doubts -whether any one else ever could, and she does not know where to turn, -nor what to do." - -"And when you go to London," he asked, "will you make it all right?" - -"Oh yes," she said. - -"Are you quite sure you can make it all right? I mean with Stukely, of -course," he said. - -"Of course," said Mrs. Roseleigh, but she knew perfectly well that he -really meant all right with Kathleen. - -"And you think he will marry her, and that she will marry him?" he -asked one last time. - -"I am quite sure of it," she said, "not at once, of course, but in time. -We must give them time." - -"Very well," he said. He did not feel quite sure that it was all right. - -Mrs. Roseleigh divined his uncertainty and his doubts. - -"You see," she said, "what happened was very complicated. She knows that -ever since Lancelot arrived, she was never really herself----" - -"She knows?" he asked. - -"She only wants to get back to her normal self." - -"Well," he said, "I believe you know best. I will do what you tell me. -I was thinking of going to London myself," he added. "Do you think that -would be a good plan? I might see Stukely. I might even travel with him." - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "would be an excellent plan." - -Mrs. Roseleigh's explanation, the explanation she had just served out -to Anikin, was, as far as she was concerned, a curious blend of fact -and fiction; of honesty and disingenuousness. She was convinced that -both Kathleen and Anikin had made a mistake, and that the sooner the -mistake was rectified the better for both of them. She thought if it -was rectified, there was every chance of Stukely marrying Kathleen, but -she had no reason to suppose that her explanation of his conduct was -the true one. She thought Stukely had forgotten all about Kathleen, but -there was no reason that he should not be brought back into the old -groove. A little management would do it. He would have to marry now. He -would want to marry; and it would be the natural, normal thing for him -to marry Kathleen, if he could be persuaded that she had never cared -for anyone else; and Mrs. Roseleigh felt quite ready to undertake the -explanation. She was quite disinterested with regard to Kathleen and -quite disinterested towards Stukely. Was she quite disinterested towards -Anikin? - -She would not have admitted to her dearest friend, not even to herself, -that she was not; but as a matter of fact she had consciously or -unconsciously annexed Anikin. He was made to be charmed by her. She was -not in the least in love with him, and she did not think he was in -love with her; she was not a dynamo deranging a watch; she was a magnet -attracting a piece of steel; but she had not done it on purpose. She had -done it because she couldn't help it. Her conscience was quite clear, -because she was convinced she was helping Kathleen, Stukely and Anikin -out of a difficult and an impossible situation; but at the same time -(and this is what she would not have admitted) she was pleasing herself. - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival first of Kathleen -herself, then of Arkright. - -Kathleen had in her hands the copy of a weekly review. - -After mutual salutations had passed, Kathleen and Arkright sat down near -Mrs. Roseleigh and Anikin. - -"Aunt Elsie," said Kathleen to Arkright, "asked me to give you back -this. She is not coming down yet, she is very busy." She handed Arkright -the review. - -"Ah!" said Arkright. "Did the article on Nietzsche interest her?" - -"Very much, I think," said Kathleen, "but I liked the story best. The -story about the brass ring." - -"A sentimental story, wasn't it?" said Arkright. - -"What was it about?" asked Anikin. - -"Mr. Arkright will tell it you better than I can," said Kathleen. - -"I am afraid I don't remember it well enough," said Arkright. - -He remembered the story sufficiently well, although being of no literary -importance, it had small interest for him; but he saw that Miss Farrel -had some reason for wanting it told, and for telling it herself, so he -pressed her to indicate the subject. - -"Well," she said, "it's about a man who had been all sorts of things: a -soldier, a king, and a _savant_, and who wants to go into a monastery, -and says he had done with all that the world can give, and as he says -this to the abbot, a brass ring, which he wears round his neck, falls on -to the floor of the cell. The ring had been given him by a queen whom -he had loved, a long time ago, at a distance and without telling her or -anyone, and who had been dead for years. The abbot tells him to throw it -away and he can't. He gives up the idea of entering the monastery and -goes away to wander through the world. I think he was right not to throw -away the ring, don't you?" she said. - -"Do you think one ought never to throw away the brass ring?" said -Anikin, with the incomparable Slav facility for "catching on," who -instantly adopted the phrase as a symbol of the past. - -"Never," said Kathleen. - -"Whatever it entails?" Anikin asked. - -"Whatever it entails," she answered. - -"Have you never thrown away your brass ring?" asked Anikin, smiling. - -"I haven't got one to throw away," she said. - -"Then I will send you one from London, I am going there in a day or -two," he said. - -"Mrs. Roseleigh was right," he said to himself, "no explanations are -necessary." - -Mrs. Roseleigh looked at him with approval. Kathleen Farrel seemed -relieved too, as though a weight too heavy for her to bear had been -lifted from her, as though after having forced herself to keep awake in -an alien world and an unfamiliar sunlight, she was now allowed to go -back once more to the region of dreamless limbo. - -"Yes,", she said, "please send me one from London," as if there were -nothing surprising or unexpected about his departure. - -In truth she was relieved. The episode at _Bellevue_ was as far away -from her now as the dreams and adventure of her childhood. She felt no -regret. She asked for no explanation. Anikin's words gave her no pang; -nothing but a joyless relief; but it was with the slightest tinge of -melancholy that she realized that she must be different from other -people, and she would not have had things otherwise. - -As Arkright looked at her dark hair, her haunting eyes and her listless -face, he thought of the Sleeping Beauty in the wood; and wondered -whether a Fairy Prince would one day awaken her to life. He did not know -her full story; he did not know that she was a mortal who had trespassed -in Fairyland and was now paying the penalty. - -The enchanted thickets were closing round her, and the forest was taking -its revenge on the intruder who had once rashly dared to violate its -secrecy. - -He did not know that Kathleen Farrel had in more senses than one been -overlooked. - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--Part II - - - -II - - -Dr. Sabran read the papers I sent him the very same night he received -them, and the following evening he asked me to dinner, and after dinner -we sat on the verandah of his terrace and discussed the story. - -"I recognized Haréville," said Dr. Sabran, "of course, although -his Saint-Yves-les-Bains might just as well have been any other -watering-place in the world. I do not know his heroine, nor her aunt, -even by sight, because I only arrived at Haréville two years ago after -they had left, and last year I was absent. Princess Kouragine I have met -in Paris. She and yourself therefore are the only two characters in the -book whom I know." - -"He bored Princess Kouragine," I said. - -"Yes," said Sabran, "that is why he has to invent a Slav microbe to -explain her indifference. But Mrs. Lennox flattered him?" - -"Very thoroughly," I said. - -"Well, the first thing I want to know is," said Sabran, "what happened? -What happened then? but first of all, what happened afterwards?" - -I said I knew little. All I knew was that Miss Brandon was still -unmarried; that Canning went back to Africa, stayed out his time, and -had then come back to England last year; and that I had heard from -Kranitski once or twice from Africa, but for the last ten months I had -heard nothing, either from or of him. - -"But," I said, "before I say anything, I want you to tell me what you -think happened and why it happened." - -"Well," said the doctor, "to begin with, I understand, both from your -story as well as from his, that Kranitski and Miss Brandon were engaged -to be married and that the engagement was broken off. But I also -understood from your MS. that the man Canning was for nothing in the -rupture of the engagement. It happened before he arrived. It was due, -in my opinion, to something which happened to Kranitski. - -"Now, what do we know about Kranitski as related by you? First of all, -that he was for a long time attached to a Russian lady who was married, -and who would not divorce because of her children. - -"Then, from what he told you, we know that although a believing Catholic -he said he had been outside the Church for seven years. That meant, -obviously, that he had not been _pratiquant_. That is exactly what would -have happened if he had been living with a married woman and meant to -go on doing so. Then when he arrives at Haréville, he tells you that -the obstacle to his practising his religion no longer exists. Kranitski -makes the acquaintance of Miss Brandon, or rather renews his old -acquaintance with her, and becomes intimate with her. Princess Kouragine -finds she is becoming a different being. You go away for a month, and -when you come back she almost tells you she is engaged--it is the same -as if she told you. The very next day Kranitski meets you, about to -spend a day at the lakes with Miss Brandon and evidently not sad--on -the contrary. He received a letter in your presence. You are aware -after he has read this letter of a sudden change in him. - -"Then a few days later he comes to see you and announces a change of -plans, and says he is going to Africa. He also gives you to understand -that the obstacle has not come back into his life. What obstacle? It can -only be one thing, the obstacle he told you of, which was preventing him -from practising his religion. - -"Now, what do we learn from the novel? - -"We learn from the novel that the day after that expedition to the -lakes, Rudd describes the Russian having a conversation with the -novelist (himself) in which he tells the novelist, firstly, that he is -going away, probably to Africa. So far we know that he was telling the -truth. Then he says that just as he found himself, as he thought, free, -an old debt or tie or obligation rises up from the past which has to -be paid or regarded or met. Rudd, in the person of Arkright, thinks he -is inventing. They talk of conflicts and divided duties and the choice -between two duties. The Russian is made to say that the most difficult -complication is when duty and pleasure are both on one side and an -obligation is on the other side, and one has to choose between them. -The novelist gives no explanation of this, he treats it merely as a -gratuitous piece of embroidery--a fantasy. - -"Now, I believe the Russian said what Rudd makes him say, because if he -didn't it doesn't seem to me like the kind of fantasy the novelist would -have invented had he been inventing. If he had been inventing, I think -he would have found something else." - -"All the same," I interrupted, "we don't know whether he said that." - -"We don't know whether he said anything at all," said Sabran. - -"I know they had a conversation," I said, "because I was in the park all -that morning and someone told me they were talking to each other. On the -other hand, he may have invented the whole thing, as Rudd says that the -novelist in his story knew about the Russian's former entanglement, and -lays stress on the fact that the Russian did not know that he knew. So -it may have been on that little basis of fact that all this fancy-work -was built." - -"I think," said Sabran, "that the conversation did take place. And I -think that it happened so. I think he spoke about the past and said that -thing about the blotting paper. There is a poem of Pushkin's about the -impossibility of wiping out the past." - -"And I think," I said, "that the Russian laughed, and said, 'You -novelists are terrible people.' Only he was laughing at the novelist's -density and not applauding his intuition." - -"Well, then," said Sabran, "let us postulate that the Russian did say -what he was reported to have said to the novelist, and let us conclude -that what he said was true." - -"In that case, the Russian said he was in the position of choosing -between a pleasure, that is to say, something he wanted to do which was -not contrary to his duty----" - -"For which duty might even be pleaded as an excuse," said Sabran, -quoting the very words said to have been used by the Russian. - -"And an obligation which was contrary both to duty and to inclination. -That is to say, there is something he wants to do. He could say it was -his duty to do it. And there is something he doesn't want to do, and he -can say it is contrary to his duty. And yet he feels he has got to do -it. It is an obligation, something which binds him." - -"It is the old liaison," said Sabran. - -"In that case," I said, "why did he go to Africa?" - -"Yes, why did he go to Africa? And stay there at any rate such a long -time. Did he talk of coming back?" - -"No, he said nothing about coming back. He said he liked the country and -the life, but he said little about either. He wrote chiefly about books -and abstract ideas." - -"Perhaps," said Sabran, "there is something else in his life which we -know nothing about. There is another reason why I do not think that -the old liaison is the obligation. He took the trouble to come and see -you before he went away and to tell you that the obstacle which had -prevented his practising his religion had not reappeared in his life. It -is probable that he was speaking the truth. And he knew he was going to -Africa. So it must be something else." - -"Perhaps," I said, "it was something to do with Canning. What are your -theories about Canning, the other man?" - -"What are yours?" he said. "I heard nothing about him." - -I said I thought that all Mrs. Summer had told me about Canning was -true. Rudd, I explained to Sabran, disliked Mrs. Summer, and had drawn -a portrait of her as a swooping gentle harpy, which I knew to be quite -false. "Although," I said, "I think the things he makes her say about -Canning are quite true. I think he reports her thoughts correctly but -attributes to her the wrong motives for saying them. I don't believe she -ever talked to him about Canning; but he knew her ideas on the subject, -through Mrs. Lennox. I believe that Canning arrived at Haréville on -purpose to see Miss Brandon. I know that the Italian lady had played -no part in his life and that it was just a chance that they met at -Haréville. I believe he arrived full of hope, and that when he saw Miss -Brandon he realized the situation as soon as he had spoken to her. This -is what Rudd makes Mrs. Summer say, and I believe that is what happened. -In Rudd's version of Mrs. Summer she is lying. Rudd had already a -preconceived notion that Miss Brandon's first love was to forget her. -He had made up his mind about that long before the young man came upon -the scene, before he knew he was coming on the scene, and when he did, -he distorted the facts to suit his fiction." - -"Then," said Sabran, "his ideas about Miss Brandon. All that idea -of her being the 'Princess without dreams,' without passion, being -muffled and half-awake--'overlooked,' as he says, which I suppose means -_ensorcelée._" - -I told him I thought that was not only fiction but perfectly baseless -fiction. I reminded him of what Princess Kouragine had said about Miss -Brandon. - -"I must think it over," said Sabran. "For the present I do not see any -completely satisfactory solution. I am convinced of one thing only, and -that is that the novelist drew false deductions from facts which were -perhaps sometimes correctly observed." - -I said I agreed with him. Rudd's deductions were wrong; his facts were -probably right in some cases; Sabran's deductions were right, I thought, -as far as they went; but we either had not enough facts or not enough -intuition to arrive at a solution of the problem. - -As I was saying this, Sabran interrupted me and said: - -"If we only knew what was in the letter that the Russian received when -he was with you we should have the key of the enigma. It was from the -moment that he received that letter that he was different, wasn't it?" - -I said this was so, and what happened afterwards proved that it was not -my imagination. - -"What in the world can have been in that letter?" said Sabran. - -I said I did not think we should ever know that. - -"Probably not," he said, musingly. "And that incident about the story of -the Brass Ring. Do you think that happened? Did they say all that?" - -I was able to tell him exactly what had happened with regard to that -incident. - -"I was sitting in the garden. It was, I think, the morning after they -had all been to the lakes, and about the middle of the day, after the -band had stopped playing, shortly before _déjeuner_, that Rudd, Miss -Brandon, Kranitski and Mrs. Summer all came and talked to me before I -went into the hotel. - -"Miss Brandon gave the copy of the _Saturday Review_, or whatever the -newspaper was, back to Rudd, and mentioned the story of the 'Brass -Ring,' and they discussed it, and I asked what it was about. Rudd was -asked to read it aloud to us, and he did. Miss Brandon and Kranitski -made no comments; and Rudd asked Kranitski if he thought the man had -done right to throw away his ring, and Kranitski said: 'A chain is no -stronger than its weakest link.' - -"Rudd said: 'Perhaps the brass ring was the strongest link.' - -"Kranitski and Miss Brandon said nothing, and Mrs. Summer said she was -glad the man had not thrown the ring away. Then Rudd asked Miss Brandon -whether she had ever thrown away her brass ring. - -"Miss Brandon said she hadn't got one, and changed the subject. Then -they all left me. That was all that happened." - -"I understand," said Sabran; "that is interesting, and it helps us to -understand the methods of the novelist. But we are still no nearer -a solution. I must think it over. _Que diable y avait-il dans cette -lettre?_" - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--PART II - - - -III - - -The more I thought over the whole story the more puzzling it seemed to -me. The puzzle was increased rather than simplified by a letter which I -received from Kranitski from Africa, in which he expressed no intention -of coming back, but said he was living by himself, quite contented in -his solitude. - -I told Sabran of this letter and the Doctor said we were without one -important _donnée,_ some probably quite simple fact which would be the -clue of the whole situation: the contents of the letter Kranitski had -received when he was with me-- - -"What we want," he said, "is a moral Sherlock Holmes, to deduce what was -in that letter----" - -It was after I had been at Haréville about ten days, that Sabran asked -me whether I would like to make the acquaintance of a Countess Yaskov. -She was staying at Haréville and was taking the waters. He had only -lately made her acquaintance himself, but she was dining with him and -he wanted to ask a few people to meet her. I asked him what she was -like. He said she was not exactly pretty, but gentle and attractive. He -said: "_Elle n'est pas vraiment jolie, mais elle a une jolie taille, de -beaux yeux, et des perles._" - -She had been divorced from her husband for years and lived generally at -Rome, so he had been told. - -I went to Sabran's dinner. There were several people there. I had -never met Countess Yaskov before. She seemed to be a very pleasant and -agreeable lady. I sat next to her. She was an accomplished musician, and -she played the pianoforte after dinner with a ravishing touch. She was -certainly gentle, intelligent, and natural. We were talking of Italy, -when she astonished me by saying she had not been there for some time. -Later on she astonished me still more by talking of her husband in the -most natural way in the world. But I had heard cases of Russians being -divorced and yet continuing to be good friends. I longed to ask her if -she knew Kranitski, but I could not bring his name across my lips. I -asked her if she knew Princess Kouragine. She said, "Which one?" And -when I explained or tried to describe the one I knew, there turned out -to be about a dozen Princess Kouragines scattered all over Europe; some -of them Russian and some of them not, so we did not get any further, and -Countess Yaskov was vagueness itself. - -We talked of every conceivable subject. As she was going away she asked -Sabran if he could lend her a book. He lent her Rudd's _Unfinished -Dramas_, and asked me if he might lend her _Overlooked_. I said -certainly, but I explained that it was more or less a private book about -real people. - -Two or three days later I met her in the park. She asked me if I had -read Rudd's story. I told her it had been read to me. - -"But it is meant to happen here, isn't it?" she said. "And aren't you -one of the characters?" - -I said this was, I believed, the case. - -"Then you were here when all that happened?" she said. "Did it happen -like that, or was it all an invention?" - -I said I thought there was some basis of fact in the story, and a great -deal of fancy, but I really didn't know. I did not wish to let her know -at once how much I knew. - -"Novelists," I said, "invent a great deal on a very slender basis, -especially James Rudd." - -"You know him?" she said. "He was here with you, of course?" - -I told her I had made his acquaintance here, but that I had never seen -him before or since. - -"What sort of man is he?" she asked. - -I gave her a colourless, but favourable portrait of Rudd. - -"And the young lady?" she said, "Miss--I've forgotten her name." - -"The heroine?" I asked. - -"Yes, the heroine who is 'overlooked.' Do you think she was -'overlooked'?" - -"In what sense?" - -"In the fairy-tale sense." - -I said I thought that was all fancy-work. - -"I wonder," she said, "if she married the young man." - -"Which one?" - -"The Englishman." - -I said I had not heard of her being married. - -"And was there a Russian here, too?" she asked. - -"Yes," I said, "his name was Kranitski." - -"That sounds like a Polish name." - -I said he was a Russian. - -"You knew him, too?" - -"Just a little." - -"It is an interesting story," she said, "but I think Rudd makes all the -characters more complicated than they probably were. Does Mr. Rudd know -Russia?" - -I said I believed not at all. - -"I thought not," she said. - -I said that Kranitski seemed to me a far simpler character than Rudd's -Anikin. - -"Did Dr. Sabran know all those people?" she asked. - -I said Dr. Sabran had not been here while it was going on. - -"It would be very annoying for that poor girl to find herself in a -book," she said, "if he published it." - -I said that Rudd would probably never publish it--although he would -probably deny that he had made portraits, and to some extent with -reason, as his Kathleen Farrel was quite unlike Miss Brandon. - -"Oh, her name was Miss Brandon," Countess Yaskov said, pensively. "If -she comes here this year you must introduce me to her. I think I should -like her." - -"Everyone said she was beautiful," I said. - -"One sees that from the novel. I suppose James Rudd invented a character -which he thought suited her face." - -I said that that was exactly what had happened. Rudd had started with -a theory about Miss Brandon, that she was such and such person, and he -distorted the facts till they fitted with his theory. At least, that was -what I imagined to have been the case. - -I asked Countess Yaskov what she thought of the psychology of Rudd's -Russian. I said she ought to be a good judge. She laughed and said: - -"Yes, I ought to be a good judge. I think he is rather severe on the -Slavs, don't you? He makes that poor Anikin so very complicated, and so -very sly and fickle as well." - -I said I thought the excuses which Rudd credited the Russian with making -to himself for breaking off the engagement with the heroine of the book, -were absurd. - -"Do you think the Russian said those things or that the novelist -invented them?" she asked. - -I said I thought he had said what he was reported to have said. - -"If he said that, he was not lying," she said. - -I agreed, and I also thought he _had_ said all that; but that Rudd's -explanation of his words was wrong. If that was true he must have broken -off his engagement. - -"There is nothing very improbable in that, is there?" she asked. - -"Nothing," I said. And yet I thought that Kranitski had finished with -whatever there was in the past that might have been an obstacle to his -present. - -"Did he tell you that?" she asked. - -As she said that, although the tone of her voice was quite natural, -almost too natural, there was a peculiar intonation in the way she -said the word "he," in that word and that word only, which gave me the -curious sensation of a veil being lifted. I felt I was looking through -a hole in the clouds. I felt certain that Countess Yaskov had known -Kranitski. - -"He never told me one word that had anything to do with what Rudd tells -in his novel," I said. - -I felt that my voice was no longer natural as I said this. There was a -strain in it. There was a pause. I do not know why I now felt certain -that Countess Yaskov possessed the key of the mystery. I suddenly -felt she was the woman whom Kranitski had known and loved for seven -years, so much so, that I could say nothing further. I also felt that -she knew that I knew. We talked of other things. In the course of the -conversation I asked her if she thought of staying a long time at -Haréville. - -"It depends on my husband," she said. "I don't know yet whether he is -coming here to fetch me, or whether he wants me to meet him. At any rate -I shall go back to Russia for my boys' holidays. I have two sons at -school." - -The next time I saw Sabran I asked him what he had meant by telling me -that Countess Yaskov was divorced from her husband. I told him what she -had said to me about her husband and her sons. He did not seem greatly -surprised; but he stuck to his point that she was divorced. - -The next time I saw Countess Yaskov, she told me she had told a friend -of hers about Rudd's story. Her friend had instantly recognized the -character of Anikin. - -"My friend tells me," she said, "that the novelist is quite false as -far as that character is concerned, false and not fair. She said what -happened was this: The man whom Rudd describes as Anikin had been in -love for many years with a married woman. She was in love with him, -too, but she did not want to divorce her husband, for various reasons. -So they separated. They separated after having known each other a long -time. Then the woman changed her mind and she settled she would divorce, -and she let Anikin know. She wrote to him and said she was willing, at -last, to divorce. My friend says it was complicated by other things as -well. She did not tell me the whole story, but the man went to Africa -and the woman did not divorce. What Anikin was supposed to have said to -the novelist was true. He told the truth, and the novelist thought he -was saying false things. That is what you thought, too. But all has been -for the best in the end, because do you know what there is in to-day's -_Daily Mail_?" she asked. - -I said no one had read me the newspaper as yet. - -"The marriage is announced," she said, "of Miss Brandon to a man called -Sir Somebody Canning." - -"That," said I, "is the Englishman in the book." - -"So Mr. Rudd was wrong altogether," she said, and she laughed. - -That is all that passed between us on this occasion, and I think this -is a literal and complete transcription of our conversation. Countess -Yaskov told me her story, the narrative of her friend, with perfect -naturalness and with a quiet ease. She talked as if she were relating -_facts_ that had no particular personal interest for her. There was not -a tremor in her voice, not an intonation, either of satisfaction or -pain, nothing but the quiet impersonal interest one feels for people in -a book. She might have been discussing Anna Karenina, or a character of -Stendhal. She was neutral and impartial, an interested but completely -disinterested spectator. - -The tone of her voice was subtly different from what it had been -the other day towards the end of our conversation. For during that -conversation, admirably natural as she had been, and although her voice -only betrayed her in the intonation of one syllable. I feel now, -looking back on it, that she was not sure of herself, that she knew she -was walking the whole time on the edge of a precipice. - -This time I felt she was quite sure of herself; sure of her part. She -was word-perfect and serenely confident. - -Of course, what she said startled me. First of all, the _soi-disant_ -explanation of her friend. Had she told a friend about the story? I -thought not. Indeed, I feel now quite certain that the friend was an -invention, quite certain that she knew I had recognized her as the -missing factor in the drama, and that she had wished me not to have a -false impression of Kranitski. But at the time, while she was talking -she seemed so natural that for the moment I believed, or almost -believed, in the friend. But when she told me of Miss Brandon's marriage -she furnished me with the explanation of her perfect acting, if it was -acting. I thought it was the possession of this piece of news which -enabled her to tell me that story so calmly and so dispassionately. - -Of course I may still be quite wrong. I may be seeing too much. Perhaps -she had nothing to do with Kranitski, and perhaps she did tell a -friend. She has friends here. - -Nevertheless I felt certain during our first conversation, at the moment -I felt I was looking through the clouds, that she had been aware of -it; aware that I had not been able to go on talking of the story as -naturally as I had done before. Her explanation, what her friend was -supposed to have said, fitted in exactly with my suppositions, and -with what I already knew. Sabran had been right. The clue to the whole -thing was the letter. The letter that Kranitski had received when he -was talking to me and which had made so sudden a change in him was the -letter from her, from Countess Yaskov, saying she was ready to divorce -and to marry him. He received this letter just after he was engaged to -be married to Miss Brandon. It put him in a terrible situation. This -situation fitted exactly with what Rudd made him say to the novelist in -the story: his obligation to the past conflicted with his inclination, -namely, his desire to marry Miss Brandon. - -Of course I might be quite wrong. It might all be my imagination. The -next day I got a belated letter, from Miss Brandon, forwarded from -Cadenabbia, telling me of her engagement. She said they were to be -married at once, quite quietly. She knew it was no use asking me, but if -I had been in London, etc. She made no other comments. - -That evening I dined with Sabran. I told him the news about Miss -Brandon, and I told him what Countess Yaskov had told me her friend had -told her about the story. - -"Half the problem is solved," he said. "The story of Countess -Yaskov's friend explains the words which Rudd lends to the Russian. -His inclination, which was to marry Miss Brandon, coincides with the -religious duty of a _croyant_, which is not to marry a _divorcée_, and -not to put himself once more outside the pale of the Church, but it -clashes with his obligation, which is to be faithful to his friend of -seven years. His inclination coincides with his duty, but his duty is -in conflict with his obligation. What does he do? He goes away. Does he -explain? Who knows? He was, indeed, in a _fichu_ situation. And now Miss -Brandon marries the young man. Either she had loved him all the time, or -else, feeling her romance was over, she was marrying to be married. In -any case, her novel, so far from being ended, is only just beginning. -And the Russian? Was it a real _amour_ or a _coup-de-tête_? Time will -show. For himself he thought it was only a _coup-de-tête_: he will go -back to his first love, but she will never divorce." - -I asked him again whether he was sure that Countess Yaskov was divorced -from her husband. He was quite positive. He knew it _de source -certaine_. She had been divorced years ago, and she lived at Rome. I was -puzzled. In that case, why did she try and deceive me, and at the same -time if she wanted to deceive me why did she tell me so much? Why did -she give me the key of the problem? I said nothing of that to Sabran. I -saw it was no use. - -A few days later, Countess Yaskov left Haréville. She told me she was -going to join her husband. I did not remain long at Haréville after -that. A few days before I left, Princess Kouragine arrived. I told her -about Miss Brandon's marriage. She said she was not surprised. Canning -deserved to marry her for having waited so long. "But," she said, "he -will never light that lamp." - -I asked her if she was sorry for Kranitski. She said: - -"_Very_, but it could not be otherwise." - -That is all she said. When I told her that I had made the acquaintance -of Countess Yaskov, she said: - -"Which one?" - -I said it was the one who lived in Rome and who was separated from her -husband. - -The next day she said to me: "You were mistaken about Countess Yaskov. -The Countess Yaskov who was here is Countess _Irina_ Yaskov. She is not -divorced, and she lives in Russia now. The one you mean is Countess -Helene Yaskov. She lives at Rome. They are not relations even. You -confused the two, because they both at different times lived at Rome." I -now saw why I had been put off the scent for a moment by Sabran. I asked -her if she knew my Countess Yaskov. She said she had met her, but did -not know her well. - -"She is a quiet woman," she said. "_On dit qu'elle est charmante_." - -Just about this time I received a long letter from Rudd. He said he -must publish _Overlooked._ He had been told he ought to publish it by -everybody. He might, he said, just as well publish it, since printing -five hundred copies and circulating them privately was in reality -courting the maximum of publicity: the maximum in quality if not in -quantity. By doing this, one made sure that the only people it might -matter reading the book, read it. He did not care who saw it, in the -provinces, in Australia, or in America. The people who mattered, and the -only people who mattered, were friends, acquaintances and the London -literary world, and now they had all seen it. Besides which, his series -of unfinished dramas would be incomplete without it; and he did not -think it was _fair_ on his publisher to leave out _Overlooked_. "Besides -which," he said, "it is not as if the characters in the books were -portraits. You know better than anyone that this is not so." He ended -up, after making it excruciatingly clear that he had irrevocably and -finally made up his mind to publish, by asking my advice; that is to -say, he wanted me to say that I agreed with him. I wrote to him and said -that I quite understood why he had settled to publish the story, and I -referred to Miss Brandon's marriage at the end of my letter. Before I -heard from him again, I was called away from Haréville, and I had to -leave in a hurry. It was lucky I did so, because I got away only just in -time, either to avoid being compelled to remain at Haréville for a far -longer time than I should have wished to do, or from having to take part -in a desperate struggle for escape. The date of my departure was July -27th, 1914. - -The morning I left I said good-bye to Princess Kouragine, and I reminded -her that when I had said good-bye to her two years ago she had said to -me, talking of Miss Brandon: "The _man_ behaved well." I asked her which -man she had meant. She said: - -"I meant the other one." - -"Which do you call the other one?" I asked. - -She said she meant by the other one: - -"_Le grand amoureux_." - -I said I didn't know which of the two was the "_grand amoureux_." - -"Oh, if you don't know that you know nothing," she said. - -At that moment I had to go. The motor-bus was starting. - -I feel that Princess Kouragine was right and that, after all, perhaps I -know nothing. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - -***** This file should be named 42703-8.txt or 42703-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/0/42703/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/42703-8.zip b/42703-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e6db8fa..0000000 --- a/42703-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/42703-h.zip b/42703-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1c6659a..0000000 --- a/42703-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/42703-h/42703-h.htm b/42703-h/42703-h.htm index 3093f30..5a7f7c7 100644 --- a/42703-h/42703-h.htm +++ b/42703-h/42703-h.htm @@ -42,9 +42,9 @@ hr.full {width: 95%;} </style> </head> <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 ***</div> -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 ***</div> <h1>OVERLOOKED</h1> @@ -4359,7 +4359,7 @@ know nothing.</p> -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 ***</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42703 ***</div> </body> </html> diff --git a/42703.json b/42703.json deleted file mode 100644 index 5e355a4..0000000 --- a/42703.json +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5 +0,0 @@ -{
- "DATA": {
- "CREDIT": "Produced by Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive - Toronto University, Robarts)"
- }
-}
diff --git a/42703.txt b/42703.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c1d850d..0000000 --- a/42703.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4693 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Overlooked - -Author: Maurice Baring - -Release Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #42703] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By - -MAURICE BARING - -London: William Heinemann - -1922 - - - - -To - -M.A.T - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - -PART I - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me that -I must go to Hareville and stay there a month or, still better, two -months, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possible -pastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred from -that pastime. - -He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?" - -I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said that -a famous editor, of the _Figaro_, I think, had once said that every -man had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted for -newspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on my -typewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understand -by authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing a -book. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thought -no more about this till after I had been at Hareville a week. - -When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I made -acquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time was -taken up in idle conversation. - -After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintance -of James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed, -rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderly -ladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or country -gentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation, -which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government. - -James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. He -was passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem in -the least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted I -had read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind could -hardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read to -me. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I was -calling attention to the absence of his books in the series which have -been transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfied -that I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me, -but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him take -for granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken for -granted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar, -and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), to -be a non-smoker--I am, in fact, sure of that--a practical teetotaler, -not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather than -on experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of all -the arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but still -passionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of any -interest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating. -He had been sent to Hareville by Kennaway, which gave us a link. -Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if he -possibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longing -to write, but could think of no subject. - -I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people at -Hareville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that they -could form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea, -and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who is -not, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, _nee_ Robert, who -married a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a lady -of so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom and experience, that I felt her -acquaintance must do any novelist good. I also introduced him to Mrs. -Lennox, who is here with her niece, Miss Jean Brandon. Mrs. Lennox, -I knew, would enjoy meeting a celebrity; she sacrificed an evening's -gambling for the sake of his society, and the next day, she asked him -to luncheon. In the evening he told me that Miss Brandon would be a -suitable heroine for his novel. - -I asked him if he had begun it. He said he was planning it, but as it -was a holiday novel, and as he had been forbidden to work, he was not -going to make it a real book. He was going to write this novel for -his own enjoyment, and not for the public. He would never publish it. -He would be very grateful, all the same, if I allowed him to discuss -it with me, as he could not write a story without discussing it with -someone. - -I said I would willingly discuss the story with him, and I have -determined to keep a record of our conversations, and indeed of -everything that affects this matter, in case he one day publishes the -novel, or publishes what the novel may turn into; for I feel that it -will not remain unpublished, even though it turns into something quite -different. I shall thus have all the fun of seeing a novel planned -without the trouble of writing one myself. - -"Of course you have the advantage of knowing these people quite well," -he said. I told him that he was mistaken. I had never met any of them, -except Princess Kouragine, before. And it was years since I had seen her. - -"The first problem is," he said, "Why is Miss Brandon not married? She -must be getting on for thirty, if she is not thirty yet, and it is -strange that a person with her looks----" - -"I have often wondered what she looks like," I said, "and I have made my -picture of her. Shall I tell it you, and you can tell me whether it is -at all like the reality?" - -He was most anxious to hear my description. I said that I imagined -Miss Brandon to be as changeable in appearance as the sky. I explained -to him that I had not always been blind, that my blindness had come -comparatively late in life from a shooting accident, in which I lost one -eye--the sight of the other I lost gradually afterwards. I had imagined -her as the lady who walked in the garden in Shelley's _Sensitive Plant_ -(I could not remember all the quotation): - - - "A sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean." - - -Still, and rather mysterious, elusive and rare. He said I was right -about the variability, but that he saw her differently. It was true -she was pale, delicate, and extremely refined, but her eyes were the -interesting thing about her. She was like a sapphire. She looked better -in the daytime than in the evening. By candle-light she seemed to fade. -She did not remind him of Shelley at all. She was not ethereal nor -diaphanous. She was a sapphire, not a moonstone. She belonged to the -world of romance, not to the world of lyric poetry. Something had been -left out when she had been created. She was unfinished. What had been -left out? Was it her soul? Was it her heart? Was she Undine? No. Was she -Lilith? No. All the same she belonged to the fairy-tale world; to the -Hans Andersen world, or to Perrault. The Princess without ... without -what? She was the Sleeping Beauty in the wood, who had woken up and -remembered nothing, and could never recover from the long trance. She -would never be the same again. Never really awake in the world. And yet -she had brought nothing back from fairyland except her looks. - -"She reminds me," he said, "of a line of Robert Lytton's: 'All her -looks are poetry and all her thoughts are prose.' It is not that she is -prosaic, but she is muffled. You see, during that long slumber which -lasted a hundred years----" Rudd had now quite forgotten my presence and -was talking or, rather, murmuring to himself. He was composing aloud. -"During that long exile which lasted a hundred years, and passed in a -flash, she had no dreams." - -"You mean she has no heart," I said. - -"No, not that," he answered, "heart as much as you like. She is kind. -She is affectionate. But no passion, no dreams. Above all, no dreams. -That is what she is. The Princess without any dreams. Do you think that -would do as a title? No, it is not quite right. _The Sleeping Beauty in -the World?_ No. Why did Rostand use the title, _La Princesse Lointaine_? -That would have done. No, that is not quite right either. She is not far -away. She is here. She looks far away and isn't. I must think about it. -It will come." - -Then, quite abruptly, he asked me what I imagined the garden of the -hotel looked like. I said that I had never been here before and that I -had only heard descriptions of the place from my acquaintances and from -my servant, but I imagined the end of the garden, where I had often -walked, to be rather like a Russian landscape. I had never been to -Russia, but I had read Russian books, and what I imagined to be a rather -untidy piece of long grass, fringed with a few birch trees and some -firs, the whole rather baked and dry, reminded me of the descriptions in -Tourgenev's books. - -Rudd said it was not like Russia. Russia had so much more space. So much -more atmosphere. This little garden might be a piece of Scotland, might -be a piece of Denmark, but it was not Russian. - -I asked him whether he had been to Russia. Not in the flesh, he said, -but in the spirit he had lived there for years. - -Perhaps he wanted to see how much the second-hand impressions of a blind -man were worth. - -He soon reverted to the original subject of our talk. - -"Why is Miss Brandon not married?" he said. - -I said I knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. I presumed her -parents were dead. She was travelling with her aunt. They came here -every year for her aunt's rheumatism. Mrs. Lennox had a house in London. -She was a widow, not very well off, I thought. I told him I knew nothing -of London life. I have lived in Italy for the last twenty years. I very -seldom went to London, only, in fact, to see Kennaway. I told him he -must find out about Miss Brandon's early history himself. - -"She is very silent," he said. - -"Mrs. Lennox is very talkative," I told him. - -"What can I call it?" he asked, in an agony of impatience. "She has -every beauty, every grace, except that of expression." - -"_The Dumb Belle?_" The words escaped me and I immediately regretted -them. - -"No," he said, quite seriously, "she is not dumb, that is just the -point. She talks, but she cannot express herself. Or rather, she has -nothing to express. At least, I think she has nothing to express: or -what she has got to express is not what we think it is. I imagine a -story like Pygmalion and Galatea. Somebody waking her to life and then -finding her quite different from what the stone image seemed to promise, -from what it _did_ promise. At any rate I have got my subject and I am -extremely grateful. It is a wonderful subject." - -"Henry James," I ventured. - -"Ah, James," said Rudd, "yes, James, a wonderful intellect, but a -critic, not a novelist. The French could do it. What would they have -called it? _La Princesse desenchantee,_ or _La Belle revenue du Bois_? -You can't say that in English." - -"Nor in French either," I thought to myself, but I said aloud, "_Out of -the Wood_ would suggest quite a different kind of book." - -"A very different kind of book," said Rudd, quite gravely. "The kind of -book that sells by the million." - -Rudd then left me. He was enchanted with the idea of having something to -write about. I felt that a good title for his novel would be _Eurydice -Half-regained_, but I was diffident about suggesting a title to him, -besides which I felt he would not like it. Miss Brandon, he would -explain, was not like Eurydice, and if she was, she had forgotten her -experiences beyond the Styx. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I am going to divide my record into chapters just as if I were writing -a novel. The length of the chapters will be entirely determined by my -inclination at the moment of writing. When I am tired the chapter will -end. I don't know if this is what novelists do. It does not matter, as -I am not writing a novel. I know it is not what Rudd does. He told me -he planned out his novel before writing a line, and decided beforehand -on the length of each chapter, but that he often made them longer in -the first draft, and then eliminated. If you want to be terse, he said, -you must not start by trying to be terse, by leaving out. You must say -everything _first_. You can rub out afterwards. He told me he worked in -charcoal, as it were, at first. - -I shall not work in charcoal. I have no plan. - -I asked Princess Kouragine what Rudd was like. She said he had something -rather prim and dapper about him. I was quite wrong about his -appearance. He wears a black tie. Princess Kouragine said, "_Il a l'air -comme tout le monde, plutot comme un medecin de campagne._" - -I asked her if she liked him. She said she did not know. She said he was -agreeable, but she found no real pleasure in his society. - -"You see," she said, "I like the society of my equals, I hate being -with my superiors; that is why I hate being with royalties, authors -and artists. Mr. Rudd can talk of nothing except his art, and I like -Tauchnitz novels that one can read without any trouble. I hate realistic -novels, especially in English." - -I told her his novels were more often fantastic, with a certain amount -of psychology in them. - -"That is worse," she said, "I am old-fashioned. It is no use to try and -convert me. I like Trollope and Ouida." - -I offered to lend her a novel by Rudd, but she refused. - -"I would rather not have read it," she said. "It would make me -uncomfortable when I talked to him. As it is, as the idiot who has read -nothing newer than Ouida, I am quite comfortable." - -I said he was writing something now which I thought would interest her. -I told her how Rudd was making Miss Brandon the pivot of a story. - -"Ah!" she said. "He told me he was writing something for his own -pleasure. I will read _that_ book." - -I said he did not intend to publish it. - -"He will publish it," she said. "It will be very interesting. I wonder -what he will make of Jean Brandon. I know her well. I have known her -for five years. They come here every year. They stay a long time. It is -economical. She is a good girl. I like her. _Elle me plait_." - -I asked whether she was pretty. - -The Princess said she was changeable--_journaliere, "Elle a souvent -mauvaise mine."_ Not tall enough. A beautiful skin like ivory, but too -pale. Eyes. Yes, she had eyes. Most remarkable eyes. You could not tell -whether they were blue or grey. Graceful. Pretty hands. Badly dressed, -but from poverty and economy more than from _mauvais gout_. A very -_English_ beauty. "You will probably tell me she is Scotch or Irish. I -don't care. I don't mean Keapsake or Gainsborough, nor Burne-Jones, -but English all the same. But I can't describe her. She has charm and -it escapes one. She has beauty, but it doesn't fit into any of the -categories. - -"One feels there is a lamp inside her which has gone out, for the time -being, at any rate. She reminds me of some lines of Victor Hugo: - - "Et les plus sombres d'entre nous - Ont eu leur aube eblouissante." - -"I can imagine her having been quite dazzling when she was a young girl. -I can imagine her still being dazzling now if someone were to light the -lamp. It could be lit, I know. Once, two years ago, at the races here at -Bavigny, I saw her excited. She wanted a friend to win a steeplechase -and he won. She was transfigured. At that moment I thought I had seldom -seen anyone more _eblouissante_. Her face shone as though it had been -transparent." - -Of course the poor girl was unhappy, and why was she unhappy? The reason -was a simple one, she was poor, and Mrs. Lennox economized and used her -as an economy. - -"You see that the poor girl is obliged to make _de petites economies_ -in her clothes. She suffers from it I'm sure. Who wouldn't? This all -comes from your silly system of marriage in England. You let two totally -inexperienced beings with nothing to help them settle the question -on which the whole of their lives is to depend. You let a girl marry -her first love. It is too absurd. It never lasts. I do not say that -marriages in our country do not often turn out very badly. No one knows -that better than I do, Heaven knows; but I say that at least we give -the poor children a chance. We at least do not build marriages on a -foundation which we know to be unsound beforehand, or not there at all. -We do not let two people marry when we know that the circumstances -cannot help leading to disaster." - -I said I did not think there was much to choose between the two systems. -In France the young people had the chance of making a satisfactory -marriage; in our country the young people had the chance of marrying -whom they chose, of making the right choice. It was sometimes -successful. Besides, when there were real obstacles the marriages did -not as a rule come off. Mrs. Lennox had told me that Miss Brandon had -been engaged when she was nineteen to a man in the army. He was too -poor. The engagement had been broken off. The man had left the army and -gone to the colonies, and there the matter had remained. I didn't think -she would have been happier if she had been married off to a _parti_. - -"She would not have been poor," said Princess Kouragine. "And she would -have been more independent. She would have had a home." - -She said she did not attach an enormous importance to riches, but she -did attach great importance to real poverty, especially to poverty in -the class of people with whom Miss Brandon lived. She said the worst -kind of poverty was to live with people richer than yourself. It was a -continual strain, she knew it from experience. She had been through it -herself soon after she was married, after the first time her husband had -been ruined. And nobody who had not been through it knew what it meant, -the constant daily fret. - -"The little subterfuges. Having to think of every cab and every box of -cigarettes. Not that I thought of those," she said. "But it was clothes -which were the trouble. I can see that that poor Jean suffers in the -same way. And then, what a life! To spend all one's time with that Mrs. -Lennox, who is as hard as a stone and ruthlessly selfish. She does not -want Jean to marry. Jean is too useful to her." - -I said I wondered why she had not married. Surely lots of men must have -wanted to marry her. - -Princess Kouragine said that Mrs. Lennox was quite capable of preventing -it. She rarely took her out in London. She brought her to Hareville when -the London season began and they stayed here two months. It was cheaper. -In the winter they went to Florence or Nice. - -I said I wondered whether she was still faithful to the man she had been -engaged to, and what he was like. - -Princess Kouragine said she did not know him. She had never seen him, -but she had heard he was charming, _tres bien_, but he hadn't a penny. -It appeared, however, that he had a relation, possibly an uncle, who -was well off, and who would probably leave him money. But he was not an -old man and might live for years. - -I said that perhaps Miss Brandon was waiting for him. - -"Perhaps," said Princess Kouragine, "but she was only nineteen when -they were engaged, and he has been away for the last five years. People -change. She is no longer now what she was then, nor he, probably." - -She did not think this episode was a real obstacle; she was convinced -Miss Brandon did not feel bound, but she thought she had not yet met -anyone whom she felt she would like to marry. Nor was it likely for her -to do so considering the _milieu_ in which she lived, in which she was -obliged to live. - -Mrs. Lennox liked the continental, international world. The world in -which everyone spoke English and hardly anyone was English. It was not -even the best side of the continental world she liked. She did not -mean it was the shady side, not the world of adventurers and gamblers, -but the world of international "culture." All the intellectual snobs -were drawn instinctively to Mrs. Lennox. People who discovered new -musicians, new novelists, and new painters, who suddenly pronounced as a -dogma that Beethoven couldn't compose and that the old masters did not -know how to draw, and that there was a new music, a new science, and, -above all, a new religion. - -"She is always surrounded just by those one or two men and women -'_qui rendent l'Europe insupportable et qui la gobent_,' they swallow -everything in her, her views on art, her dyed hair, and her ridiculous -hats. Is it likely that Miss Brandon, the daughter of an old general, -brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, and passionately fond of -outdoor life, would find a husband among people who were discussing all -day long whether Wagner was not better as a writer than a musician? She -never complains of it, poor child, but I know quite well that she is -_ecoeuree_. She has had five years of it. Her father died five years -ago. Till he died she used to look after him and that was probably not -an easy life, either, as I believe he was a very exacting old man. Her -mother had died years before, and she had no brothers and no sisters. No -relations who were friends, and few women friends. She is alone in a -world she hates." - -I said I wondered that she had not left it. Girls often struck out a -line for themselves now and found occupations. - -Princess Kouragine said that Miss Brandon was not that sort of girl. -She was shy and apathetic as far as that kind of thing was concerned, -apathetic now about everything. She had just given in. What else could -she do? Where could she live? She had not a penny. - -"You see if a sensible marriage had been arranged for her, all this -would not have happened. She would have now had a home and children." - -I said that perhaps she was being faithful to the young man. - -Princess Kouragine said I could take it from her that she had never -loved, "_elle n'a jamais aime_" She had never had a _grande passion_. - -I asked the Princess whether she thought her capable of such a thing. -She seemed so quiet. - -"You have never seen the lamp lit," said the Princess, "but I have; only -for one moment, it is true, but I shall never forget it." - -She wondered what Rudd would make of the character. He hardly knew her. -Did he seem to understand her? - -I said I thought he spun people out of his own inner consciousness. A -face gave him an idea and he made his own character, but he thought -he was being very analytical, and that all he created was based on -observation. - -"He certainly observes nothing," said the Princess. - -She asked who would be the hero. I said we had not got as far as the -hero when he had discussed it with me. - -"And what will he call the novel?" she asked. - -Ah, that was just the question. He had discussed that at length. He -had not found a title that satisfied him. He had got so far as "_The -Princess without any Dreams_." - -"_Dieu qu'il est bete_," she said. "_Cette enfant ne fait que rever_." - -She told me I must get Rudd to discuss it with me again. - -"Perhaps he will talk to me about it, too. I will make him do so, in -fact. It will not be difficult. Then we will compare notes. It will be -most amusing. The Princess without any dreams, indeed! He might just as -well call her the Princess without any eyes!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -This afternoon I was sitting on a bench in the most secluded part of the -park when I heard someone approach, and Miss Brandon asked if she might -sit down near me and talk a little. Mrs. Lennox had gone for a motor -drive with Mr. Rudd. - -"He is our new friend," she explained. "That is to say, more Aunt -Netty's friend than mine." - -I asked her whether she liked him. - -"Yes, but he doesn't take much notice of me. He asks me questions, but -never waits for the answer. I feel he has made up his mind about me, -that I am labelled and pigeon-holed. He loves Aunt Netty." - -I asked what they talked about. - -"Books," she said. - -"His books, I suppose," I said. - -I wondered whether Mrs. Lennox had read them. I could feel Miss Brandon -guessing my inward question. - -"Aunt Netty _is_ very clever," she said. "She makes people enjoy -themselves, especially those kind of people.... Last night he dined at -our table, and so did Mabel Summer. You don't know her? You must know -her, you would like her. She is going away to-morrow, for a fortnight -to the Lakes, but she is coming back then. We nearly laughed at one -moment. It was awful. They were discussing Balzac, and Aunt Netty said -that Balzac was a snob like all--and she was just going to say like all -novelists, when she caught herself up and said: 'like Thackeray.' Mr. -Rudd said that Balzac and Thackeray had nothing in common, and Mabel, -who had caught my eye, and I, were speechless. Just for a moment I was -shaking, and Mr. Rudd looked at us. It was awful, but Mabel recovered -and said she didn't think we could realize now the kind of atmosphere -that Thackeray lived in." - -I said I didn't suppose that Rudd had noticed anything. He didn't seem -to me to notice that kind of thing. - -She agreed, but said he had moments of lucidity which were unexpected -and disconcerting. "For one second," she said, "he suspected we were -laughing at him. Aunt Netty manages him perfectly. He loves her. She -knows exactly what to say to him. He knows she is not critical. I think -he is rather suspicious. How funny clever men are!" she said, after a -pause. - -I said she really meant to say, "How stupid clever men are!" I reminded -her of the profound saying of one of Kipling's women, that the stupidest -woman could manage a clever man, but it took a very clever woman to -manage a fool. - -She said she had always found the most disconcerting element in stupid -people--or people who were thought to be stupid--was their sudden -flashes of lucidity, when they saw things quite plainly. Clever men -didn't have these flashes, but the curious thing was that Rudd did. - -I said I thought this was because, apart from his literary talent, which -was an accomplishment like conjuring or acting, quite separate from the -rest of his personality, Rudd was not a clever man. All his cleverness -went into his books. I said I thought there were two kinds of writers: -those who were better than their books, and of whom the books were only -the overflow, and those who put every drop of their being into the books -and were left with a dry and uninteresting shell. - -She said she thought she had only met that kind. - -"Aunt Netty," she said, "loves all authors and it's odd considering----" - -She stopped, but I ended her sentence: "She has never read a book in her -life." - -Miss Brandon laughed and said I was unfair. - -"Reading tires her. I don't think anyone has time to read a book after -they are eighteen. I haven't. But I feel I am a terrible wet blanket to -all Aunt Netty's friends. I can't even pretend to be enthusiastic. You -see I like the other sort of people so much better." - -I said I was afraid the other sort of people were poorly represented -here just now. - -"We have another friend," she said, "at least, I have." - -"Also a new friend?" I asked. - -"I have known him in a way a long time," she said. "He is a Russian -called Kranitski. We met him first two years ago at Florence. He was -looking after his mother, who was ill and who lived at Florence. We used -to meet him often, but I never got to know him. We never spoke to each -other. We saw him, too, in the distance once on the Riviera." - -I asked what he was like. - -"He is all lucid intervals," she said, "it is frightening. But he is -very easy to get on with. Of course I don't know him at all really. I -have only seen him twice. But one didn't have to plough through the -usual commonplaces. He began at once as if we had known each other for -years, and I felt myself doing the same thing." - -I asked what he was. - -She didn't quite know. - -I said I thought I knew the name. It reminded me of something, but I -certainly did not know him. Miss Brandon said she would introduce me to -him. I asked what he looked like. - -"Oh, an untidy, comfortable face," she said. "He is always smiling. He -is not at all international. He is like a dog. The kind of dog that -understands you in a minute. The extraordinary thing is that after the -first time we had a talk I felt as if I knew him intimately, as if I -had met him on some other planet, as if we were going on, not as if we -were beginning. I suddenly found myself telling him things I had never -told anyone. Of course, this does happen to one sometimes with perfect -strangers, at least it does to me. Don't you think it easy sometimes to -pour out confidences to a perfect stranger? But I don't expect people -give you the opportunity. They tell you things." - -I said this did happen sometimes, probably because people thought I -didn't count, and that as I couldn't see their faces they needn't tell -the truth. - -"I would find it as difficult to tell you a lie," she said, "as to tell -a lie on the telephone. You know how difficult that is. I should think -people tell you the truth as they do in the Confessional. The priest -shuts his eyes, doesn't he?" - -I said I believed this was the case. - -"This Russian is a Catholic," she said. "Isn't that rare for a Russian?" - -I said he was, perhaps, a Pole. The name sounded Polish. - -No, he had told her he was not a Pole. He was not a man who explained. -Explanations evidently bored him. He was not a soldier, but he had been -to the Manchurian War. He had lived in the Far East a great deal, and in -Italy. Very little in Russia apparently. He had come to Hareville for a -rest cure. - -"I asked him," she said, "if he had been ill, and he said something had -been cut out of his life. He had been pruned. The rest of him went on -sprouting just the same." - -I said I supposed he spoke English. - -Yes, he had had an English nurse and an English governess. He had once -been to England as a child for a few weeks to the Isle of Wight. He knew -no English people. He liked English books. - -"Byron, and Jerome K. Jerome?" I suggested. - -"No," she said, "Miss Austen." - -I asked whether he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. Yes, they had -talked a little. - -"Aunt Netty talked to him about Tolstoi. Tolstoi is one of Mr. Rudd's -stock topics." - -I said I supposed she had retailed Rudd's views on the Russian. Was he -astonished? - -"Not a bit. I could see he had heard it all before," she said. "He was -angelic. He shook his ears now and then like an Airedale terrier. Aunt -Netty doesn't want him. Mr. Rudd is enough for her and she is enjoying -herself. She always finds someone here. Last year it was a composer." - -"Does Princess Kouragine know him?" I asked. - -No, she didn't. She had never met him, but she knew of him. - -I asked what Mr. Rudd thought about Princess Kouragine. - -"Mr. Rudd and Aunt Netty discuss her for hours. He has theories about -her. He began by saying she had the Slav indifference. Then Aunt Netty -said she was French. But Mr. Rudd said it was catching. People who lived -in Ireland became Irish, and people who lived in Russia became Russian. -Then Aunt Netty said Princess Kouragine had lived in France and Italy. -Mr. Rudd said she had caught the microbe, and that she was a woman who -lived only by half-hours. He meant she was only alive for half-an-hour -at a time." - -At that moment someone walked up the path. - -"Here is Monsieur Kranitski," she said. She introduced us. - -"I have been walking to the end of the park," he said. "It is curious, -but that side of the park with the dry lawn-tennis court, those birch -trees and some straggling fir trees on the hill and the long grass, -reminds me of a Russian garden which I used to know very well." - -I said that when people had described that same spot to me I had -imagined it like the descriptions of places in Tourgenev's books. - -He said I was quite right. - -I said it was a wonderful tribute to an author's powers that he could -make the character of a landscape plain, not only to a person who had -never been in his country, but even to a blind man. - -Kranitski said that Tourgenev described gardens very well, and a -particular kind of Russian landscape. "What I call the orthodox kind. -I hear James Rudd, the writer, is staying here. He has a gift for -describing places: Italian villages, journeys in France, little canals -at Venice, the Campagna." - -"You like his books?" I asked. - -"Some of them; when they are fantastic, yes. When he is psychological I -find them annoying, but one says I am wrong." - -"He is too complicated," Miss Brandon said. "He spoils things by seeing -too much, by explaining too much." - -I asked Kranitski if he was a great novel reader. He said he liked -novels if they were very good, like Miss Austen and Henry James, or -else very, very bad ones. He could not read any novel because it was a -novel. On the other hand he could read any detective story, good, bad or -middling. - -Miss Brandon asked him if he would like to know Rudd. - -"Is he very frightful?" he asked. - -I said I did not think he was at all alarming. - -Yes, he said, he would like to make his acquaintance. He had never met -an English author. - -"You won't mind his explaining the Russian character to you?" I said. - -Kranitski said he would not mind that, and that as his mother was -Italian, and as he had lived very little in Russia and spoke Russian -badly, perhaps Mr. Rudd would not count him as a Russian. - -Miss Brandon said that would make the explanation more complicated -still. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Life begins very early in the morning here. The water-drinkers and the -bathers begin their day at half-past six. My day does not begin till -half-past seven, as I don't drink many glasses of the water. - -At seven o'clock the village bell rings for Mass. - -It was some days after the conversations I recorded in my last chapter -I woke one morning early at half-past six and got up. I asked my -servant, Henry, to lead me to the village church. I went in and sat down -at the bottom of the aisle. Early Mass had not yet begun. The church -seemed to me empty. But from a corner I heard the whispered mutter of -a confession. Presently two people walked past me, the priest and the -penitent, I surmised. Someone walked upstairs. A boy's footsteps then -clattered past me. The church bell was rung. Someone walked downstairs -and up the aisle; the priest again, I thought. Then Mass began. Towards -the end someone again walked up the aisle. I remained sitting till the -end. - -At the door, outside the church, someone greeted me. It was Kranitski. -He walked back with me to the hotel. He asked me whether I was a -Catholic. I told him that Catholic churches attracted me, but that I was -an agnostic. He seemed slightly astonished at this; astonished at the -attraction in my case, I supposed. He said something which indicated -surprise. - -I told him I could not explain it. It was certainly not the exterior -panoply and trappings of the church which attracted me, for of those I -saw nothing. Nor was it the music, for although I was not a musician, my -long blindness had made me acutely sensitive to sound, and the sounds in -churches were often, I found, painful. - -I asked him if he was a Catholic. - -"I was born a Catholic," he said, "but for years I have not been -_pratiquant_, until I came here. Not for seven years." - -"You have not been inside a church for seven years?" I said. - -"Oh yes," he said, "inside a church very often." - -I said most people lost their faith as young men. Sometimes it came back. - -"I was not like that," he said, "I never lost my faith, not for a day, -not for an hour." - -I said I didn't understand. - -"There were reasons--an obstacle," he said. "But now they are not there -any more. Now I am once more inside." - -"Inside what?" I asked. - -"The church. During those seven years I was outside." - -"But as you went to church when you liked," I said, "I do not see the -difference." - -"I cannot explain it to you," he said. "You would not understand. At -least, you would understand if you knew and I could explain, only it -would be too long. But as it was it was like knowing you couldn't have -a bath if you wanted one--like feeling always starved. You see I am -naturally believing. If I had not been, it would have been no matter. I -cannot help believing. Many times I should have liked not to believe. -Many times I was envying people who feel you go out like a candle when -you die. I am not _mystique_ or anything like that; but something at the -back of my mind is keeping on saying to me: 'You know it _is_ true,' -just as in some people there is something inside them which is keeping -on saying: 'You know it is _not_ true.' And yet I couldn't do otherwise. -That is to say, I resolved not to do otherwise. Life is complicated. -Things are so mixed up sometimes. One has to sacrifice what one most -cares for. At least, I had to. I was caring for my religion more than -I can describe, but I had to give it up. No, that is wrong, I didn't -_have to_, but I gave it up. It was all very embarrassing. But now the -obstacle is not there. I am free. It is a relief." - -"But if you never lost your faith and went on going to church, and -_could_ go to church whenever you liked, I cannot see what you had to -give up. I don't see what the obstacle prevented." - -"To explain you that I should have to tell too long a story," he said. -"I will tell you some day if you have patience to listen. Not now." - -We had got back to the park. I went into the pavilion to drink the -water. I asked Kranitski if he was going to have a glass. - -"No," he said, "I do not need any waters or any cure. I am cured -already, but I need a long rest to forget it all. You know sometimes -after illness you regret the _maladie_, and I am still a little bit -dizzy. After you have had a tooth out, in spite of the relief from pain -you mind the hole." - -He went into the hotel. - -Later in the morning I met Princess Kouragine. - -She asked me how Rudd's novel was getting on. I said I had not seen -him, and had had no talk with him about it. I told her I had made the -acquaintance of Kranitski. - -"I too," she said. "I like him. I never knew him before, but I know a -little of his history. He has been in love a very long time with someone -I knew--and still know, I won't say her name. I don't want to rake up -old scandals, but she was Russian, and she lived, a long time ago, in -Rome, and she was unhappy with her husband, whom I always liked, and -thought extremely _comme il faut_, but they were not suited." - -"Why didn't she divorce him?" I asked. - -"The children," she said; "three children, two boys and a girl, and she -adored them, so did the father, and he would never have let them go, -nor would she have left them for anyone in the world." - -"If she lived at Rome, I may have met her," I said. - -"It is quite possible," said the Princess. "My friend was a charming -person, a little vague, very gentle, very graceful, very musical, very -attractive." - -"Is the husband still alive?" I asked. - -"Yes, he is alive. They do not live at Rome any more, but in the -Caucasus, and at Paris in the winter. I saw them both in Paris this -winter." - -I asked if the Kranitski episode was still going on. - -"It is evidently over," said Princess Kouragine. - -"Why?" I asked. - -"Because he is happy. _Il n'a plus des yeux qui regardent au dela._" - -"Was he very much in love with her?" I asked. - -"Yes, very much. And she too. He will be a character for Mr. Rudd," she -went on, "I saw him talking to him yesterday, with Mrs. Lennox and Jean. -Jean likes him. She looks better these last two days." - -I said I had noticed she seemed more lively. - -"Ah, but physically she looks different. That child wants admiration and -love." - -"Love?" I said. "Won't it be rather unfortunate if she looks for love in -that quarter? He won't love again, will he? Or not so soon as this." - -"You are like the people who think one can only have measles once," she -said. "One can have it over and over again, and the worse you have it -once, the worse you may get it again. He is just in the most susceptible -state of all." - -I said they both seemed to me in the same position. They were both of -them bound by old ties. - -"That is just what will make it easier." - -I asked whether there would be any other obstacles to a marriage between -them, such as money. Princess Kouragine said that Kranitski ought to be -quite well off. - -"There was no obstacle of that kind," she said. "He is a Catholic, but I -do not suppose that will make any difference." - -"Not to Miss Brandon," I said, "nor really to her aunt: Mrs. Lennox -might, I think, look upon it as a kind of obstacle; but a little more -an obstacle than if he was a radical and a little less of one than if he -was socialist." - -She said she did not think that Mrs. Lennox would like her niece to -marry anyone. - -"But if they want to get married nothing will stop them. That girl has a -character of iron." - -"And he?" I asked. - -"He has got some character." - -"Would the other person mind--the lady at Rome?" - -"She probably will mind, but she would not prevent it. _Elle est -foncierement bonne._ Besides which she knows that it is over, there is -nothing more to be said or done. She is _philosophe_ too. A sensible -woman. She insisted on marrying her husband. She was in love with him -directly she came out, and they were married at once. He would have been -an excellent husband for almost anyone else except for her, and if she -had only waited two years she would have known this herself. As it was, -she married him, and found she had married someone else. The inevitable -happened. She is far too sensible to complain now. She knows she has -made a _gachis_ of her life, and that she only has herself to thank. -As it is, she has her children and she is devoted to them. She will not -want to make a _gachis_ of Kranitski's life as well as of her own, and -she nearly did that too. If he marries and is happy she ought to be -pleased, and she will be." - -"And what about the young man who was engaged to Miss Brandon?" I asked. - -"I do not give that story a thought," said the Princess. "They were -probably in the same situation towards each other as the Russian -couple I told you of were before they were married, only Jean had the -good fortune to do nothing in a hurry. She is probably now profoundly -grateful. How can a girl of eighteen know life? How can she even know -her own mind?" - -"It depends on the young man," I said. "We know nothing about him." - -"Yes, we know nothing about him; but that probably shows there is -nothing to know. If there were something to know we should know it by -now. It was all so long ago. They are both different people now, and -they probably know it." - -I said I would not like to speculate or even hazard a guess on such a -matter. It might be as she said, but the contrary might just as well be -true. I did not think Miss Brandon was a person who would change her -mind in a hurry. I thought she was one of the rare people who did know -her own mind. I could imagine her waiting for years if it was necessary. - -As I was saying this, Princess Kouragine said to me: - -"She is walking across the park now with Kranitski. They have sat down -on a seat near the music kiosk. They are talking hard. The lamp is being -lit--she looks ten years younger than she did last week, and she has got -on a new hat." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -During the rest of that day I saw nobody. I gathered there were races -somewhere, and Mrs. Lennox had taken a large party. Just before dinner I -got a message from Rudd asking whether he might dine at my table. - -I do not dine in the big dining-room, as I find the noise and the bustle -trying, but in a smaller room where some of the visitors have their -_petit dejeuner_. - -So we were alone and had the room to ourselves. I asked him if he had -been working. - -He said he had been making notes, plans and sketches, but he could not -get on unless he could discuss his work with someone. - -"The story is gradually taking shape," he said. "I haven't made up my -mind what the setting is to be. But I have got the kernel. My story is -what I told you it would be. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, but when -the Prince wakes her up she is no longer the same person as she was -when she went to sleep. The enchantment has numbed her. She will have -none of the Fairy Prince; she doesn't recognize him as a Fairy Prince, -and she lets him go away. As soon as he is gone she regrets what she -has done and begins to hope he will come back some day. Time passes and -he does come back, but he has forgotten her and he does not recognize -her. Someone else falls in love with her, and she thinks she loves him; -but, at the first kiss he gives her, the forest closes round her and she -falls asleep again." - -I asked him if it was going to be a fairy-tale. - -He said, No, a modern story with perhaps a mysterious lining to it. - -He imagined this kind of story. A girl brought up in romantic -surroundings. She meets a boy who falls in love with her. This, in a -way, wakens her to life, but she will not marry him; and he goes away -for years. Time passes. She leads a numbed existence. She travels, and -somewhere abroad she meets the love of her youth again. He has forgotten -her and loves someone else. Someone else wants to marry her. They are -engaged to be married. But as soon as things get as far as this the man -finds that in some inexplicable way she is different, and _he_ breaks -off the engagement, and she goes on living as she did before, apparently -the same, but in reality dead. - -"Then," I said, "she always loves the Fairy Prince of her youth." - -He said: "She thinks she loves him when it is too late, but in reality -she never loves anyone. She is only half-awake in life. She never gets -over the enchantment which numbs her for life." - -I asked what would correspond to the enchantment in real life. - -He said perhaps the romantic surroundings of her childhood. - -I said I thought he had not meant her to be a romantic character. - -"No more she is," he explained. "The romance is all from outside. -She looks romantic, but she isn't. She is like a person who has been -bewitched. She always thinks she is going to behave like an ordinary -person, but she can't. She has no dreams. She would like to marry, to -have a home, to be comfortable and free, but something prevents it. When -the young man proposes to her she feels she can never marry him. As -soon as he is gone, she regrets having done this, and imagines that if -he came back she would love him." - -"And when he does come back, does she love him?" I asked. - -"She thinks she does, but that is only because he has forgotten her. -If he hadn't forgotten her, and had asked her to marry him, she would -have said 'No' a second time. Then when the other person who is in love -with her wants to marry her, she _thinks_ she is in love with him; she -thinks _he_ is the Fairy Prince; but as soon as they are engaged, _he_ -feels that his love has gone. It has faded from the want of something -in _her_ which he discovers at the very first kiss; he breaks off the -engagement, and she is grateful at being set free, and glad to go back -to her forest." - -I asked if she is unhappy when it is over. - -He said, "Yes, she is unhappy, but she accepts it. She is not -broken-hearted because she never loved him. She realizes that she can't -love and will never love, and accepts the situation." - -I said that I saw no mysterious lining in the story as told that way. - -He said there was none; but the lining would come in the manner the -story was told. He would try and give the reader the impression that -she had come into touch with the fairy world by accident and that the -adventure had left a mark that nothing could alter. - -She had no business to have adventures in fairy land. - -She had strayed into that world by mistake. She was not native to it, -although she looked as if she were. - -I said I thought there ought to be some explanation of how and why she -got into touch with the fairy world. - -He said it was perhaps to be found in the surroundings of her childhood. -She perhaps inherited some strange spiritual, magic legacy. But whatever -it was it must come from the _outside_. Perhaps there was a haunted wood -near her home, and she was forbidden to go into it. Perhaps the legend -of the place said that anyone of her family who visited that wood before -they were fifteen years old, went to sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps -she visited the wood and fell asleep and had a dream. That dream was -the hundred years' sleep, but she forgot the dream as soon as she was -awake. - -I asked him if he thought this story fitted on to Miss Brandon's -character or to the circumstances of her life. - -He said he knew little about the circumstances of her life. Mrs. Lennox -had told him that her niece had once nearly married someone, but that it -had been an impossible marriage for many reasons, and that she did not -think her niece regretted it. That several people had wanted to marry -her abroad, but that she had never fallen in love. - -"As to her character, I am confirmed," he said, "in what I thought about -her the first time I saw her. All her looks are poetry and all her -thoughts are prose. She is practical and prosaic and unimaginative and -quite passionless. But I should not be in the least surprised if she -married a fox-hunting squire with ten thousand a year. All that does not -matter to me. I am not writing her story, but the story of her face. -What might have been her story. And not the story of what her face looks -like, but the story of what her face means. The story of her soul, which -may be very different from the story of her life. It is the story of a -numbed soul. A soul that has visited places which it had no business to -visit and had had to pay the price in consequence. - -"She reminds me of those lines of Heine: - - "Sie waren langst gestorben und wussten - es selber kaum." - - -"That is, of course, only one way of writing the story I have planned -to you. I shall not begin at the beginning at any rate. Perhaps I shall -never write the story at all. You see, I do not intend to publish it in -any case. People would say I was making a portrait. As if an artist ever -made a portrait from one definite real person. People give him ideas. -But on the other hand it is my holiday, and I do not want to have all -the labour of planning a real story, and at the same time I want an -occupation. This will keep me busy. I shall amuse myself by sketching -the story as I see it now." - -I asked who the hero would be. - -"The man who wants to marry her and whom she consents to marry will be a -foreigner," he said. - -"An Italian?" I asked. - -"No," he said, "not an Italian. Not a southerner. A northerner. Possibly -a Norwegian. A Norwegian or a Dane. That would be just the kind of -person to be attracted by this fairy-tale-looking, in reality, prosaic -being." - -"And who would the original Fairy Prince be?" I asked. - -"He would be an ordinary Englishman. Any of the young men I saw here -would do for that. The originality of his character would be in this: -that he would _look_ and be considered the type of dog-like fidelity -and unalterable constancy, and in reality he would forget all about her -directly he met someone else he loved. He would have been quite faithful -till then. Faithful for two or three years. Then he would have met -someone else: a married woman. Someone out of his reach, and he would -have been passionately devoted to her and have forgotten all about the -Fairy Princess. - -"The Norwegian would be attracted by her very apathy and seeming -coldness and aloofness. He would imagine that this would all melt -and vanish away at the first kiss. That she would come to life like -Galatea. It would be the opposite of Galatea. The first kiss would turn -her to stone once more. - -"Then being a very nice honest fellow he would be miserable. He would -not know what to do. He would be a sailor perhaps, and be called away. -That would have to be thought about." - -Then we talked of other things. I asked Rudd if he had made Kranitski's -acquaintance. He said, Yes, he had. He was quite a pleasant fellow, no -brains and very commonplace and rather reactionary in his ideas; not -politically, he meant, but intellectually. - -He had not got further than Miss Austen and he was taken in by -Chesterton. All that was very crude. But he was amiable and good-natured. - -I said Princess Kouragine liked him. - -"Ah," he said, "that is an interesting type. The French character -infected by the Slav microbe. - -"What a powerful thing the Slav microbe is; more powerful even than the -Irish microbe. Her French common sense and her Latin logic had been -stricken by that curious Russian intellectual malaria. She will never -get it out of her system." - -I asked him if he thought Kranitski had the same malaria. - -"It is less noticeable in him," Rudd said, "because he _is_ Russian; -there is no contrast to observe, no conflict. He is simply a Slav of -a rather conventional type. His Slavness would simply reveal itself -in his habits; his incessant cigarette-smoking; his good head for -cards--he was an admirable card-player--his facility for playing the -piano, and perhaps singing folk-songs--I don't know if he does, but he -well might; his good-natured laziness; his social facility; his quick -superficiality. There is nothing interesting psychologically there." - -I said that I believed his mother was Italian. - -Rudd said this was impossible. She might be Polish, but there was -evidently no southern strain in him. Although I knew for a fact that -Rudd was wrong, I could not contradict him; greatly as I wished to do so -I could not bring the words across my lips. - -I said he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. - -He said he knew that he had met him in their rooms. - -I asked whether he thought Miss Brandon liked him. - -Rudd said that Miss Brandon was the same towards everyone. Profoundly -indifferent, that is to say. He did not think, he was, in fact, quite -certain that there was not a soul at Hareville who raised a ripple of -interest on the perfectly level surface of her resigned discontent. - -Then we went out into the park and listened to the music. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The day after Rudd dined with me I was summoned by telegram to London. -My favourite sister, who is married and whom I seldom see, was seriously -ill. She wanted to see me. I started at once for London and found -matters better than I expected, but still rather serious. I stayed with -my sister nearly a month, by which time she was convalescent. Kennaway -insisted on my going back to Hareville to finish my cure. - -When I got back, I found all the members of the group to which I had -become semi-attached still there, and I made a new acquaintance: Mrs. -Summer, who had just come back from the Lakes. I know little about her. -I can only guess at her appearance. I know that she is married and that -she cannot be very young and that is all. On the other hand, I feel now -that I know a great deal about her. - -We sat after dinner in the park. She is a friend of Miss Brandon's. We -talked of her. Mrs. Summer said: - -"The air here has done her such a lot of good." - -She meant to say: "She is looking much better than she did when she -arrived," but she did not want to talk about _looks_ to me. - -I said: "She must get tired of coming here year after year." - -Mrs. Summer said that Miss Brandon hated London almost as much. - -I said: "You have known her a long time?" - -She said: "All her life. Ever since she was tiny." - -I asked what her father was like. - -"He was very selfish, violent-tempered, and rather original. When he -dined out he always took his champagne with him in a pail and in a -four-wheeler. He lived in an old house in the south of Ireland. He was -not really Irish. He had been a soldier. He played picquet with Jean -every evening. He went up to London two months every year--not in the -summer. He liked seeing the Christmas pantomime. He was devoted to -Jean, but tyrannized over her. He never let her out of his sight. - -"When he died he left nothing. The house in Ireland was sold, and -the house in London, a house in Bedford Square. I think there were -illegitimate children. In Ireland he entertained the neighbours, talked -politics, and shouted at his guests, and quarrelled with everyone." - -I presumed he was not a Radical. I was right. - -I said I supposed Miss Brandon could never escape. - -She had been engaged to be married once, but money--the want of it--made -the marriage impossible. Even if there had been money she doubted. - -"Because of the father?" I said. - -"Yes, she would never have left him. She couldn't have left him." - -"Did the father like the young man?" - -"Yes, he liked him, but regarded him as quite impossible, quite out of -the question as a husband." - -I said I supposed he would have thought anyone else equally out of the -question. - -"Of course," she said. "It was pure selfishness----" - -I asked what had happened to the young man. - -He was in the army, but left it because it was too expensive. He went -out to the Colonies--South Africa--as A.D.C. He was there now. - -"Still unmarried?" I asked. - -Mrs. Summer said he would never marry anyone else. He had never looked -at anyone else. He was supposed, at one time, to have liked an Italian -lady, but that was all nonsense. - -She felt I did not believe this. - -"You don't believe me," she said. "But I promise you it's true. He is -that kind of man--terribly faithful; faithful and constant. You see, -Jean isn't an ordinary girl. If one once loved her it would be difficult -to love anyone else. She was just the same when he knew her as she is -now." - -"Except younger." - -"She is just as beautiful now, at least she could be----" - -"If someone told her so." - -"Yes, if someone thought so. Telling wouldn't be necessary." - -"Perhaps someone will." - -Mrs. Summer said it was extremely unlikely she would ever meet anyone -abroad who would be the kind of man. - -I said I thought life was a play in which every entrance and exit was -arranged beforehand, and the momentous entrance and the _scene a faire_ -might quite as well happen at Hareville as anywhere else. - -Mrs. Summer made no comment. I thought to myself: "She knows about -Kranitski and doesn't want to discuss it." - -"The man who marries Jean would be very lucky," she said. "Jean -is--well--there is no one like her. She's more than _rare_. She's -_introuvable_." - -I said that Rudd thought she would never marry anyone. - -"Perhaps not," she said, "but if Mr. Rudd is right about her he will be -right for the wrong reasons. Sometimes the people who see everything -wrong _are_ right. It is very irritating." - -I asked her if she thought Rudd was always wrong. - -"I don't know," she said, "but he would be wrong about Jean. Wrong about -you. Wrong about me. Wrong about Princess Kouragine, and wrongest of -all about Netty Lennox. Perhaps his instincts as an artist _are_ right. -I think people's books are sometimes written by _someone else_, a kind -of planchette. All the authors I have met have been so utterly and -completely wrong about everything that stared them in the face." - -I asked whether she liked his books. - -Yes, she liked them, but she thought they were written by a familiar -spirit. She couldn't fit him into his books. - -"Then," I said, "supposing he wrote a book about Miss Brandon, however -wrong he might be about her, the book might turn out to be true." - -She didn't agree. She thought if he wrote a book about an imaginary Miss -Jones it might turn out to be right in some ways about Jean Brandon, and -in some ways about a hundred other people; but if he set out to write a -book about Jean it would be wrong. - -"You mean," I said, "he is imaginative and not observant?" - -"I mean," she said, "that he writes by instinct, as good actors act." - -She said there was a Frenchman at the hotel who had told her that he had -seen a rehearsal of a complicated play, in which a great actress was -acting. The author was there. He explained to the actress what he wanted -done. She said: "Yes, I see this, and this, and this." Everything she -said was terribly wide of the mark, the opposite of what he had meant. -He saw she hadn't understood a word he had said. Then the actress got on -to the stage and acted it exactly as if she understood everything. - -"I think," she said, "that Mr. Rudd is like that." - -I asked Mrs. Summer if she knew Kranitski. - -"Just a little," she said. "What do you think about him?" - -I said I liked him. - -"He's very quick and easy to get on with," she said. - -"Like all Russians." - -"Like all Russians, but I don't think he's quite like all Russians, at -least not the kind of Russians one meets." - -"No, more like the Russians one doesn't meet." - -"Tolstoi's Russians. Yes. It's a pity they have such a genius for -unhappiness." - -I said I thought Kranitski did not seem unhappy. - -"No, but more as if he had just recovered than if he was quite well." - -I said I thought he gave one the impression that he was capable of being -very happy. There was nothing gloomy about him. - -"All people who are unhappy are generally very happy, too," she said, -"at least they are often very...." - -"Gay?" I suggested. - -She agreed. - -I said I thought he was more than an unhappy person with high spirits, -which one saw often enough. He gave me the impression of a person -capable of _solid_ happiness, the kind of business-like happiness that -comes from a fundamental goodness. - -"Yes, he might, be like that," she said, "only one doesn't know quite -what his life has been and is." - -She meant she knew all too well that his life had not been one in which -happiness was possible. - -I agreed. - -"One knows so little about other people." - -"Nothing," I said. "Perhaps he is miserable. He ought to marry. I feel -he is very domestic." - -"I sometimes think," she said, "that the people who marry--the men I -mean--are those who want the help and support of a woman, women are so -far stronger and braver than men; and that those who don't marry are -sometimes those who are strong enough to face life without this help. Of -course, there are others who aren't either strong enough or weak enough -to need it, but they don't matter." - -I said I supposed she thought Kranitski would be strong enough to do -without marriage. - -"I think so," she said, "but then, I hardly know him." - -"Does your theory apply to women, too?" I asked. "Are there some women -who are strong enough to face life alone?" - -She said women were strong enough to do either. In either case life was -for them just as difficult. - -I asked if she thought Miss Brandon would be happier married or not -married. - -"Jean would never marry unless she married the right person, the man she -wanted to marry," she said. - -"Would the person she wanted to marry," I said, "necessarily be the -right person?" - -"He would be more right for her, whatever the drawbacks, than anyone -else." - -I said I supposed nearly everyone thought they were marrying the right -person, and yet how strangely most marriages turned out. - -"Nothing better than marriage has been invented, all the same," she -said, "and if people marry when they are old enough...." - -"To know better," I said. - -"Yes, it doesn't then turn out so very badly as a rule." - -I said that as things were at present Miss Brandon's life seemed to me -completely wasted. - -"So it is, but it might be worse. It might be a tragedy. Supposing she -married someone who became fond of someone else." - -"She would mind," I said. - -"She would mind terribly." - -I said I thought people always got what they wanted in the long run. -If she wanted a marriage of a definite kind she would probably end by -getting it. - -Mrs. Summer agreed in the main, but she thought that although one often -did get what one wanted in the long run, it often came either too late -or not quite at the moment when one wanted it, or one found when one had -got it that it was after all not quite what one had wanted. - -"Then," I said, "you think it is no use wanting anything?" - -"No use," she said, "no use whatever." - -"You are a pessimist." - -"I am old enough to have no illusions." - -"But you want other people to have illusions?" - -"I think there is such a thing as happiness in the world, and that when -you see someone who might be happy, missing the chance of it, it's a -pity. That's all." - -Then I said: - -"You want other people to want things." - -"Other people? Yes," she said. "Quite dreadfully I want it." - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox came up to us and said: - -"I have won five hundred francs, and I had the courage to leave the -Casino. I can't think what has happened to Jean. I have been looking for -her the whole evening." I left them and went into the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was the morning after the conversation I had with Mrs. Summer that I -received a message from Miss Brandon. She wanted to speak to me. Could I -be, about five o'clock, at the end of the alley? I was punctual at the -rendezvous. - -"I wanted to have a talk," she said, "to-day, if possible, because -to-morrow Aunt Netty has organized an expedition to the lakes, and the -day after we are all going to the races, so I didn't know when I should -see you again." - -"But you are not going away yet, are you?" I asked. - -No, they were not going away, they would very likely stay on till the -end of July. Then there was an idea of Switzerland; or perhaps the -Mozart festival at Munich, followed by a week at Bayreuth. Mr. Rudd -was going to Bayreuth, and had convinced Mrs. Lennox that she was a -Wagnerite. - -"I thought you couldn't be going away yet--but one never knows, here -people disappear so suddenly, and I wanted to see you so particularly -and at once. You are going to finish your cure?" - -I said my time limit was another fortnight. After that I was going back -to my villa at Cadenabbia. - -"Shall you come here next year?" - -I said it depended on my doctor. I asked her her plans. - -"I don't think I shall come back next year." - -There was a slight note of suppressed exultation in her voice. I asked -whether Mrs. Lennox was tired of Hareville. - -"Aunt Netty loves it, better than ever. Mr. Rudd has promised her to -come too." - -There was a long pause. - -"I can't bear it any longer," she said at last. - -"Hareville?" - -"Hareville and all of it--everything." - -There was another long pause. She broke it. - -"You talked to Mabel Summer yesterday?" - -I said we had had a long talk. - -"I'm sure you liked her?" - -I said I had found her delightful. - -"She's my oldest friend, although she's older than I am. Poor Mabel, -she's had a very unhappy life." - -I said one felt in her the sympathy that came from experience. - -"Oh yes, she's so brave; she's wonderful." - -I said I supposed she'd had great disappointments. - -"More than that. Tragedies. One thing after another." - -I asked whether she had any children. - -"Her two little girls both died when they were babies. But it wasn't -that. She'll tell you all about it, perhaps, some day." - -I said I doubted whether we would ever meet again. - -"Mabel always keeps up with everybody she makes friends with. She -doesn't often make new friends. She told me she had made two new friends -here. You and Kranitski." - -"She likes him?" I said. - -"She likes him very much. She's very fastidious, very hard to please, -very critical." - -I said everyone seemed to like Kranitski. - -"Aunt Netty says he's commonplace, but that's because Mr. Rudd said he -was commonplace." - -I said Rudd always had theories about people. - -"You like Mr. Rudd?" she asked. - -I said I did, and reminded her that she had told me she did. - -"If you want to know the truth," she said, "I don't. I think he's -awful." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? A week ago I would have rather -died than admit this to you, but now I don't care. Of course I know he's -a good writer and clever and subtle, and all that--but I've come to the -conclusion----" - -"To what conclusion?" - -"Well, that I don't--that I like the other sort of people better." - -"The stupid people?" - -"No." - -"The clever people?" - -"No." - -"What people?" - -"I don't know. Nice people." - -"People like----" - -"People like Mabel Summer and Princess Kouragine," she interrupted. - -"They are both very clever, I think," I said. - -"Yes, but it's not that that matters." - -I said I thought intelligence mattered a great deal. - -"When it's natural," she said. - -"Do you think people can become religious if they're not?" she asked -suddenly. - -I said that I didn't feel that I could, but it certainly did happen to -some people. - -"I'm afraid it will never happen to me," she said. "I used to hope it -might never happen, but now I hope the opposite. Last night, after you -went in, Aunt Netty took us to the cafe, and we all sat there: Mr. -Rudd, Mabel, a Frenchman whose name I don't know, and M. Kranitski. -The Frenchman was talking about China, and said he had stayed with a -French priest there. The priest had asked him why he didn't go to Mass. -The Frenchman said he had no faith. The priest had said it was quite -simple, he had only to pray to the Sainte Vierge for faith, _Mon enfant, -c'est bien simple: il faut demander la foi a la Sainte Vierge._ He -said this, imitating the priest, in a falsetto voice. They all laughed -except M. Kranitski, who said, seriously, 'Of course, you should ask the -Sainte Vierge.' When the Frenchman and M. Kranitski went away, Mr. Rudd -said that in matters of religion Russians were childish, and that M. -Kranitski has a _simpliste_ mind." - -I said that Kranitski was obviously religious. - -"Yes," she said, "but to be like that, one must be born like that." - -I said that curious explosions often happened to people. I had heard -people talk of divine dynamite. - -"Yes, but not to the people who want them to happen." - -I said perhaps the method of the French priest in China was the best. - -"Yes, if only one could do it--I can't." - -I said that I felt as she did about these things. - -"I know so many people who are just in the same state," she said. -"Perhaps it's like wishing to be musical when one isn't. But after all -one _does_ change, doesn't one?" - -I said some people did, certainly. When one was in one frame of mind one -couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in another. - -"Yes," she said, "but I suppose there's a difference between being in -one frame of mind and not wishing ever to be in another, and in being in -the same frame of mind but longing to be in another." - -I asked if she knew how long Kranitski was going to stay at Hareville. - -"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it all depends." - -"On his health?" - -"I don't think so. He's quite well." - -"Religion must be all or nothing," I said, going back to the topic. - -"Yes, of course." - -"If I was religious I should----" - -She interrupted me in the middle of my sentence. - -"Mr. Rudd is writing a book," she said. "Aunt Netty asked him what it -was about, and he said it was going to be a private book, a book that he -would only write in his holidays for his own amusement. She asked him -whether he had begun it. He said he was only planning it, but he had -got an idea. He doesn't like Mabel Summer. He thinks she is laughing -at him. She isn't really, but she sees through him. I don't mean he -pretends to be anything he isn't, but she sees all there is to see, -and no more. He likes one to see more. Aunt Netty sees a great deal -more. I see less probably. I'm unfair to him, I know. I know I'm very -intolerant. You are so tolerant." - -I said I wasn't really, but kept my intolerances to myself out of -policy. It was a prudent policy for one in my position. - -"Mr. Rudd adores you," she said. "He says you are so acute, so sensitive -and so sensible." - -I said I was a good listener. - -"Has he told you about his book?" - -I said that he had told me what he had told them. - -"M. Kranitski has such a funny idea about it," she said. - -I asked what the idea was. - -"He thinks he is writing a book about all of us." - -"Who is the heroine?" I asked. - -"Mabel--I think," she said. "She's so pretty. Mr. Rudd admires her. He -said she was like a Tanagra, and I can see she puzzles him. He's afraid -of her." - -"And who is the hero?" I asked. - -"I can't imagine," she said. "I expect he has invented one." - -"Why is the book private?" - -"Because it's about real people." - -"Then we may all of us be in it?" - -"Yes." - -"What made Kranitski think that?" I asked. - -"The way he discusses all our characters. Each person who isn't there -with all the others who are there. For instance, he discusses Princess -Kouragine with Aunt Netty, and Mabel with Princess Kouragine, and you -with all of us; and M. Kranitski says he talks about people like a -stage manager settling what actors must be cast for a particular play. -He checks what one person tells him with what the others say. I have -noticed it myself. He talked to me for hours about Mabel one day, and -after he had discussed Princess Kouragine with us, he asked Mabel what -she thought of her. That is to say, he told her what he thought, and -then asked her if she agreed. I don't think he listened to what she -said. He hardly ever listens. He talks in monologues. But there must be -someone there to listen." - -"You have left out one of the characters," I said. - -"Have I?" - -"The most important one." - -"The hero?" - -"And the heroine." - -"He's sure to invent those." - -"I'm not so sure, I think you have left out the most important -character." - -"I don't think so." - -"I mean yourself." - -"Oh no, that's nonsense; he never pays any attention to me at all. He -doesn't talk about me to Aunt Netty or to the others." - -"Perhaps he has made up his mind." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "that's just it. He has made up his mind. He -thinks I'm a--well, just a lay figure." - -I said I was certain she would not be left out if he was writing that -kind of book. - -She laughed happily--so happily that I imagined her looking radiant and -felt that the lamp was lit. I asked her why she was laughing. - -"I'm laughing," she said, "because in one sense my novel is over--with -the ordinary happy, conventional ending--the reason I wanted to talk to -you to-day was to tell you----" - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox joined us. Miss Brandon's voice passed quite -naturally into another key, as she said: - -"Here is Aunt Netty." - -"I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mrs. Lennox, "I've got a -headache, and we've so many letters to write. When we've done them you -can watch me doing my patience." - -She said these last words as if she was conferring an undeserved reward -on a truant child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Later on in the evening, about six o'clock, as I was drinking a glass -of water in the Pavilion, someone nearly ran into me and was saved from -doing so by the intervention of a stranger who saw at once I was blind, -although the other person had not noticed it. He shepherded me away from -the danger and apologized. He said he supposed I was an Englishman, -and that he was one too. He told me his name was Canning. We talked a -little. He asked me if I was staying at the _Splendide_. I said I was. -He said he had hoped to meet some friends of his, who he had understood -were staying there too, but he could not find their names on the list -of visitors. A Mrs. Lennox, he said, and her niece, Miss Brandon. Did I -know them? I told him they were staying at the hotel; not at the hotel -proper, but at the annexe, which was a separate building. I described -to him where it was. The man's voice struck me. It was so gentle, so -courteous, with a tinge of melancholy in it. I asked him if he was -taking the waters? He said he hadn't settled. He liked watering places. -Then our brief conversation came to an end. - -After dinner, Rudd fetched me and I joined the group. I was introduced -to the stranger I met in the morning: Captain Canning they called him. -Mrs. Summer and Princess Kouragine were sitting with them. They all -talked a great deal, except Miss Brandon, who said little, and Captain -Canning who said nothing. - -The next morning Kranitski met me at the Pavilion, and we talked a great -deal. He was in high spirits and looking forward to an expedition to -the lakes which Mrs. Lennox had organized. He was going with her, Miss -Brandon and others. While we were sitting on a seat in the _Galeries_ -the postman went by with the letters. There was a letter for Kranitski, -and he asked me if I minded his reading it. He read it. There was a -silence and then suddenly he laughed: a short rather mirthless chuckle. -We neither of us said anything for a moment, and I felt, I knew, -something had happened. There was a curious strain in his voice which -seemed to come from another place, as he said: "It is time for my -douche. I shall be late. I will see you this evening." He then left me. -I saw nobody for the rest of the day. - -The next day I saw some of the group in the morning just before -_dejeuner_. Rudd read out a short story to us from a magazine. After -luncheon Rudd came up to my room. He wished to have a talk. He had been -so busy lately. - -"With your book?" I asked. - -"No. I have had no time to touch it," he said. "It's all simmering in my -mind. I daresay I shall never write it at all." - -I asked him who Captain Canning was. He knew all about him. He was the -young man who had once been engaged to Miss Brandon, so Mrs. Lennox had -told him. But it was quite obvious that he no longer cared for her. - -"Then why did he come here?" I asked. - -"He caught fever in India and wanted to consult Doctor Sabran, the great -malaria expert here. He was not staying on. He was going away in a few -days' time. That was one reason. There was another. Donna Maria Alberti, -the beautiful Italian, had been here for a night on her way to Italy. -Canning had met her in Africa and was said to be devoted to her." - -I asked him why he thought Canning no longer cared for Miss Brandon. - -"Because," he said, "if he did he would propose to her at once." - -"But money," I said. - -That was all right now. His uncle had died. He was quite well off. He -could marry if he wanted to. He had not paid the slightest attention to -Miss Brandon. - -"And she?" I asked. - -"He is a different person now to what he was, but she is the same. She -accepts the fact." - -"But does she love anyone else?" - -"Oh! that----" - -"Is 'another story'?" I said. - -"Quite a different story," he said gravely. - -Rudd then left me. He was going out with Mrs. Lennox. Not long after -he had gone, Canning himself came and talked to me. He said he was not -staying long. He had not much leave and there was a great deal he must -do in England. He had come here to see a special doctor who was supposed -to know all about malaria. But he had found this doctor was no longer -here. He had meant to have a holiday, as he liked watering-places--they -amused him--but he found he had had so much to do in England. He kept -on getting so many business letters that he would have to go away much -sooner than he intended. He was going back to South Africa at the end of -the month. - -"I have still got another year out there," he said. "After that I shall -take up the career of a farmer in England, unless I settle in Africa -altogether. It is a wonderful place. I have been so much away that I -hardly feel at home in England now. At least, I think I shall hardly -feel at home there. I only passed through London on my way out here." - -I told him that if he ever came to Italy he must stay with me at -Cadenabbia. He said he would like to come to Italy. He had several -Italian friends. One of them, Donna Maria Alberti, had been here -yesterday, but she had gone. He sat for some time with me, but he did -not talk much. - -After dinner I found the usual group, all but Miss Brandon who had got a -headache, and Kranitski who was playing in the Casino. Canning joined -us for a moment, but he did not stay long. - -The next day I saw nothing of any of the group. There were races going -on not far off, and I had gathered that Mrs. Lennox was going to these. - -It was two or three days after this that Kranitski came up to my room at -ten o'clock in the morning, and asked whether he could see me. He said -he wanted to say "Good-bye," as he was going away. - -"My plans have been changed," he said. "I am going to London, and then -probably to South Africa at the end of the month. I have been making the -acquaintance of that nice Englishman, Canning. I am going with him." - -"Just for the sea voyage?" I asked. - -"No; I shall stay there for a long time. I am _Europamuede_, if you know -what that means--tired of Europe." - -"And of Russia?" I asked. - -"Most of all of Russia," he said. - -"I want to tell you one thing," he went on. "After our meeting the other -day I have been thinking you might think wrong. You are what we call in -Russia very _chutki_, with a very keen scent in impressions. I want -you not to misjudge. You may be thinking the obstacle has come back. It -hasn't. I am free as air, as empty air. That is what I have been wanting -to tell you. If you are understanding, well and good. If you are not -understanding, I can tell you no more. I have enjoyed our acquaintance. -We have not been knowing each other much, yet I know you very well now. -I want to thank you and go." - -I asked him if he would like letters. I said I wrote letters on a -typewriter. - -He said he would. I told him he could write to me if he didn't mind -letters being read out. My sister generally read my letters to me. She -stayed with me whenever she could at Cadenabbia. But now she was busy. - -He said he would write. He didn't mind who read his letters. I told him -I lived all the year in Italy, and very seldom saw anyone, so that I -should have little news to send him. "Tell me what you are thinking," he -said. "That is all the news I want." - -I asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He said, "Yes, -send me any books that Mr. Rudd writes. They would interest me." - -I promised him I would do this. Then he said "Good-bye." He went away by -the seven o'clock train. - -That evening I saw no one. The next morning I learnt that Canning had -gone too. - -Rudd came up to my rooms to see me, but I told Henry I was not well and -he did not let him come in. - -The next morning I talked to Princess Kouragine at the door of the -hotel. She was just leaving. I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"They have gone," said the Princess. "They went last night to Paris. -They are going to Munich and then to Bayreuth. Jean asked me to say -'Good-bye' to you. She said she hopes you will come here next year." - -"Has Rudd gone with them?" I asked. - -"He will meet them at Bayreuth later. He does not love Mozart. And there -is a Mozart festival at Munich." - -I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"The same as before," said the Princess. "The lamp was lit for a moment, -but they put it out. It is a pity. The man behaved well." - -At that moment we were interrupted. I wanted to ask her a great deal -more. But the motor-bus drove up to the door. She said "Good-bye" to me. -She was going to Paris. She would spend the winter at Rome. - -In the afternoon I saw Mrs. Summer, but only for a moment. She told me -Miss Brandon had sent me a lot of messages, and I wanted to ask her -what had happened and how things stood, but she had an engagement. We -arranged to meet and have a long talk the next morning. - -But when the next morning came, I got a message from her, saying she had -been obliged to go to London at once to meet her husband. - -A little later in the day, I received a letter by post from my unmarried -sister, saying she would meet me in Paris and we could both go back to -Italy together. So I decided to do this. I saw Rudd once before I left. -He dined with me on my last night. He said that his holiday was shortly -coming to an end. He would spend three days at Bayreuth and then he -would go back to work. - -"On the Sleeping Beauty?" I asked. - -"No, not on that." He doubted whether he would ever touch that again. -The idea of it had been only a holiday amusement at first. "But now," he -said, "the idea has grown. If I do it, it will have to be a real book, -even if only a short one, a _nouvelle._ The idea is a fascinating one. -The Sleeping Beauty awake and changed in an alien world. Perhaps I may -do it some day. If I do, I will send it to you. In any case I was right -about Miss Brandon. She would be a better heroine for a fairy tale than -for a modern story. She is too emotionless, too calm for a modern novel." - -"I have got another idea," he went on, "I am thinking of writing a story -about a woman who looked as delicate as a flower, and who crushed those -who came into contact with her and destroyed those who loved her. The -idea is only a shadow as yet. But it may come to something. In any case -I must do some regular work at once. I have had a long enough holiday. -I have been wasting my time. I have enjoyed it, it has done me good, -and conversations are never wasted, as they are the breeding ground of -ideas. Sometimes the ideas do not flower for years. But the seed is sown -in talk. I am grateful to you too, and I hope I shall meet you here -again next year. I can't invent anything unless I am in sympathetic -surroundings." - -The next day I left Hareville and met my sister in Paris. We travelled -to Cadenabbia together. - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - - - -PART II - - -FROM THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY. - - -I - - -Two years after I had written these few chapters, I was sent once more -to Hareville. Again I went early in the season. There was nobody left -of the old group I had known during my first visit. Mrs. Lennox and her -niece were not there, and they were not expected. They had spent some -months at Hareville the preceding year. - -I had spent the intervening time in Italy. I had heard once or twice -from Mrs. Summer, and sometimes from Kranitski. He had gone to South -Africa with Canning and had stayed there He liked the country. Miss -Brandon was not yet married. Princess Kouragine I had not seen again. -Rudd I had neither heard from nor of. Apparently he had published one -book since he had been to Hareville and several short stories in -magazines. The book was called _The Silver Sandal_, and had nothing to -do with any of his experiences here or with any of the fancies which -they had called up. It was, on the contrary, a semi-historical romance -of a fantastic nature. - -During the first days of my stay here I made no acquaintances, and I was -already counting on a dreary three weeks of unrelieved dullness when my -doctor here introduced me to Sabran, the malaria specialist, who had -been away during my first cure. - -Dr. Sabran, besides being a specialist with a reverberating reputation -and a widely travelled man of great experience and European culture, had -a different side to his nature which was not even suspected by many of -his patients. - -Under the pseudonym of Gaspard Lautrec he had written some charming -stories and some interesting studies in art and literature. Historical -questions interested him; and still more, the quainter facts of human -nature, psychological puzzles, mysterious episodes, unvisited by-ways, -and baffling and unsolved problems in history, romance and everyday -life. He was a voracious reader, and there was little that had escaped -his notice in the contemporary literature of Europe. - -I found him an extraordinarily interesting companion, and he was kind -enough, busy as I knew him to be, either to come and see me daily, or -to invite me to his house. I often dined with him, and we would remain -talking in his sitting-room till late in the night, while he would tell -me of some of the remarkable things that had come under his notice or -sometimes weave startling and paradoxical theories about nature and man. - -I asked him one day if he knew Rudd's work. He said he admired it, -but it had always struck him as strange that a writer could be as -intelligent as Rudd and yet, at the same time, so obviously _a cote_ -with regard to some of the more important springs and factors of human -nature. - -I asked him what made him think that. - -"All his books," he said, "any of them. I have just been reading his -last book in the Tauchnitz edition, a book of stories, not short -stories: _nouvelles_. It is called _Unfinished Dramas_. I will lend it -you if you like." - -We talked of other things, and I took the book away with me when I went -away. The next day I received a letter from Rudd, sending me a privately -printed story (one of 500 signed copies) called _Overlooked_, which, he -said, completed the series of his "Unfinished Dramas," but which he had -not published for reasons which I would understand. - -Henry read out Rudd's new book to me. There were three stories in the -book. They did not interest me greatly, and I made Henry hurry through -them; but the privately printed story _Overlooked_ was none other than -the story he had thought of writing when we were at Hareville together. - -He had written the story more or less as he had said he had intended -to. All the characters of our old group were in it. Miss Brandon was -the centre, and Kranitski appeared, not as a Swede but as a Russian. I -myself flitted across the scene for a moment. - -The facts which he related were as far as I knew actually those which -had occurred to that group of people during their stay at Hareville two -years ago, but the deductions he drew from them, the causes he gave as -explaining them, seemed to me at least wide of the mark. - -His conception of such of his characters as I knew at all well, and -his interpretation of their motives were, in the cases in which I had -the power of checking them by my own experience, I considered quite -fantastically wrong. - -When I had finished reading the book, I sent it to Sabran, and with it -the MS. I had written two years ago, and I begged the doctor to read -what I had written and to let me know when he had done so, so that we -might discuss both the documents and their relation one to the other and -to the reality. - -(_Note_.--Here, in the bound copy of Anthony Kay's Papers, follows the -story called _Overlooked,_ by James Rudd.) - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By JAMES RUDD. - - -1 - -It was the after-luncheon hour at Saint-Yves-les-Bains. The Pavilion, -with its large tepid glass dome and polished brass fountains, where the -salutary, and somewhat steely, waters flowed unceasingly, the Pompeian -pillared "Galeries" were deserted; so were the trim park with its -kiosk, where a scanty orchestra played rag-time in the morning and in -the evenings; the florid Casino, which denoted the third of the three -styles of architecture that distinguished the appendages of the Hotel de -La Source, where a dignified, shabby, white Louis-Philippe nucleus was -still to be detected half-concealed and altogether overwhelmed by the -elegant improvements and dainty enlargements of the Second Empire and -the over-ripe _Art Nouveau_ excrescences of a later period. - -Kathleen Farrel had the park to herself. She was reading the _Morning -Post_, which her aunt, Mrs. Knolles, took in for the literary articles, -and which you would find on her table side by side with newspapers and -journals of a widely different and sometimes, indeed, of a startling and -flamboyant character; for Mrs. Knolles was catholic in her ideas and -daring in her tastes. - -Kathleen Farrel was reading listlessly without interest. She had lived -so much abroad that English news had little attraction for her, and she -was no longer young enough to regret missing any of the receptions, -race-meetings, garden-parties, and other social events which she was -idly skimming the record of. For it was now the height of the London -season, but Mrs. Knolles had let the London house in Hill Street. She -always let it every summer, and in the winter as well, whenever she -could find a tenant. - -A paragraph had caught Kathleen's eye and had arrested her attention. -It began thus: "The death has occurred at Monks-well Hall of Sir James -Stukely." - -Sir James Stukely was Lancelot Stukely's uncle. Lancelot would inherit -the baronetcy and a comfortable income. He had left the army some years -ago. He was at present abroad, performing some kind of secretarial -duties to the Governor of Malta. He would give up that job, which was -neither lucrative nor interesting, he would come home, and then---- - -At any rate, he had not altogether forgotten her. His monthly letters -proved that. They had been unfailingly regular. Only--well, for the -last year they had been undefinably different. Ever since that visit -to Cairo. She had heard stories of an attachment, a handsome Italian -lady, who looked like a Renaissance picture and who was said to be -unscrupulous. But she really knew nothing, and Lancelot had always -been so reserved, so reticent; his letters had always been so bald, -almost formal, ever since their brief engagement six years before had -been broken off. Ever since that memorable night in Ireland when she -confessed to her father, who was more than usually violent and had drunk -an extra glass of old Madeira, that she had refused to marry Lancelot. -At first she had asked him not to write, and he had dutifully accepted -the restriction. But later, when her father died, he had written to her -and she had answered his letter. Since then he had written once a month -without fail from India, where his regiment had been quartered, and -then from Malta. But never had there been a single allusion to the past -or to the future. The tone of them would be: "Dear Miss Farrel, We are -having very good sport." Or "Dear Miss Farrel, We went to the opera last -night. It was too classical for me." And they had always ended: "Yours -sincerely, Lancelot Stukely." - -And yet she could not believe he was really different. Was she -different? "Am I perhaps different?" she thought. She dismissed the -idea. What had happened to make her different? Nothing. For the last -five years, ever since her father had died, she had lived the same -life. The winter at her aunt's villa at Bordighera, sometimes a week or -two at Florence, the summer at Saint-Yves-les-Bains, where they lived -in the hotel, on special terms, as Mrs. Knolles was such a constant -client. Never a new note, always the same gang of people round them; -the fashionable cosmopolitan world of continental watering-places, the -English and foreign colonies of the Riviera and North Italy. She had -never met anyone who had roused her interest, and the only persons whose -attention she had seemed to attract were, in her Aunt Elsie's words, -"frankly impossible." - -She would be thirty next year. She already felt infinitely older. "But -perhaps," she thought, "he will come back the same as he was before. He -will propose and I will accept him this time." Why had she refused him? -Their financial situation--her poverty and his own very small income -had had nothing to do with it, because Lancelot had said he was willing -to wait for years, and everyone knew he had expectations. She could not -have left her father, but then her father died a year after she refused -Lancelot. - -No, the reason had been that she thought she did not love him. She -had liked Lancelot, but she hoped for something more and something -different. A fairy prince who would wake her to a different life. As -soon as he had gone away, and still more when his series of formal -letters began, she realized that she had made a mistake, and she had -never ceased to repent her action. The fact was, she said to herself, -I was too young to make such a decision. I did not know my own mind. -If only he had come back when father died. If only he had been a little -more insistent. He had accepted everything without a murmur. And yet now -she felt certain he had been faithful and was faithful still, whatever -anyone might say to the contrary. - -"Perhaps I am altered," she thought. "Perhaps he won't even recognize -me." And yet she knew she did not believe this. For although her Aunt -Elsie used to be seriously anxious about her niece's looks--fearing -anaemia, so much so that they sometimes visited dreary places on the -sea-coasts of England and France--she knew her looks had not altered -sensibly. People still stared at her when she entered a room, for -although there was nothing classical nor brilliant about her features -and her appearance, hers was a face you could not fail to observe -and which it was difficult to forget. It was a face that appealed to -artists. They would have liked to try and paint that clear white, -delicate skin, and those extraordinarily haunting round eyes which -looked violet in some lights and a deep sea-blue in others, and to try -and render the romantic childish glamour of her person, that wistful, -fairy-tale-like expression. It was extraordinary that with such an -appearance she should have been the inspirer of no romance, but so it -was. Painters had admired her; one or two adventurers had proposed to -her; but with the exception of Lancelot Stukely no one had fallen in -love with her. Perhaps she had frightened people. She could not make -conversation. She did not care for books. She knew nothing of art, and -the people her aunt saw--most of whom were foreigners--talked glibly and -sometimes wittily of all these things. - -Kathleen had been born for a country life, and she was condemned to live -in cities and in watering-places. She was insular; though she had lived -a great deal in Ireland, she was not Irish, and she had been cast for a -continental part. She was matter-of-fact, and her appearance promised -the opposite. She was in a sense the victim of her looks, which were so -misleading. - -But perhaps the solution, the real solution of the absence of romance, -or even of suitors, was to be found in her unconquerable listlessness -and apathy. She was, as it were, only half-alive. - -Once, when she was a little girl, she had gone to pick flowers in the -great dark wood near her home, where the trees had huge fantastic -trunks, and gnarled boles, and where in the spring-time the blue-bells -stretched beneath them like an unbroken blue sea. After she had been -picking blue-bells for nearly an hour, she had felt sleepy. She lay down -under the trunk of a tree. A gipsy passed her and asked to tell her -fortune. She had waved her away, as she had no sympathy with gipsies. -The gipsy had said that she would give her a piece of good advice -unasked, and that was, not to go to sleep in the forest on the Eve of -St. John, for if she did she would never wake. She paid no attention -to this, and she dozed off to sleep and slept for about half-an-hour. -She was an obstinate child, and not at all superstitious. When she -got home, she asked the housekeeper when was the Eve of St. John. -It happened to fall on that very day. She said to herself that this -proved what nonsense the gipsies talked, as she had slept, woken up, -come back to the house, and had high tea in the schoolroom as usual. -She never gave the incident another thought; but the housekeeper, who -was superstitious, told one of the maids that Miss Kathleen had been -_overlooked_ by the fairy-folk and would never be quite the same again. -When she was asked for further explanations, she would not give any. But -to all outward appearances Kathleen was the same, and nobody noticed any -difference in her, nor did she feel that she had suffered any change. - -As long as she had lived with her father in Ireland, she had been fairly -lively. She had enjoyed out-door life. The house, a ramshackle, Georgian -grey building, was near the sea, and her father who had been a sailor -used sometimes to take her out sailing. She had ridden and sometimes -hunted. All this she had enjoyed. It was only after she dismissed -Lancelot, who had known her ever since she was sixteen, that the mist -of apathy had descended on her. After her father's death, this mist had -increased in thickness, and when her continental life with her aunt had -began, she had altogether lost any particle of _joie de vivre_ she had -ever had. Nor did she seem to notice it or to regret the past. She never -complained. She accepted her aunt's plans and decisions, and never made -any objection, never even a suggestion or a comment. - -Her aunt was truly fond of her, and she tried to devise treats to please -her, and tried to awaken her interest in things. One year she had -taken Kathleen to Bayreuth, hoping to rouse her interest in music, but -Kathleen had found the music tedious and noisy, although she listened to -it without complaining, and when her aunt suggested going there another -year, she agreed to the suggestion with alacrity. The only thing which -ever roused her interest was horse-racing. Sometimes they went to the -races near Saint-Yves, and then Kathleen would become a different girl. -She would be, as long as the racing lasted, alive for the time being, -and sink back into her dreamless apathy as soon as they were over. - -At the same time, whenever she thought of Lancelot Stukely she felt a -pang of regret, and after reading this paragraph in the _Morning Post_, -she hoped, more than ever she had hoped before, that he would come back, -and come back unchanged and faithful, and that she would be the same for -him as she had been before, and that she would once more be able to -make his slow honest eyes light up and smoulder with love, admiration -and passion. - -"This time I will not make the same mistake," she said to herself. "If -he gives me the chance----" - - - -2 - - -Her reverie was interrupted by the approach of an hotel acquaintance. It -was Anikin, the Russian, who had in the last month become an accepted -and established factor in their small group of hotel acquaintances. -Kathleen had met him first some years ago at Rome, but it was only at -Saint-Yves that she had come to know him. - -As he took off his hat in a hesitating manner, as if afraid of -interrupting her thoughts, she registered the fact that she knew him, -not only better than anyone else at the hotel, but better almost than -anyone anywhere. - -"Would you like a game?" he asked. He meant a game which was provided in -the park for the distraction of the patients. It consisted in throwing -a small ring, attached to a post by a string, on to hooks which were -fixed on an upright sloping board. The hooks had numbers underneath -them, which varied from one to 5,000. - -"Not just at present," she said, "I am waiting for Aunt Elsie. I must -see what she is going to do, but later on I should love a game." - -He smiled and went on. He understood that she wanted to be left alone. -He had that swift, unerring comprehension of the small and superficial -shades of the mind, the minor feelings, social values, and human -relations that so often distinguishes his countrymen. - -He might, indeed, have stepped out of a Russian novel, with his -untidy hair, his short-sighted, kindly eyes, his colourless skin, and -nondescript clothes. Kathleen had never reflected before whether she -liked him or disliked him. She had accepted him as part of the place, -and she had not noticed the easiness of relations with him. It came upon -her now with a slight shock that these relations were almost peculiar -from their ease and naturalness. It was as if she had known him for -years, whereas she had not known him for more than a month. All this -flashed through her mind, which then went back to the paragraph in the -_Morning Post_, when her aunt rustled up to her. - -Mrs. Knolles had the supreme elegance of being smart without looking -conventional, as if she led rather than followed the fashion. There was -always something personal and individual about her Parisian hats, her -jewels, and her cloaks; and there was something rich, daring and exotic -about her sumptuous sombre hair, with its sudden gold-copper glints and -her soft brown eyes. There was nothing apathetic about her. She was -filled to the brim with life, with interest, with energy. She cast a -glance at the _Morning Post_, and said rather impatiently: - -"My dear child, what are you reading? That newspaper is ten days old. -Don't you see it is dated the first?" - -"So it is," said Kathleen apologetically. But that moment a thought -flashed through her: "Then, surely, Lancelot must be on his way home, if -he is not back already." - -"I've brought you your letters," said her aunt. "Here they are." - -Kathleen reached for them more eagerly than usual. She expected to see, -she hoped, at least, to see, Lancelot's rather childish hand-writing, -but both the letters were bills. - -"Mr. Arkright and Anikin are dining with us," said her aunt, "and Count -Tilsit." - -Kathleen said nothing. - -"You don't mind?" said her aunt. - -"Of course not." - -"I thought you liked Count Tilsit." - -"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen. - -Kathleen felt that she had, against her intention, expressed -disappointment, or rather that she had not expressed the necessary -blend of surprise and pleasure. But as Arkright and Anikin dined with -them frequently, and as she had forgotten who Count Tilsit was, this -was difficult for her. Arkright was an English author, who was a friend -of her aunt's, and had sufficient penetration to realize that Mrs. -Knolles was something more than a woman of the world; to appreciate her -fundamental goodness as well as her obvious cleverness, and to divine -that Kathleen's exterior might be in some ways deceptive. - -"You remember him in Florence?" said Mrs. Knolles, reverting to Count -Tilsit. - -"Oh, yes, the Norwegian." - -"A Swede, darling, not a Norwegian." - -"I thought it was the same thing," said Kathleen. - -"I have got a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Knolles. - -Kathleen made an effort to prepare her face. She was determined that it -should reveal nothing. She knew quite well what was coming. - -"Lancelot Stukely is in London," her aunt went on. "He came back just in -time to see his uncle before he died. His uncle has left him everything." - -"Was Sir James ill a long time?" Kathleen asked. - -"I believe he was," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, then I suppose he won't go back to Malta," said Kathleen, with -perfectly assumed indifference. - -"Of course not," said Mrs. Knolles. "He inherits the place, the title, -everything. He will be very well off. Would you like to drive to Bavigny -this afternoon? Princess Oulchikov can take us in her motor if you would -like to go. Arkright is coming." - -"I will if you want me to," said Kathleen. - -This was one of the remarks that Kathleen often made, which annoyed -her aunt, and perhaps justly. Mrs. Knolles was always trying to devise -something that would amuse or distract her niece, but whenever she -suggested anything to her or arranged any expedition or special treat -which she thought might amuse, all the response she met with was a -phrase that implied resignation. - -"I don't want you to come if you would rather not," she said with -beautifully concealed impatience. - -"Well, to-day I _would_ rather not," said Kathleen, greatly to her -aunt's surprise. It was the first time she had ever made such an answer. - -"Aren't you feeling well, darling?" she asked gently. - -"Quite well, Aunt Elsie, I promise," Kathleen said smiling, "but I said -I would sit and talk to Mr. Asham this afternoon." - -Mr. Asham was a blind man who had been ordered to take the waters at -Saint-Yves. Kathleen had made friends with him. - -"Very well," said Mrs. Knolles, with a sigh. "I must go. The motor will -be there. Don't forget we've got people dining with us to-night, and -don't wear your grey. It's too shabby." One of Miss Farrel's practices, -which irritated her aunt, was to wear her shabbiest clothes on an -occasion that called for dress, and to take pains, as it were, not to do -herself justice. - -Her aunt left her. - -Kathleen had made no arrangement with Asham. She had invented the excuse -on the spur of the moment, but she knew he would be in the park in the -afternoon. She wanted to think. She wanted to be alone. If Lancelot had -been in England when Sir James died, then he must have started home at -least a fortnight ago, as the news that she had read was ten days old. -She had not heard from him for over a month. This meant that his uncle -had been ill, he had returned to London, and had experienced a change of -fortune without writing her one word. - -"All the same," she thought, "it proves nothing." - -At that moment a friendly voice called to her. - -"What are you doing all by yourself, Kathleen?" - -It was her friend, Mrs. Roseleigh. Kathleen had known Eva Roseleigh -all her life, although her friend was ten years older than herself and -was married. She was staying at Saint-Yves by herself. Her husband was -engrossed in other occupations and complications besides those of his -business in the city, and of a different nature. Mrs. Roseleigh was -one of those women whom her friends talked of with pity, saying "Poor -Eva!" But "Poor Eva" had a large income, a comfortable house in Upper -Brook Street. She was slight, and elegant; as graceful as a Tanagra -figure, fair, delicate-looking, appealing and plaintive to look at, with -sympathetic grey eyes. Her husband was a successful man of business, and -some people said that the neglect he showed his wife and the publicity -of his infidelities was not to be wondered at, considering the contempt -with which she treated him. It was more a case of "Poor Charlie," they -said, than "Poor Eva." - -Kathleen would not have agreed with these opinions. She was never tired -of saying that Eva was "wonderful." She was certainly a good friend to -Kathleen. - -"Sir James Stukely is plead," said Kathleen. - -"I saw that in the newspaper some time ago. I thought you knew," said -Mrs. Roseleigh. - -"It was stupid of me not to know. I read the newspapers so seldom and so -badly." - -"That means Lancelot will come home." - -"He has come home." - -"Oh, you know then?" - -"Know what?" - -"That he is coming here?" - -Kathleen blushed crimson. "Coming here! How do you know?" - -"I saw his name," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "on the board in the hall of the -hotel, and I asked if he had arrived. They told me they were expecting -him to-night." - -At that moment a tall dark lady, elegant as a figure carved by Jean -Goujon, and splendid as a Titian, no longer young, but still more than -beautiful, walked past them, talking rather vehemently in Italian to a -young man, also an Italian. - -"Who is that?" asked Kathleen. - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "is Donna Laura Bartolini. She is still -very beautiful, isn't she? The man with her is a diplomat." - -"I think," said Kathleen, "she is very striking-looking. But what -extraordinary clothes." - -"They are specially designed for her." - -"Do you know her?" - -"A little. She is not at all what she seems to be. She is, at heart, -matter-of-fact, and domestic, but she dresses like a Bacchante. She has -still many devoted adorers." - -"Here?" - -"Everywhere. But she worships her husband." - -"Is he here?" - -"No, but I think he is coming." - -"I remember hearing about her a long time ago. I think she was at Cairo -once." - -"Very likely, Her husband is an archaeologist, a _savant_." - -Was that the woman, thought Kathleen, to whom Lancelot was supposed to -have been devoted? If so, it wasn't true. She was sure it wasn't true. -Lancelot would never have been attracted by that type of woman, and -yet---- - -"Aunt Elsie has asked a Swede to dinner. Count Tilsit. Do you know him?" - -"I was introduced to him yesterday. He admired you." - -"Do you like him?" - -"I hardly know him. I think he is nice-looking and has good manners and -looks like an Englishman." - -But Kathleen was no longer listening. She was thinking of Lancelot, of -his sudden arrival. What could it mean? Did he know they were here? -The last time he had written was a month ago from London. Had she said -they were coming here? She thought she had. Perhaps she had not. In any -case that would hardly make any difference, as he knew they went abroad -every year, knew they went to Saint-Yves most years, and if he didn't -know, would surely hear it in London. Yes, he must know. Then it meant -either that--or perhaps it meant something quite different. Perhaps -the doctor had sent him to Saint-Yves. He had suffered from attacks of -Malta fever several times. Saint-Yves was good for malaria. There was a -well-known malaria specialist on the medical staff. He might be coming -to consult him. What did she want to be the truth? What did she feel? -She scarcely knew herself. She felt exhilarated, as if life had suddenly -become different, more interesting and strangely irridescent. What -would Lancelot be like? Would he be the same? Or would he be someone -quite different? She couldn't talk about it, not even to Eva, although -Eva had known all about it, and Mrs. Roseleigh with her acute intuition -guessed that, and guessed what Kathleen was thinking about, and said -nothing that fringed the topic; but what disconcerted Kathleen and gave -her a slight quiver of alarm was that she thought she discerned in Eva's -voice and manner the faintest note of pity; she experienced an almost -imperceptible chill in the temperature; an inkling, the ghost of a -warning, as if Eva were thinking. "You mustn't be disappointed if----" -Well, she wouldn't be disappointed _if_. At least nobody should divine -her disappointment: not even Eva. - -Mrs. Roseleigh guessed that her friend wanted to be alone and left her -on some quickly invented pretext. As soon as she was alone Kathleen rose -from her seat and went for a walk by herself beyond the park and through -the village. Then she came back and played a game with Anikin at the -ring board, and at five o'clock she had a talk with Asham to quiet her -conscience. She stayed out late, until, in fact, the motor-bus, which -met the evening express, arrived from the station at seven o'clock. -She watched its arrival from a distance, from the galleries, while she -simulated interest in the shop windows. But as the motor-bus was emptied -of its passengers, she caught no sight of Lancelot. When the omnibus had -gone, and the new arrivals left the scene, she walked into the hall of -the hotel, and asked the porter whether many new visitors had arrived. - -"Two English gentlemen," he said, "Lord Frumpiest and Sir Lancelot -Stukely." She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and even her Aunt -Elsie was satisfied with her appearance that night. She had put on her -sea-green tea-gown: a present from Eva, made in Paris. - -"I wish you always dressed like that," said Mrs. Knolles, as they walked -into the Casino dining-room. "You can't think what a difference it -makes. It's so foolish not to make the best of oneself when it needs so -very little trouble." But Mrs. Knolles had the untaught and unlearnable -gift of looking her best at any season, at any hour. It was, indeed, no -trouble to her; but all the trouble in the world could not help others -to achieve the effects which seemed to come to her by accident. - - - -3 - - -As they walked into the large hotel dining-room, Kathleen was conscious -that everyone was looking at her, except Lancelot, if he was there, and -she felt he _was_ there. Arkright and Count Tilsit were waiting for them -at their table and stood up as they walked in. They were followed almost -immediately by Princess Oulchikov, whose French origin and education -were made manifest by her mauve chiffon shawl, her buckled shoes, and -the tortoise-shell comb in her glossy black hair. Nothing could have -been more unpretentious than her clothes, and nothing more common to -hundreds of her kind, than her single row of pearls and her little -platinum wrist-watch, but the manner in which she wore these things was -French, as clearly and unmistakably French and not Russian, Italian, -or English, as an article signed Jules Lemaitre or the ribbons of a -chocolate Easter Egg from the _Passage des Panoramas_. She looked like a -Winterhalter portrait of a lady who had been a great beauty in the days -of the Second Empire. - -Her married life with Prince Oulchikov, once a brilliant and reckless -cavalry officer, and not long ago deceased, after many vicissitudes -of fortune, ending by prosperity, since he had died too soon after -inheriting a third fortune to squander it, as he had managed to squander -two former inheritances, and her at one time prolonged sojourns in the -country of her adoption had left no trace on her appearance. As to -their effect on her soul and mind, that was another and an altogether -different question. - -Mrs. Knolles, whose harmonious draperies of black and yellow seemed to -call for the brush of a daring painter, sat at the further end of the -table next to the window, on her left at the end of the table Arkright, -whom you would never have taken for an author, since his motto was what -a Frenchman once said to a young painter who affected long hair and -eccentric clothes: "_Ne savez-vous pas qu'il faut s'habiller comme tout -le monde et peindre comme personne?_" On his other side sat Princess -Oulchikov; next to her at the end of the table, Kathleen, and then Count -Tilsit (fair, blue-eyed, and shy) on Mrs. Knolles's right. - -Kathleen, being at the end of the table, could not see any of the tables -behind her, but in front of her was a gilded mirror, and no sooner -had they sat down to dinner than she was aware, in this glass, of the -reflection of Lancelot Stukely's back, who was sitting at a table with -a party of people just opposite to them on the other side of the room. -There was nothing more remarkable about Lancelot Stukely's front view -than about his back view, and that, in spite of a certain military -squareness of shoulder, had a slight stoop. He was small and seemed made -to grace the front windows of a club in St. James's Street; everything -about him was correct, and his face had the honest refinement of a -well-bred dog that has been admirably trained and only barks at the -right kind of stranger. - -But the sudden sight of Lancelot transformed Kathleen. It was as if -someone had lit a lamp behind her alabaster mask, and in the effort -to conceal any embarrassment, or preoccupation, she flushed and became -unusually lively and talked to Anikin with a gaiety and an uninterrupted -ease, that seemed not to belong to her usual self. - -And yet, while she talked, she found time every now and then to study -the reflections of the mirror in front of them, and these told her that -Lancelot was sitting next to Donna Laura Bartolini. The young man she -had seen talking to Donna Laura was there also. There were others whom -she did not know. - -Mrs. Knolles was busily engaged in thawing the stiff coating of ice -of Count Tilsit's shyness, and very soon she succeeded in putting him -completely at his ease; and Arkright was trying to interest Princess -Oulchikov in Japanese art. But the Princess had lived too long in Russia -not to catch the Slav microbe of indifference, and she was a woman -who only lived by half-hours. This half-hour was one of her moment -of eclipse, and she paid little attention to what Arkright said. He, -however, was habituated to her ways and went on talking. - -Mrs. Knolles was surprised and pleased at her niece's behaviour. Never -had she seen her so lively, so gay. - -"Miss Farrel is looking extraordinarily well to-night," Arkright said, -in an undertone, to the Princess. - -"Yes," said Princess Oulchikov, "she is at last taking waters from -the right _source._" She often made cryptic remarks of this kind, and -Arkright was puzzled, for Kathleen never took the waters, but he knew -the Princess well enough not to ask her to explain. Princess Oulchikov -made no further comment. Her mind had already relapsed into the land of -listless limbo which it loved to haunt. - -Presently the conversation became general. They discussed the races, the -troupe at the Casino Theatre, the latest arrivals. - -"Lancelot Stukely is here," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," said Kathleen, with great calm, "dining with Donna Laura -Bartolini." - -"Oh, Laura's arrived," said Mrs. Knolles. "I am glad. That is good news. -What fun we shall all have together. Yes. There she is, looking lovely. -Don't you think she's lovely?" she said to Arkright and the Princess. - -Arkright admired Donna Laura unreservedly. Princess Oulchikov said she -would no doubt think the same if she hadn't known her thirty years ago, -and then "those clothes," she said, "don't suit her, they make her look -like an _art nouveau_ poster." Anikin said he did not admire her at all, -and as for the clothes, she was the last person who should dare those -kind of clothes; her beauty was conventional, she was made for less -fantastic fashions. He looked at Kathleen. He was thinking that her type -of beauty could have supported any costume, however extravagant; in fact -he longed to see her draped in shimmering silver and faded gold, with -strange stones in her hair. Count Tilsit, who was younger than anyone -present, said he found her young. - -"She is older than you think," said Princess Oulchikov. "I remember her -coming out in Rome in 1879." - -"Do you think she is over fifty?" said Kathleen. - -"I do not think it, I am sure," said the Princess. - -"Her figure is wonderful," said Mrs Knolles. - -"Was she very beautiful then?" asked Anikin. - -"The most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said the Princess. "People -stood on chairs to look at her one night at the French Embassy. It is -cruel to see her dressed as she is now." - -Count Tilsit opened his clear, round, blue eyes, and stared first at -the Princess and then at Donna Laura. It was inconceivable to his young -Scandinavian mind that this radiant and dazzling creature, dressed up -like the Queen in a Russian ballet, could be over fifty. - -"To me, she has always looked exactly the same," said Arkright. "In -fact, I admire her more now than I did when I first knew her fifteen -years ago." - -"That is because you look at her with the eyes of the past," said the -Princess, "but not of a long enough past, as I do. When you first saw -her you were young, but when I first saw her _she_ was young. That makes -all the difference." - -"I think she is very beautiful now," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"And so do I," said Kathleen. "I could understand anyone being in love -with her." - -"That there will always be people in love with her," said the Princess, -"and young people. She has charm as well as beauty, and how rare that -is!" - -"Yes," said Anikin, pensively, "how rare that is." - -Kathleen looked at the mirror as if she was appraising Donna Laura's -beauty, but in reality it was to see whether Lancelot was talking to -her. As far as she could see he seemed to be rather silent. General -conversation, with a lot of Italian intermixed with it, was going up -from the table like fireworks. Kathleen turned to Count Tilsit and made -conversation to him, while Anikin and the Princess began to talk in a -passionately argumentative manner of all the beauties they had known. -The Princess had come to life once more. Mrs. Knolles, having done her -duty, relapsed into a comfortable conversation with Arkright. They -understood each other without effort. - -The Italian party finished their dinner first, and went out on to the -terrace, and as they walked out of the room the extraordinary dignity -of Donna Laura's carriage struck the whole room. Whatever anyone might -think of her looks now, there was no doubt that her presence still -carried with it the authority that only great beauty, however much it -may be lessened by time, confers. - -"_Elle est encore tres belle_," said Princess Oulchikov, voicing the -thoughts of the whole party. - -Mrs. Knolles suggested going out. Shawls were fetched and coffee was -served just outside the hotel on a stone terrace. - -Soon after they had sat down, Lancelot Stukely walked up to them. He was -not much changed, Kathleen thought. A little grey about the temples, -a little bit thinner, and slightly more tanned--his face had been -burnt in the tropics--but the slow, honest eyes were the same. He said -how-do-you-do to Mrs. Knolles and to herself, and was presented to the -others. - -Mrs. Knolles asked him to sit down. - -"I must go back presently," he said, "but may I stay a minute?" - -He sat down next to Kathleen. - -They talked a little with pauses in between their remarks. She did not -ask him how long he was going to stay, but he explained his arrival. He -had come to consult the malaria specialist. - -"We have all been discussing Donna Laura Bartolini," said Mrs. Knolles. -"You were dining with her?" - -"Yes," he said, "she is an old friend of mine. I met her first at Cairo." - -"Is she going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"No," he said, "she is only passing through on her way to Italy. She -leaves for Ravenna to-morrow morning." - -"She is looking beautiful," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful, isn't she?" - -Then he got up. - -"I hope we shall meet again to-morrow," he said to Kathleen and to Mrs. -Knolles. - -"Are you staying on?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I only wanted to see the doctor. I have got to go -back to England at once. I have got so much business to do." - -"Of course," said Mrs. Knolles. "We will see you to-morrow. Will you -come to the lakes with us?" - -Lancelot hesitated and then said that he, alas, would be busy all day -to-morrow. He had an appointment with the doctor--he had so little time. - -He was slightly confused in his explanations. He then said good-night, -and went back to his party. They were sitting at a table under the trees. - -Kathleen felt relieved, unaccountably relieved, that he had gone, and -she experienced a strange exhilaration. It was as if a curtain had been -lifted up and she suddenly saw a different and a new world. She had -the feeling of seeing clearly for the first time for many years. She -saw quite plainly that as far as Lancelot was concerned, the past was -completely forgotten. She meant nothing to him at all. He was the same -Lancelot, but he belonged to a different world. There were gulfs and -gulfs between them now. He had come here to see Donna Laura for a few -hours. He had not minded doing this, although he knew that he would meet -Kathleen. He had told her himself that he knew he would meet her. He -had mentioned the rarity of his letters lately. He had been so busy, and -then all that business ... his uncle's death. - -The situation was quite simple and quite clear. But the strange thing -was that, instead of feeling her life was over, as she had expected to -feel, she felt it was, on the contrary, for the first time beginning. - -"I have been waiting for years," she thought to herself, "for this fairy -Prince, and now I see that he was not the fairy Prince, after all. But -this does not mean I may not meet the fairy Prince, the _real_ one," and -her eyes glistened. - -She had never felt more alive, more ready for adventure. Anikin -suggested that they should all walk in the garden. It was still -daylight. They got up. The Princess, Arkright, Mrs. Knolles, and Count -Tilsit walked down the steps first, and passed on down an avenue. - -Kathleen delayed until the others walked on some way, and then she said -to Anikin, who was waiting for her: - -"Let us stay and talk here. It is quieter. We can go for a walk -presently." - - - -4 - - -They did not stay long on the terrace. As soon as they saw which -direction the rest of the party had taken they took another. They walked -through the hotel gates across the street as far as a gate over which -_Bellevue_ was written. They had never been there before. It was an -annexe of the hotel, a kind of detached park. They climbed up the hill -and passed two deserted and unused lawn-tennis courts and a dusty track -once used for skittles, and emerged from a screen of thick trees on to a -little plateau. Behind them was a row of trees and a green corn-field, -beneath them a steep slope of grass. They could see the red roofs of the -village, the roofs of the hotels, the grey spire of the village church, -the park, the green plain and, in the distance rising out of the green -corn, a large flat-topped hill. The long summer daylight was at last -fading away. The sky was lustrous and the air was quite still. - -The fields and the trees had that peculiar deep green they take on in -the twilight, as if they had been dyed by the tints of the evening. -Anikin said it reminded him of Russia. - -Kathleen had wrapped a thin white shawl round her, and in the dimness -of the hour she looked as white as a ghost, but in the pallor of her -face her eyes shone like black diamonds. Anikin had never seen her look -like that. And then it came to him that this was the moment of moments. -Perhaps the moon had risen. The cloudless sky seemed all of a sudden to -be silvered with a new light. There was a dry smell of sun-baked roads -and of summer in the air, and no sound at all. - -They had sat down on the bench and Kathleen was looking straight in -front of her out into the west, where the last remains of the sunset had -faded some time ago. - -This Anikin felt was the sacred minute; the moment of fate; the -imperishable instant which Faust had asked for even at the price of his -soul, but which mortal love had always denied him. In a whisper he asked -Kathleen to be his wife. She got up from the seat and said very slowly: - -"Yes, I will marry you." - -The words seemed to be spoken for her by something in her that was not -herself, and yet she was willing that they should be spoken. She seemed -to want all this to happen, and yet she felt that it was being done for -her, not of her own accord, but by someone else. Her eyes shone like -stars. But as he touched her hand, she still felt that she was being -moved by some alien spirit separate from herself and that it was not she -herself that was giving herself to him. She was obeying some exterior -and foreign control which came neither from him nor from her--some -mysterious outside influence. She seemed to be looking on at herself as -she was whirled over the edge of a planet, but she was not making the -effort, nor was it Anikin's words, nor his look, nor his touch, that -were moving her. He had taken her in his arms, and as he kissed her they -heard footsteps on the path coming towards them. The spell was broken, -and they gently moved apart one from the other. It was he who said -quietly: - -"We had better go home." - -Some French people appeared through the trees round the corner. A -middle-aged man in a nankin jacket, his wife, his two little girls. -They were acquaintances of Anikin and of Kathleen. It was the man who -kept a haberdasher's shop in the _Galeries_. Brief mutual salutations -passed and a few civilities were bandied, and then Kathleen and Anikin -walked slowly down the hill in silence. It had grown darker and a little -chilly. There was no more magic in the sky. It was as if someone had -somewhere turned off the light on which all the illusion of the scene -had depended. They walked back into the park. The band was playing an -undulating tango. Mrs. Knolles and the others were sitting on chairs -under the trees. Anikin and Kathleen joined them and sat down. Neither -of them spoke much during the rest of the evening. Presently Mrs. -Roseleigh joined them. She looked at Kathleen closely and there was a -slight shade of wonder in her expression. - -The next day Mrs. Knolles had organized an expedition to the lakes. -Kathleen, Anikin, Arkright, Princess Oulchikov and Count Tilsit were -all of the party. When they reached the first lake, they separated into -groups, Anikin and Kathleen, Count Tilsit and Mrs. Roseleigh, while -Arkright went with the Princess and Mrs. Knolles. - -Ever since the moment of magic at Bellevue, Kathleen had been like a -person in a trance. She did not know whether she was happy or unhappy. -She only felt she was being irresistibly impelled along a certain -course. It is certain that her strange state of mind affected Anikin. It -began to affect him from the moment he had held her in his arms on the -hill and that the spell had so abruptly been broken. He had thought this -had been due to the sudden interruption and the untimely intervention -of the prosaic realities of life. But was this the explanation? Was it -the arrival of the haberdasher on the scene that had broken the spell? -Or was it something else? Something far more subtle and mysterious, -something far more serious and deep? - -Curiously enough Anikin had passed through, on that memorable evening, -emotions closely akin to those which Kathleen had experienced. He said -to himself: "This is the Fairy Princess I have been seeking all my -life." But the morning after his moment of passion on the hill he began -to wonder whether he had dreamed this. - -And now that he was walking beside her along the broad road, under the -trees of the dark forest, through which, every now and then, they caught -a glimpse of the blue lake, he reflected that she was like what she had -been _before_ the decisive evening, only if anything still more aloof. -He began to feel that she was eluding him and that he was pursuing a -shadow. Just as he was thinking this ever so vaguely and tentatively, -they came to a turn in the road. They were at a cross-roads and they did -not know which road to take. They paused a moment, and from a path on -the side of the road the other members of the party emerged. - -There was a brief consultation, and they were all mixed up once more. -When they separated, Anikin found himself with Mrs. Roseleigh. Mrs. -Knolles had sent Kathleen on with Count Tilsit. - -Anikin was annoyed, but his manners were too good to allow him to show -it. They walked on, and as soon as they began to talk Anikin forgot his -annoyance. They talked of one thing and another and time rushed past -them. This was the first time during Anikin's acquaintance with Mrs. -Roseleigh that he had ever had a real conversation with her. He all at -once became aware that they had been talking for a long time and talking -intimately. His conscience pricked him; but, so far from wanting to -stop, he wanted to go on; and instead of their intimacy being accidental -it became on his part intentional. That is to say, he allowed himself to -listen to all that was not said, and he sent out himself silent wordless -messages which he felt were received instantly on an invisible aerial. - -For the moment he put all thoughts of what had happened away from him, -and gave himself up to the enchantment of understanding and being -understood so easily, so lightly. He put up his feet and coasted down -the long hill of a newly discovered intimacy. - -Presently there was a further meeting and amalgamation of the group as -they reached a famous view, and the party was reshuffled. This time -Anikin was left to Kathleen. Was it actually disappointment he was -feeling? Surely not; and yet he could not reach her. She was further off -than ever and in their talk there were long silences, during which he -began to reflect and to analyse with the fatal facility of his race for -what is their national moral sport. - -He reflected that except during those brief moments on the hill he had -never seen Kathleen alive. He had known her well before, and their -friendship had always had an element of easy sympathy about it, but -she had never given him a glimpse of what was happening behind her -beautiful mask, and no unspoken messages had passed between them. But -just now during that last walk with Mrs. Roseleigh, he recognized only -too clearly that notes of a different and a far deeper intimacy had -every now and then been struck accidently and without his being aware -of it at first, and then later consciously, and the response had been -instantaneous and unerring. - -And something began to whisper inside him: "What if she is not the -Fairy Princess after all, not your Fairy Princess?" And then there came -another more insidious whisper which said: "Your Fairy Princess would -have been quite different, she would have been like Mrs. Roseleigh, and -now that can never be." - -The expedition, after some coffee at a wayside hotel, came to an end -and they drove home in two motor cars. - -Once more he was thrown together with Mrs. Roseleigh, and once more -the soul of each of them seemed to be fitted with an invisible aerial -between which soundless messages, which needed neither visible channel -nor hidden wire, passed uninterruptedly. - -Anikin came back from that expedition a different man. All that night -he did not sleep. He kept on repeating to himself: "It was a mistake. -I do not love her. I can never love her. It was an illusion: the spell -and intoxication of a moment." And then before his eyes the picture of -Mrs. Roseleigh stood out in startling detail, her melancholy, laughing, -mocking eyes, her quick nervous laugh, her swift flashes of intuition. -How she understood the shade of the shadow of what he meant! - -And that mocking face seemed to say to him: "You have made a mistake -and you know it. You were spellbound for a moment by a face. It is a -ravishing face, but the soul behind it is not your soul. You do not -understand one another. You never will understand one another. There is -an unpassable gulf between you. Do not make the mistake of sacrificing -your happiness and hers as well to any silly and hollow phrases of -honour. Do not follow the code of convention, follow the voice of your -heart, your instincts that cannot go wrong. Tell her before it is too -late. And she, she does not love you. She never will love you. She was -spellbound, too, for the moment. But you have only to look at her now -to see that the spell is broken and it will never come back, at least -you will never bring it back. She is English, English to the core, -although she looks like the illustration to some strange fairy-tale, and -you are a Slav. You cannot do without Russian comfort, the comfort of -the mind, and she cannot do without English solidity. She will marry a -squire or, perhaps, who knows, a man of business; but someone solid and -rooted to the English soil and nested in the English conventions. What -can you give her? Not even talent. Not even the disorder and excitement -of a Bohemian life; only a restless voyage on the surface of life, -and a thousand social and intellectual problems, only the capacity of -understanding all that does not interest her." - -That is what the conjured-up face of Mrs. Roseleigh seemed to say to him. - -It was not, he said to himself, that he was in love or that he ever -would be in love with Mrs. Roseleigh. It was only that she had, by her -quick sympathy, revealed his own feelings to himself. She had by her -presence and her conversation given him the true perspective of things -and let him see them in their true light, and in that perspective and in -that light he saw clearly that he had made a mistake. He had mistaken -a moment of intoxication for the authentic voice of passion. He had -pursued a shadow. He had tried to bring to life a statue, and he had -failed. - -Then he thought that he was perhaps after all mistaken, that the next -morning he would find that everything was as it had been before; but -he did not sleep, and in the clear light of morning he realized quite -clearly that he did not love Kathleen. - -What was he to do? He was engaged to be married. Break it off? Tell her -at once? It sounded so easy. It was in reality--it would be to him at -any rate--so intensely difficult. He hated sharp situations. - -He felt that his action had been irrevocable: that there was no way out -of it. The chain around him was as thin as a spider's web. But would -he have the necessary determination to make the effort of will to snap -it? Nothing would be easier. She would probably understand. She would -perhaps help him, and yet he felt he would never be able to make the -slight gesture which would be enough to free him for ever from that -delicate web of gossamer. - - - -5 - - -When Anikin got up after his restless and sleepless night he walked out -into the park. The visitors were drinking the waters in the Pavilion -and taking monotonous walks between each glass. Asham was sitting in -a chair under the trees. His servant was reading out the _Times_ to -him. Anikin smiled rather bitterly to himself as he reflected how many -little dramas, comedies and tragedies might be played in the immediate -neighbourhood of that man without his being aware even of the smallest -hint or suggestion of them. He sat down beside him. The servant left -off reading and withdrew. - -"Don't let me interrupt you," said Anikin, but after a few moments -he left Asham. He found he was unable to talk and went back to the -hotel, where he drank his coffee and for a time he sat looking at the -newspapers in the reading room of the Casino. Then he went back to the -park. One thought possessed him, and one only. How was he to do it? -Should he say it, or write? And what should he say or write? He caught -sight of Arkright who was in the park by himself. He strolled up to him -and they talked of yesterday's expedition. Arkright said there were -some lakes further off than those they had visited, which were still -more worth seeing. They were thinking of going there next week--perhaps -Anikin would come too. - -"I'm afraid not," said Anikin. "My plans are changed. I may have to go -away." - -"To Russia?" asked Arkright. - -"No, to Africa, perhaps," said Anikin. - -"It must be delightful," said Arkright, "to be like that, to be able to -come and go when one wants to, just as one feels inclined, to start at -a moment's notice for Rome or Moscow and to leave the day after one has -arrived if one wishes to--to have no obligations, no ties, and to be at -home everywhere all over Europe." - -Arkright thought of his rather bare flat in Artillery Mansions, the -years of toil before a newspaper, let alone a publisher, would look at -any of his manuscripts, and then the painful, slow journey up the stairs -of recognition and the meagre substantial rewards that his so-called -reputation, his "place" in contemporary literature, had brought him; he -thought of all the places he had not seen and which he would give worlds -to see--Rome, Venice, Russia, the East, Spain, Seville; he thought of -what all that would mean to him, of the unbounded wealth which was there -waiting for him like ore in quarries in which he would never be allowed -to dig; he reflected that he had worked for ten years before ever being -able to go abroad at all, and that his furthest and fullest adventure -had been a fortnight spent one Easter at a fireless Pension in Florence. -Whereas here was this rich and idle Russian who, if he pleased, could -roam throughout Europe from one end to the other, who could take an -apartment in Rome or a palace in Venice, for whom all the immense spaces -of Russia were too small, and who could talk of suddenly going to -Africa, as he, Arkright, could scarcely talk of going to Brighton. - -"Life is very complicated sometimes," said Anikin. "Just when one -thinks things are settled and simple and easy, and that one has turned -over a new leaf of life, like a new clean sheet of blotting-paper, one -suddenly sees it is not a clean sheet; blots from the old pages come -oozing through--one can't get rid of the old sheets and the old blots. -All one's life is written in indelible ink--that strong violet ink which -nothing rubs out and which runs in the wet but never fades. The past is -like a creditor who is always turning up with some old bill that one -has forgotten. Perhaps the bill was paid, or one thought it was paid, -but it wasn't paid--wasn't fully paid, and there the interest has gone -on accumulating for years. And so, just as one thinks one is free, one -finds oneself more caught than ever and obliged to cancel all one's new -speculations because of the old debts, the old ties. That is what you -call the wages of sin, I think. It isn't always necessarily what you -would call a sin, but is the wages of the past and that is just as bad, -just as strong at any rate. They have to be paid in full, those wages, -one day or other, sooner or later." - -Arkright had not been an observer of human nature and a careful student -of minute psychological shades and impressions for twenty years for -nothing. He had had his eyes wide open during the last weeks, and Mrs. -Knolles had furnished him with the preliminary and fundamental data of -her niece's case. He felt quite certain that something had taken place -between Anikin and Kathleen. He felt the peculiar, the unmistakeable -relation. And now that the Russian had served him up this neat discourse -on the past he knew full well that he was not being told the truth. -Anikin was suddenly going away. A week ago he had been perfectly happy -and obviously in an intimate relation to Miss Farrel. Now he was -suddenly leaving, possibly to Africa. What had happened? What was the -cause of this sudden change of plan? He wanted to get out of whatever -situation he found himself bound by. But he also wanted to find for -others, at any rate, and possibly for himself as well, some excuse -for getting out of it. And here the fundamental cunning and ingenious -subtlety of his race was helping him. He was concocting a romance which -might have been true, but which was, as a matter of fact, untrue. He was -adding "the little more." He was inventing a former entanglement as an -obstacle to his present engagements which he wanted to cancel. - -Arkright knew that there had been a former entanglement in Anikin's -life, but what Anikin did not know was that Arkright also knew that this -entanglement was over. - -"It is very awkward," said Arkright, "when the past and the present -conflict." - -"Yes," said Anikin, "and very awkward when one is between two duties." - -I think I have got him there, thought Arkright. "A French writer," -he said aloud, "has said, '_de deux devoirs, il faut choisir le plus -desagreable_; that in chosing the disagreeable course you were likely to -be right." - -Anikin remained pensive. - -"What I find still more complicated," he said, "is when there is a -right reason for doing a thing, but one can't use it because the right -reason is not the real reason; there is another one as well." - -"For doing a duty," said Arkright. "Is that what you mean?" - -"There are circumstances," said Anikin, "in which one could point to -duty as a motive, but in which the duty happens to be the same as one's -inclinations, and if one took a certain course it would not be because -of the duty but because of the inclinations. So one can't any more talk -or think of duty." - -"Then," said Arkright, a little impatiently, "we can cancel the word -duty altogether. It is simply a case of choosing between duty and -inclination." - -"No," said Anikin, "it is sometimes a case of choosing between a -pleasure which is not contrary to duty (_et qui pourrait meme avoir -l'excuse du devoir_)" he lapsed into French, which was his habit when -he found it difficult to express himself in English, "and an obligation -which is contrary both to duty and inclination." - -"What is the difference between an obligation and a duty?" asked -Arkright. He wished to pin the elusive Slav down to something definite. - -"Isn't there in life often a conflict between them?" asked Anikin. "In -practical life, I mean. You know Tennyson's lines: - - "His honour rooted in dishonour stood - And faith unfaithful made him falsely true." - -"Now I understand," thought Arkright, "he is going to pretend that he is -in the position of Lancelot to Elaine, and plead a prior loyalty to a -Guinevere that no longer counts." - -"I think," he said, "in that case one cannot help remaining 'falsely -true.'" That is, he thought, what he wants me to say. - -"One cannot, that is to say, disregard the past," said Anikin. - -"No, one can't," said Arkright, as if he had entirely accepted the -Russian's complicated fiction. - -He wanted, at the same time, to give him a hint that he was not quite so -easily deceived as all that. - -"Isn't it a curious thought," he said, "how often people invoke the -engagements of a past which they have comfortably disregarded up to -that moment when they no longer wish to face an obligation in the -present, like a man who in order to avoid meeting a new debt suddenly -points to an old debt as something sacred, which up till that moment he -had completely disregarded, and indeed, forgotten?" - -Anikin laughed. - -"Why are you laughing?" asked Arkright. - -"I am laughing at your intuition," said Anikin. "You novelists are -terrible people." - -"He knows I have seen through him," thought Arkright, "and he doesn't -mind. He wanted me to see through him the whole time. He wants me to -know that he knows I know, and he doesn't mind. I think that all this -elaborate romance was perhaps only meant for me. He will choose some -simpler means of breaking off his engagement with Miss Farrel than by -pleading a past obligation. He is far subtler and deeper than I thought, -subtler and deeper in his simplicity. I should not be surprised if he -were to give her no explanation whatsoever." - -Arkright was in a sense right. What Anikin had said to Arkright was -meant for him and not for Miss Farrel. It was not a rehearsal of a -possible explanation for her, but it was the testing of a possible -justification of himself to himself. He had not thought out what he was -going to say before he began to talk to Arkright. He had begun with -fact and had involuntarily embroidered the fact with fiction. It was -_Wahrheit und Dichtung_ and the _Dichtung_ had got the better of the -_Wahrheit_. His passion for make-belief and self-analysis had carried -him away, and he had said things which might easily have been true and -had hinted at difficulties which might have been his, but which, in -reality, were purely imaginary. When he saw that Arkright had divined -the truth, he laughed at the novelist's acuteness, and had let him see -frankly that he realized he had been found out and that he did not mind. - -It was cynical, if you called that cynicism. Anikin would not have -called it something else: the absence of cement, which a Russian writer -had said was the cardinal feature of the Russian character. He did -not mean to say or do anything to Kathleen that could possibly seem -slighting. He was far too gentle and far too easy-going, far too weak, -if you will, to dream of doing anything of the kind. With her, infinite -delicacy would be needed. He did not know whether he could break off -his engagement at all, so great was his horror of ruptures, of cutting -Gordian-knots. This knot, in any case, could not be cut. It must be -patiently unravelled if it was to be untied at all. - -"I think," said Arkright, "that all these cases are simple to reason -about, but difficult to act on." Anikin was once more amazed at the -novelist's perception. He laughed again, the same puzzling, quizzical -_Slav_ laugh. - -"You Russians," said Arkright, "find all these complicated questions of -conflicting duties, divided conscience and clashing obligations, much -easier than we do." - -"Why?" asked Anikin. - -"Because you have a simple directness in dealing with subtle questions -of this kind which is so complete and so transparent that it strikes us -Westerners as being sometimes almost cynical." - -"Cynical?" said Anikin. "I assure you I was not being cynical." - -He said this smiling so naturally and frankly that for a moment Arkright -was puzzled. And Anikin had been quite honest in saying this. He could -not have felt less cynical about the whole matter; at the same time -he had not been able to help taking momentary enjoyment in Arkright's -acute diagnosis of the case when it was put to him, and at his swift -deciphering of the hieroglyphics and his skilful diagnosis, and he had -not been able to help conveying the impression that he was taking a -light-hearted view of the matter, when, in reality, he was perplexed -and distressed beyond measure; for he still had no idea of what he was -to do, and the threads of gossamer seemed to bind him more tightly than -ever. - - - -6 - - -Anikin strolled away from Arkright, and as he walked towards the -Pavilion he met Mrs. Roseleigh. She saw at a glance that he had a -confidence to unload, and she determined to take the situation in hand, -to say what she wanted to say to him before he would have time to say -anything to her. After he had heard what she had to say he would no -longer want to make any more confidences, and if he did, she would know -how to deal with them. They strolled along the _Galeries_ till they -reached a shady seat where they sat down. - -"You are out early," he said, "I particularly wanted----" - -"I particularly wanted to see you this morning," she said. "I wanted to -talk to you about Lancelot Stukely. You know his story?" - -"Some of it," said Anikin. - -"He is going away." - -"Because of Donna Laura?" - -"Oh, it's not that." - -"I thought he was devoted to her." - -"He likes her. He thinks she's a very good sort. So she is, but she's a -lot of other things too." - -"He doesn't know that?" - -"No, he doesn't know that." - -"You know how he wanted to marry Kathleen Farrel?" she said, after a -moment's pause. - -"Yes," said Anikin, "I heard a little about it." - -"It was impossible before." - -"Because of money?" - -"Yes, but now it is possible. He's been left money," she explained. -"He's quite well off, he could marry at once." - -"But if he doesn't want to?" - -"He does want to, that is just it." - -"Then why not? Because Miss Farrel does not like him?" - -"Kathleen _does_ like him _really_; at least she would like him -really--only--" - -"There has been a misunderstanding," said Mrs. Roseleigh. She put an -anxious note into her voice, slightly lowering it, and pressing down as -it were the soft pedal of sympathy and confidential intimacy. - -"They have both misunderstood, you see; and one misunderstanding has -reacted on the other. Perhaps you don't know the whole story?" - -"Do tell it me," he said. Once more he had the sensation of coasting or -free-wheeling down a pleasant hill of perfect companionship. - -"Many years ago," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "she was engaged to Lancelot -Stukely. She wouldn't marry him because she thought she couldn't leave -her father. She couldn't have left him then. He depended on her for -everything. But he died, and Lancelot, who was away, didn't come back -and didn't write. He didn't dare, poor man! It was very silly of him. -He thought he was too poor to offer her to share his poverty, but she -wouldn't have minded. Anyhow he waited and time passed, and then the -other day his uncle died and left him money, and he came back at once, -and came here at once, to see her, not to see Donna Laura. That was just -an accident, Donna Laura being here, but when he came here he thought -Kathleen no longer cared, so he decided to go away without saying -anything. - -"Kathleen had been longing for him to come back, had been expecting him -to come back for years. She had been waiting for years. She was not -normal from excitement, and then she had a shock and disappointment. She -was not, you see, herself. She was susceptible to all influences. She -was magnetic for the moment, ready for an electric disturbance; she was -like a watch that is taken near a dynamo on board ship, it makes it go -wrong. And now she realizes that she is going wrong and that she won't -go right till she is demagnetized." - -"Ah!" said Anikin, "she realizes." - -"You see," said Mrs. Roseleigh gently, "it wasn't anyone's fault. It -just happened." - -"And how will she be demagnetized?" asked Anikin. - -"Ah, that is just it," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "We must all try and help -her. We must all try to show her that we want to help. To show her that -we understand." - -Anikin wondered whether Mrs. Roseleigh was speaking on a full knowledge -of the case, or whether she knew something and had guessed the rest. - -"I suppose," he said, "you have always known what has happened to Miss -Farrel?" - -"I know everything that has happened to Kathleen," she said. "You see, I -have known her for years. She's my best friend. And now I can judge just -as well from what she doesn't say, as from what she says. She always -tells me enough for it not to be necessary to tell me any more. If it -was necessary, if I had any doubt, I could, and should always ask." - -"Then you think," said Anikin, "that she will marry Stukely?" - -"In time, yes; but not at once." - -Anikin remembered Stukely's conduct and was puzzled. - -"I am sure," he said, "that since he has been here he has made no -effort." - -"Of course he didn't," she said, "He saw that it was useless. He knew at -once." - -"Is he that kind of man, that knows at once?" - -"Yes, he's that kind of man. He saw directly; directly he saw her, and -he didn't say a word. He just settled to go." - -Anikin felt this was difficult to believe; all the more difficult -because he wanted to believe it. Was Mrs. Roseleigh making it easy, too -easy? - -"But he's going back to Africa," he said. - -"How do you know?" she asked. - -"He told Mr. Asham, and he told me." - -"He will go to London first. Kathleen will not stay here much longer -either. I am going soon to London, too, and I shall see Lancelot Stukely -there before he goes away, and do my best. And if you see him----" - -"Before he goes?" - -"Before he goes," she went on, "if you see him, perhaps you could help -too, not by saying anything, of course, but sometimes one can help----" - -"I have a dread," said Anikin, "of some explanations." - -"That is just what she doesn't want--explanations, neither he nor -she," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "Kathleen wants us to understand without -explanations. She is praying we may understand without her having to -explain to us, or without our having to explain to her. She wants to be -spared all that. She has already been through such a lot. She is ashamed -at appearing so contradictory. She knows I understand, but she doubts -whether any one else ever could, and she does not know where to turn, -nor what to do." - -"And when you go to London," he asked, "will you make it all right?" - -"Oh yes," she said. - -"Are you quite sure you can make it all right? I mean with Stukely, of -course," he said. - -"Of course," said Mrs. Roseleigh, but she knew perfectly well that he -really meant all right with Kathleen. - -"And you think he will marry her, and that she will marry him?" he -asked one last time. - -"I am quite sure of it," she said, "not at once, of course, but in time. -We must give them time." - -"Very well," he said. He did not feel quite sure that it was all right. - -Mrs. Roseleigh divined his uncertainty and his doubts. - -"You see," she said, "what happened was very complicated. She knows that -ever since Lancelot arrived, she was never really herself----" - -"She knows?" he asked. - -"She only wants to get back to her normal self." - -"Well," he said, "I believe you know best. I will do what you tell me. -I was thinking of going to London myself," he added. "Do you think that -would be a good plan? I might see Stukely. I might even travel with him." - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "would be an excellent plan." - -Mrs. Roseleigh's explanation, the explanation she had just served out -to Anikin, was, as far as she was concerned, a curious blend of fact -and fiction; of honesty and disingenuousness. She was convinced that -both Kathleen and Anikin had made a mistake, and that the sooner the -mistake was rectified the better for both of them. She thought if it -was rectified, there was every chance of Stukely marrying Kathleen, but -she had no reason to suppose that her explanation of his conduct was -the true one. She thought Stukely had forgotten all about Kathleen, but -there was no reason that he should not be brought back into the old -groove. A little management would do it. He would have to marry now. He -would want to marry; and it would be the natural, normal thing for him -to marry Kathleen, if he could be persuaded that she had never cared -for anyone else; and Mrs. Roseleigh felt quite ready to undertake the -explanation. She was quite disinterested with regard to Kathleen and -quite disinterested towards Stukely. Was she quite disinterested towards -Anikin? - -She would not have admitted to her dearest friend, not even to herself, -that she was not; but as a matter of fact she had consciously or -unconsciously annexed Anikin. He was made to be charmed by her. She was -not in the least in love with him, and she did not think he was in -love with her; she was not a dynamo deranging a watch; she was a magnet -attracting a piece of steel; but she had not done it on purpose. She had -done it because she couldn't help it. Her conscience was quite clear, -because she was convinced she was helping Kathleen, Stukely and Anikin -out of a difficult and an impossible situation; but at the same time -(and this is what she would not have admitted) she was pleasing herself. - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival first of Kathleen -herself, then of Arkright. - -Kathleen had in her hands the copy of a weekly review. - -After mutual salutations had passed, Kathleen and Arkright sat down near -Mrs. Roseleigh and Anikin. - -"Aunt Elsie," said Kathleen to Arkright, "asked me to give you back -this. She is not coming down yet, she is very busy." She handed Arkright -the review. - -"Ah!" said Arkright. "Did the article on Nietzsche interest her?" - -"Very much, I think," said Kathleen, "but I liked the story best. The -story about the brass ring." - -"A sentimental story, wasn't it?" said Arkright. - -"What was it about?" asked Anikin. - -"Mr. Arkright will tell it you better than I can," said Kathleen. - -"I am afraid I don't remember it well enough," said Arkright. - -He remembered the story sufficiently well, although being of no literary -importance, it had small interest for him; but he saw that Miss Farrel -had some reason for wanting it told, and for telling it herself, so he -pressed her to indicate the subject. - -"Well," she said, "it's about a man who had been all sorts of things: a -soldier, a king, and a _savant_, and who wants to go into a monastery, -and says he had done with all that the world can give, and as he says -this to the abbot, a brass ring, which he wears round his neck, falls on -to the floor of the cell. The ring had been given him by a queen whom -he had loved, a long time ago, at a distance and without telling her or -anyone, and who had been dead for years. The abbot tells him to throw it -away and he can't. He gives up the idea of entering the monastery and -goes away to wander through the world. I think he was right not to throw -away the ring, don't you?" she said. - -"Do you think one ought never to throw away the brass ring?" said -Anikin, with the incomparable Slav facility for "catching on," who -instantly adopted the phrase as a symbol of the past. - -"Never," said Kathleen. - -"Whatever it entails?" Anikin asked. - -"Whatever it entails," she answered. - -"Have you never thrown away your brass ring?" asked Anikin, smiling. - -"I haven't got one to throw away," she said. - -"Then I will send you one from London, I am going there in a day or -two," he said. - -"Mrs. Roseleigh was right," he said to himself, "no explanations are -necessary." - -Mrs. Roseleigh looked at him with approval. Kathleen Farrel seemed -relieved too, as though a weight too heavy for her to bear had been -lifted from her, as though after having forced herself to keep awake in -an alien world and an unfamiliar sunlight, she was now allowed to go -back once more to the region of dreamless limbo. - -"Yes,", she said, "please send me one from London," as if there were -nothing surprising or unexpected about his departure. - -In truth she was relieved. The episode at _Bellevue_ was as far away -from her now as the dreams and adventure of her childhood. She felt no -regret. She asked for no explanation. Anikin's words gave her no pang; -nothing but a joyless relief; but it was with the slightest tinge of -melancholy that she realized that she must be different from other -people, and she would not have had things otherwise. - -As Arkright looked at her dark hair, her haunting eyes and her listless -face, he thought of the Sleeping Beauty in the wood; and wondered -whether a Fairy Prince would one day awaken her to life. He did not know -her full story; he did not know that she was a mortal who had trespassed -in Fairyland and was now paying the penalty. - -The enchanted thickets were closing round her, and the forest was taking -its revenge on the intruder who had once rashly dared to violate its -secrecy. - -He did not know that Kathleen Farrel had in more senses than one been -overlooked. - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--Part II - - - -II - - -Dr. Sabran read the papers I sent him the very same night he received -them, and the following evening he asked me to dinner, and after dinner -we sat on the verandah of his terrace and discussed the story. - -"I recognized Hareville," said Dr. Sabran, "of course, although -his Saint-Yves-les-Bains might just as well have been any other -watering-place in the world. I do not know his heroine, nor her aunt, -even by sight, because I only arrived at Hareville two years ago after -they had left, and last year I was absent. Princess Kouragine I have met -in Paris. She and yourself therefore are the only two characters in the -book whom I know." - -"He bored Princess Kouragine," I said. - -"Yes," said Sabran, "that is why he has to invent a Slav microbe to -explain her indifference. But Mrs. Lennox flattered him?" - -"Very thoroughly," I said. - -"Well, the first thing I want to know is," said Sabran, "what happened? -What happened then? but first of all, what happened afterwards?" - -I said I knew little. All I knew was that Miss Brandon was still -unmarried; that Canning went back to Africa, stayed out his time, and -had then come back to England last year; and that I had heard from -Kranitski once or twice from Africa, but for the last ten months I had -heard nothing, either from or of him. - -"But," I said, "before I say anything, I want you to tell me what you -think happened and why it happened." - -"Well," said the doctor, "to begin with, I understand, both from your -story as well as from his, that Kranitski and Miss Brandon were engaged -to be married and that the engagement was broken off. But I also -understood from your MS. that the man Canning was for nothing in the -rupture of the engagement. It happened before he arrived. It was due, -in my opinion, to something which happened to Kranitski. - -"Now, what do we know about Kranitski as related by you? First of all, -that he was for a long time attached to a Russian lady who was married, -and who would not divorce because of her children. - -"Then, from what he told you, we know that although a believing Catholic -he said he had been outside the Church for seven years. That meant, -obviously, that he had not been _pratiquant_. That is exactly what would -have happened if he had been living with a married woman and meant to -go on doing so. Then when he arrives at Hareville, he tells you that -the obstacle to his practising his religion no longer exists. Kranitski -makes the acquaintance of Miss Brandon, or rather renews his old -acquaintance with her, and becomes intimate with her. Princess Kouragine -finds she is becoming a different being. You go away for a month, and -when you come back she almost tells you she is engaged--it is the same -as if she told you. The very next day Kranitski meets you, about to -spend a day at the lakes with Miss Brandon and evidently not sad--on -the contrary. He received a letter in your presence. You are aware -after he has read this letter of a sudden change in him. - -"Then a few days later he comes to see you and announces a change of -plans, and says he is going to Africa. He also gives you to understand -that the obstacle has not come back into his life. What obstacle? It can -only be one thing, the obstacle he told you of, which was preventing him -from practising his religion. - -"Now, what do we learn from the novel? - -"We learn from the novel that the day after that expedition to the -lakes, Rudd describes the Russian having a conversation with the -novelist (himself) in which he tells the novelist, firstly, that he is -going away, probably to Africa. So far we know that he was telling the -truth. Then he says that just as he found himself, as he thought, free, -an old debt or tie or obligation rises up from the past which has to -be paid or regarded or met. Rudd, in the person of Arkright, thinks he -is inventing. They talk of conflicts and divided duties and the choice -between two duties. The Russian is made to say that the most difficult -complication is when duty and pleasure are both on one side and an -obligation is on the other side, and one has to choose between them. -The novelist gives no explanation of this, he treats it merely as a -gratuitous piece of embroidery--a fantasy. - -"Now, I believe the Russian said what Rudd makes him say, because if he -didn't it doesn't seem to me like the kind of fantasy the novelist would -have invented had he been inventing. If he had been inventing, I think -he would have found something else." - -"All the same," I interrupted, "we don't know whether he said that." - -"We don't know whether he said anything at all," said Sabran. - -"I know they had a conversation," I said, "because I was in the park all -that morning and someone told me they were talking to each other. On the -other hand, he may have invented the whole thing, as Rudd says that the -novelist in his story knew about the Russian's former entanglement, and -lays stress on the fact that the Russian did not know that he knew. So -it may have been on that little basis of fact that all this fancy-work -was built." - -"I think," said Sabran, "that the conversation did take place. And I -think that it happened so. I think he spoke about the past and said that -thing about the blotting paper. There is a poem of Pushkin's about the -impossibility of wiping out the past." - -"And I think," I said, "that the Russian laughed, and said, 'You -novelists are terrible people.' Only he was laughing at the novelist's -density and not applauding his intuition." - -"Well, then," said Sabran, "let us postulate that the Russian did say -what he was reported to have said to the novelist, and let us conclude -that what he said was true." - -"In that case, the Russian said he was in the position of choosing -between a pleasure, that is to say, something he wanted to do which was -not contrary to his duty----" - -"For which duty might even be pleaded as an excuse," said Sabran, -quoting the very words said to have been used by the Russian. - -"And an obligation which was contrary both to duty and to inclination. -That is to say, there is something he wants to do. He could say it was -his duty to do it. And there is something he doesn't want to do, and he -can say it is contrary to his duty. And yet he feels he has got to do -it. It is an obligation, something which binds him." - -"It is the old liaison," said Sabran. - -"In that case," I said, "why did he go to Africa?" - -"Yes, why did he go to Africa? And stay there at any rate such a long -time. Did he talk of coming back?" - -"No, he said nothing about coming back. He said he liked the country and -the life, but he said little about either. He wrote chiefly about books -and abstract ideas." - -"Perhaps," said Sabran, "there is something else in his life which we -know nothing about. There is another reason why I do not think that -the old liaison is the obligation. He took the trouble to come and see -you before he went away and to tell you that the obstacle which had -prevented his practising his religion had not reappeared in his life. It -is probable that he was speaking the truth. And he knew he was going to -Africa. So it must be something else." - -"Perhaps," I said, "it was something to do with Canning. What are your -theories about Canning, the other man?" - -"What are yours?" he said. "I heard nothing about him." - -I said I thought that all Mrs. Summer had told me about Canning was -true. Rudd, I explained to Sabran, disliked Mrs. Summer, and had drawn -a portrait of her as a swooping gentle harpy, which I knew to be quite -false. "Although," I said, "I think the things he makes her say about -Canning are quite true. I think he reports her thoughts correctly but -attributes to her the wrong motives for saying them. I don't believe she -ever talked to him about Canning; but he knew her ideas on the subject, -through Mrs. Lennox. I believe that Canning arrived at Hareville on -purpose to see Miss Brandon. I know that the Italian lady had played -no part in his life and that it was just a chance that they met at -Hareville. I believe he arrived full of hope, and that when he saw Miss -Brandon he realized the situation as soon as he had spoken to her. This -is what Rudd makes Mrs. Summer say, and I believe that is what happened. -In Rudd's version of Mrs. Summer she is lying. Rudd had already a -preconceived notion that Miss Brandon's first love was to forget her. -He had made up his mind about that long before the young man came upon -the scene, before he knew he was coming on the scene, and when he did, -he distorted the facts to suit his fiction." - -"Then," said Sabran, "his ideas about Miss Brandon. All that idea -of her being the 'Princess without dreams,' without passion, being -muffled and half-awake--'overlooked,' as he says, which I suppose means -_ensorcelee._" - -I told him I thought that was not only fiction but perfectly baseless -fiction. I reminded him of what Princess Kouragine had said about Miss -Brandon. - -"I must think it over," said Sabran. "For the present I do not see any -completely satisfactory solution. I am convinced of one thing only, and -that is that the novelist drew false deductions from facts which were -perhaps sometimes correctly observed." - -I said I agreed with him. Rudd's deductions were wrong; his facts were -probably right in some cases; Sabran's deductions were right, I thought, -as far as they went; but we either had not enough facts or not enough -intuition to arrive at a solution of the problem. - -As I was saying this, Sabran interrupted me and said: - -"If we only knew what was in the letter that the Russian received when -he was with you we should have the key of the enigma. It was from the -moment that he received that letter that he was different, wasn't it?" - -I said this was so, and what happened afterwards proved that it was not -my imagination. - -"What in the world can have been in that letter?" said Sabran. - -I said I did not think we should ever know that. - -"Probably not," he said, musingly. "And that incident about the story of -the Brass Ring. Do you think that happened? Did they say all that?" - -I was able to tell him exactly what had happened with regard to that -incident. - -"I was sitting in the garden. It was, I think, the morning after they -had all been to the lakes, and about the middle of the day, after the -band had stopped playing, shortly before _dejeuner_, that Rudd, Miss -Brandon, Kranitski and Mrs. Summer all came and talked to me before I -went into the hotel. - -"Miss Brandon gave the copy of the _Saturday Review_, or whatever the -newspaper was, back to Rudd, and mentioned the story of the 'Brass -Ring,' and they discussed it, and I asked what it was about. Rudd was -asked to read it aloud to us, and he did. Miss Brandon and Kranitski -made no comments; and Rudd asked Kranitski if he thought the man had -done right to throw away his ring, and Kranitski said: 'A chain is no -stronger than its weakest link.' - -"Rudd said: 'Perhaps the brass ring was the strongest link.' - -"Kranitski and Miss Brandon said nothing, and Mrs. Summer said she was -glad the man had not thrown the ring away. Then Rudd asked Miss Brandon -whether she had ever thrown away her brass ring. - -"Miss Brandon said she hadn't got one, and changed the subject. Then -they all left me. That was all that happened." - -"I understand," said Sabran; "that is interesting, and it helps us to -understand the methods of the novelist. But we are still no nearer -a solution. I must think it over. _Que diable y avait-il dans cette -lettre?_" - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--PART II - - - -III - - -The more I thought over the whole story the more puzzling it seemed to -me. The puzzle was increased rather than simplified by a letter which I -received from Kranitski from Africa, in which he expressed no intention -of coming back, but said he was living by himself, quite contented in -his solitude. - -I told Sabran of this letter and the Doctor said we were without one -important _donnee,_ some probably quite simple fact which would be the -clue of the whole situation: the contents of the letter Kranitski had -received when he was with me-- - -"What we want," he said, "is a moral Sherlock Holmes, to deduce what was -in that letter----" - -It was after I had been at Hareville about ten days, that Sabran asked -me whether I would like to make the acquaintance of a Countess Yaskov. -She was staying at Hareville and was taking the waters. He had only -lately made her acquaintance himself, but she was dining with him and -he wanted to ask a few people to meet her. I asked him what she was -like. He said she was not exactly pretty, but gentle and attractive. He -said: "_Elle n'est pas vraiment jolie, mais elle a une jolie taille, de -beaux yeux, et des perles._" - -She had been divorced from her husband for years and lived generally at -Rome, so he had been told. - -I went to Sabran's dinner. There were several people there. I had -never met Countess Yaskov before. She seemed to be a very pleasant and -agreeable lady. I sat next to her. She was an accomplished musician, and -she played the pianoforte after dinner with a ravishing touch. She was -certainly gentle, intelligent, and natural. We were talking of Italy, -when she astonished me by saying she had not been there for some time. -Later on she astonished me still more by talking of her husband in the -most natural way in the world. But I had heard cases of Russians being -divorced and yet continuing to be good friends. I longed to ask her if -she knew Kranitski, but I could not bring his name across my lips. I -asked her if she knew Princess Kouragine. She said, "Which one?" And -when I explained or tried to describe the one I knew, there turned out -to be about a dozen Princess Kouragines scattered all over Europe; some -of them Russian and some of them not, so we did not get any further, and -Countess Yaskov was vagueness itself. - -We talked of every conceivable subject. As she was going away she asked -Sabran if he could lend her a book. He lent her Rudd's _Unfinished -Dramas_, and asked me if he might lend her _Overlooked_. I said -certainly, but I explained that it was more or less a private book about -real people. - -Two or three days later I met her in the park. She asked me if I had -read Rudd's story. I told her it had been read to me. - -"But it is meant to happen here, isn't it?" she said. "And aren't you -one of the characters?" - -I said this was, I believed, the case. - -"Then you were here when all that happened?" she said. "Did it happen -like that, or was it all an invention?" - -I said I thought there was some basis of fact in the story, and a great -deal of fancy, but I really didn't know. I did not wish to let her know -at once how much I knew. - -"Novelists," I said, "invent a great deal on a very slender basis, -especially James Rudd." - -"You know him?" she said. "He was here with you, of course?" - -I told her I had made his acquaintance here, but that I had never seen -him before or since. - -"What sort of man is he?" she asked. - -I gave her a colourless, but favourable portrait of Rudd. - -"And the young lady?" she said, "Miss--I've forgotten her name." - -"The heroine?" I asked. - -"Yes, the heroine who is 'overlooked.' Do you think she was -'overlooked'?" - -"In what sense?" - -"In the fairy-tale sense." - -I said I thought that was all fancy-work. - -"I wonder," she said, "if she married the young man." - -"Which one?" - -"The Englishman." - -I said I had not heard of her being married. - -"And was there a Russian here, too?" she asked. - -"Yes," I said, "his name was Kranitski." - -"That sounds like a Polish name." - -I said he was a Russian. - -"You knew him, too?" - -"Just a little." - -"It is an interesting story," she said, "but I think Rudd makes all the -characters more complicated than they probably were. Does Mr. Rudd know -Russia?" - -I said I believed not at all. - -"I thought not," she said. - -I said that Kranitski seemed to me a far simpler character than Rudd's -Anikin. - -"Did Dr. Sabran know all those people?" she asked. - -I said Dr. Sabran had not been here while it was going on. - -"It would be very annoying for that poor girl to find herself in a -book," she said, "if he published it." - -I said that Rudd would probably never publish it--although he would -probably deny that he had made portraits, and to some extent with -reason, as his Kathleen Farrel was quite unlike Miss Brandon. - -"Oh, her name was Miss Brandon," Countess Yaskov said, pensively. "If -she comes here this year you must introduce me to her. I think I should -like her." - -"Everyone said she was beautiful," I said. - -"One sees that from the novel. I suppose James Rudd invented a character -which he thought suited her face." - -I said that that was exactly what had happened. Rudd had started with -a theory about Miss Brandon, that she was such and such person, and he -distorted the facts till they fitted with his theory. At least, that was -what I imagined to have been the case. - -I asked Countess Yaskov what she thought of the psychology of Rudd's -Russian. I said she ought to be a good judge. She laughed and said: - -"Yes, I ought to be a good judge. I think he is rather severe on the -Slavs, don't you? He makes that poor Anikin so very complicated, and so -very sly and fickle as well." - -I said I thought the excuses which Rudd credited the Russian with making -to himself for breaking off the engagement with the heroine of the book, -were absurd. - -"Do you think the Russian said those things or that the novelist -invented them?" she asked. - -I said I thought he had said what he was reported to have said. - -"If he said that, he was not lying," she said. - -I agreed, and I also thought he _had_ said all that; but that Rudd's -explanation of his words was wrong. If that was true he must have broken -off his engagement. - -"There is nothing very improbable in that, is there?" she asked. - -"Nothing," I said. And yet I thought that Kranitski had finished with -whatever there was in the past that might have been an obstacle to his -present. - -"Did he tell you that?" she asked. - -As she said that, although the tone of her voice was quite natural, -almost too natural, there was a peculiar intonation in the way she -said the word "he," in that word and that word only, which gave me the -curious sensation of a veil being lifted. I felt I was looking through -a hole in the clouds. I felt certain that Countess Yaskov had known -Kranitski. - -"He never told me one word that had anything to do with what Rudd tells -in his novel," I said. - -I felt that my voice was no longer natural as I said this. There was a -strain in it. There was a pause. I do not know why I now felt certain -that Countess Yaskov possessed the key of the mystery. I suddenly -felt she was the woman whom Kranitski had known and loved for seven -years, so much so, that I could say nothing further. I also felt that -she knew that I knew. We talked of other things. In the course of the -conversation I asked her if she thought of staying a long time at -Hareville. - -"It depends on my husband," she said. "I don't know yet whether he is -coming here to fetch me, or whether he wants me to meet him. At any rate -I shall go back to Russia for my boys' holidays. I have two sons at -school." - -The next time I saw Sabran I asked him what he had meant by telling me -that Countess Yaskov was divorced from her husband. I told him what she -had said to me about her husband and her sons. He did not seem greatly -surprised; but he stuck to his point that she was divorced. - -The next time I saw Countess Yaskov, she told me she had told a friend -of hers about Rudd's story. Her friend had instantly recognized the -character of Anikin. - -"My friend tells me," she said, "that the novelist is quite false as -far as that character is concerned, false and not fair. She said what -happened was this: The man whom Rudd describes as Anikin had been in -love for many years with a married woman. She was in love with him, -too, but she did not want to divorce her husband, for various reasons. -So they separated. They separated after having known each other a long -time. Then the woman changed her mind and she settled she would divorce, -and she let Anikin know. She wrote to him and said she was willing, at -last, to divorce. My friend says it was complicated by other things as -well. She did not tell me the whole story, but the man went to Africa -and the woman did not divorce. What Anikin was supposed to have said to -the novelist was true. He told the truth, and the novelist thought he -was saying false things. That is what you thought, too. But all has been -for the best in the end, because do you know what there is in to-day's -_Daily Mail_?" she asked. - -I said no one had read me the newspaper as yet. - -"The marriage is announced," she said, "of Miss Brandon to a man called -Sir Somebody Canning." - -"That," said I, "is the Englishman in the book." - -"So Mr. Rudd was wrong altogether," she said, and she laughed. - -That is all that passed between us on this occasion, and I think this -is a literal and complete transcription of our conversation. Countess -Yaskov told me her story, the narrative of her friend, with perfect -naturalness and with a quiet ease. She talked as if she were relating -_facts_ that had no particular personal interest for her. There was not -a tremor in her voice, not an intonation, either of satisfaction or -pain, nothing but the quiet impersonal interest one feels for people in -a book. She might have been discussing Anna Karenina, or a character of -Stendhal. She was neutral and impartial, an interested but completely -disinterested spectator. - -The tone of her voice was subtly different from what it had been -the other day towards the end of our conversation. For during that -conversation, admirably natural as she had been, and although her voice -only betrayed her in the intonation of one syllable. I feel now, -looking back on it, that she was not sure of herself, that she knew she -was walking the whole time on the edge of a precipice. - -This time I felt she was quite sure of herself; sure of her part. She -was word-perfect and serenely confident. - -Of course, what she said startled me. First of all, the _soi-disant_ -explanation of her friend. Had she told a friend about the story? I -thought not. Indeed, I feel now quite certain that the friend was an -invention, quite certain that she knew I had recognized her as the -missing factor in the drama, and that she had wished me not to have a -false impression of Kranitski. But at the time, while she was talking -she seemed so natural that for the moment I believed, or almost -believed, in the friend. But when she told me of Miss Brandon's marriage -she furnished me with the explanation of her perfect acting, if it was -acting. I thought it was the possession of this piece of news which -enabled her to tell me that story so calmly and so dispassionately. - -Of course I may still be quite wrong. I may be seeing too much. Perhaps -she had nothing to do with Kranitski, and perhaps she did tell a -friend. She has friends here. - -Nevertheless I felt certain during our first conversation, at the moment -I felt I was looking through the clouds, that she had been aware of -it; aware that I had not been able to go on talking of the story as -naturally as I had done before. Her explanation, what her friend was -supposed to have said, fitted in exactly with my suppositions, and -with what I already knew. Sabran had been right. The clue to the whole -thing was the letter. The letter that Kranitski had received when he -was talking to me and which had made so sudden a change in him was the -letter from her, from Countess Yaskov, saying she was ready to divorce -and to marry him. He received this letter just after he was engaged to -be married to Miss Brandon. It put him in a terrible situation. This -situation fitted exactly with what Rudd made him say to the novelist in -the story: his obligation to the past conflicted with his inclination, -namely, his desire to marry Miss Brandon. - -Of course I might be quite wrong. It might all be my imagination. The -next day I got a belated letter, from Miss Brandon, forwarded from -Cadenabbia, telling me of her engagement. She said they were to be -married at once, quite quietly. She knew it was no use asking me, but if -I had been in London, etc. She made no other comments. - -That evening I dined with Sabran. I told him the news about Miss -Brandon, and I told him what Countess Yaskov had told me her friend had -told her about the story. - -"Half the problem is solved," he said. "The story of Countess -Yaskov's friend explains the words which Rudd lends to the Russian. -His inclination, which was to marry Miss Brandon, coincides with the -religious duty of a _croyant_, which is not to marry a _divorcee_, and -not to put himself once more outside the pale of the Church, but it -clashes with his obligation, which is to be faithful to his friend of -seven years. His inclination coincides with his duty, but his duty is -in conflict with his obligation. What does he do? He goes away. Does he -explain? Who knows? He was, indeed, in a _fichu_ situation. And now Miss -Brandon marries the young man. Either she had loved him all the time, or -else, feeling her romance was over, she was marrying to be married. In -any case, her novel, so far from being ended, is only just beginning. -And the Russian? Was it a real _amour_ or a _coup-de-tete_? Time will -show. For himself he thought it was only a _coup-de-tete_: he will go -back to his first love, but she will never divorce." - -I asked him again whether he was sure that Countess Yaskov was divorced -from her husband. He was quite positive. He knew it _de source -certaine_. She had been divorced years ago, and she lived at Rome. I was -puzzled. In that case, why did she try and deceive me, and at the same -time if she wanted to deceive me why did she tell me so much? Why did -she give me the key of the problem? I said nothing of that to Sabran. I -saw it was no use. - -A few days later, Countess Yaskov left Hareville. She told me she was -going to join her husband. I did not remain long at Hareville after -that. A few days before I left, Princess Kouragine arrived. I told her -about Miss Brandon's marriage. She said she was not surprised. Canning -deserved to marry her for having waited so long. "But," she said, "he -will never light that lamp." - -I asked her if she was sorry for Kranitski. She said: - -"_Very_, but it could not be otherwise." - -That is all she said. When I told her that I had made the acquaintance -of Countess Yaskov, she said: - -"Which one?" - -I said it was the one who lived in Rome and who was separated from her -husband. - -The next day she said to me: "You were mistaken about Countess Yaskov. -The Countess Yaskov who was here is Countess _Irina_ Yaskov. She is not -divorced, and she lives in Russia now. The one you mean is Countess -Helene Yaskov. She lives at Rome. They are not relations even. You -confused the two, because they both at different times lived at Rome." I -now saw why I had been put off the scent for a moment by Sabran. I asked -her if she knew my Countess Yaskov. She said she had met her, but did -not know her well. - -"She is a quiet woman," she said. "_On dit qu'elle est charmante_." - -Just about this time I received a long letter from Rudd. He said he -must publish _Overlooked._ He had been told he ought to publish it by -everybody. He might, he said, just as well publish it, since printing -five hundred copies and circulating them privately was in reality -courting the maximum of publicity: the maximum in quality if not in -quantity. By doing this, one made sure that the only people it might -matter reading the book, read it. He did not care who saw it, in the -provinces, in Australia, or in America. The people who mattered, and the -only people who mattered, were friends, acquaintances and the London -literary world, and now they had all seen it. Besides which, his series -of unfinished dramas would be incomplete without it; and he did not -think it was _fair_ on his publisher to leave out _Overlooked_. "Besides -which," he said, "it is not as if the characters in the books were -portraits. You know better than anyone that this is not so." He ended -up, after making it excruciatingly clear that he had irrevocably and -finally made up his mind to publish, by asking my advice; that is to -say, he wanted me to say that I agreed with him. I wrote to him and said -that I quite understood why he had settled to publish the story, and I -referred to Miss Brandon's marriage at the end of my letter. Before I -heard from him again, I was called away from Hareville, and I had to -leave in a hurry. It was lucky I did so, because I got away only just in -time, either to avoid being compelled to remain at Hareville for a far -longer time than I should have wished to do, or from having to take part -in a desperate struggle for escape. The date of my departure was July -27th, 1914. - -The morning I left I said good-bye to Princess Kouragine, and I reminded -her that when I had said good-bye to her two years ago she had said to -me, talking of Miss Brandon: "The _man_ behaved well." I asked her which -man she had meant. She said: - -"I meant the other one." - -"Which do you call the other one?" I asked. - -She said she meant by the other one: - -"_Le grand amoureux_." - -I said I didn't know which of the two was the "_grand amoureux_." - -"Oh, if you don't know that you know nothing," she said. - -At that moment I had to go. The motor-bus was starting. - -I feel that Princess Kouragine was right and that, after all, perhaps I -know nothing. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - -***** This file should be named 42703.txt or 42703.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/0/42703/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/42703.zip b/42703.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 494e293..0000000 --- a/42703.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/42703-8.txt b/old/42703-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f579323..0000000 --- a/old/42703-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4693 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Overlooked - -Author: Maurice Baring - -Release Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #42703] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By - -MAURICE BARING - -London: William Heinemann - -1922 - - - - -To - -M.A.T - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - -PART I - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me that -I must go to Haréville and stay there a month or, still better, two -months, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possible -pastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred from -that pastime. - -He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?" - -I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said that -a famous editor, of the _Figaro_, I think, had once said that every -man had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted for -newspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on my -typewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understand -by authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing a -book. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thought -no more about this till after I had been at Haréville a week. - -When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I made -acquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time was -taken up in idle conversation. - -After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintance -of James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed, -rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderly -ladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or country -gentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation, -which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government. - -James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. He -was passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem in -the least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted I -had read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind could -hardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read to -me. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I was -calling attention to the absence of his books in the series which have -been transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfied -that I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me, -but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him take -for granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken for -granted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar, -and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), to -be a non-smoker--I am, in fact, sure of that--a practical teetotaler, -not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather than -on experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of all -the arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but still -passionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of any -interest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating. -He had been sent to Haréville by Kennaway, which gave us a link. -Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if he -possibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longing -to write, but could think of no subject. - -I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people at -Haréville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that they -could form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea, -and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who is -not, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, _née_ Robert, who -married a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a lady -of so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom and experience, that I felt her -acquaintance must do any novelist good. I also introduced him to Mrs. -Lennox, who is here with her niece, Miss Jean Brandon. Mrs. Lennox, -I knew, would enjoy meeting a celebrity; she sacrificed an evening's -gambling for the sake of his society, and the next day, she asked him -to luncheon. In the evening he told me that Miss Brandon would be a -suitable heroine for his novel. - -I asked him if he had begun it. He said he was planning it, but as it -was a holiday novel, and as he had been forbidden to work, he was not -going to make it a real book. He was going to write this novel for -his own enjoyment, and not for the public. He would never publish it. -He would be very grateful, all the same, if I allowed him to discuss -it with me, as he could not write a story without discussing it with -someone. - -I said I would willingly discuss the story with him, and I have -determined to keep a record of our conversations, and indeed of -everything that affects this matter, in case he one day publishes the -novel, or publishes what the novel may turn into; for I feel that it -will not remain unpublished, even though it turns into something quite -different. I shall thus have all the fun of seeing a novel planned -without the trouble of writing one myself. - -"Of course you have the advantage of knowing these people quite well," -he said. I told him that he was mistaken. I had never met any of them, -except Princess Kouragine, before. And it was years since I had seen her. - -"The first problem is," he said, "Why is Miss Brandon not married? She -must be getting on for thirty, if she is not thirty yet, and it is -strange that a person with her looks----" - -"I have often wondered what she looks like," I said, "and I have made my -picture of her. Shall I tell it you, and you can tell me whether it is -at all like the reality?" - -He was most anxious to hear my description. I said that I imagined -Miss Brandon to be as changeable in appearance as the sky. I explained -to him that I had not always been blind, that my blindness had come -comparatively late in life from a shooting accident, in which I lost one -eye--the sight of the other I lost gradually afterwards. I had imagined -her as the lady who walked in the garden in Shelley's _Sensitive Plant_ -(I could not remember all the quotation): - - - "A sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean." - - -Still, and rather mysterious, elusive and rare. He said I was right -about the variability, but that he saw her differently. It was true -she was pale, delicate, and extremely refined, but her eyes were the -interesting thing about her. She was like a sapphire. She looked better -in the daytime than in the evening. By candle-light she seemed to fade. -She did not remind him of Shelley at all. She was not ethereal nor -diaphanous. She was a sapphire, not a moonstone. She belonged to the -world of romance, not to the world of lyric poetry. Something had been -left out when she had been created. She was unfinished. What had been -left out? Was it her soul? Was it her heart? Was she Undine? No. Was she -Lilith? No. All the same she belonged to the fairy-tale world; to the -Hans Andersen world, or to Perrault. The Princess without ... without -what? She was the Sleeping Beauty in the wood, who had woken up and -remembered nothing, and could never recover from the long trance. She -would never be the same again. Never really awake in the world. And yet -she had brought nothing back from fairyland except her looks. - -"She reminds me," he said, "of a line of Robert Lytton's: 'All her -looks are poetry and all her thoughts are prose.' It is not that she is -prosaic, but she is muffled. You see, during that long slumber which -lasted a hundred years----" Rudd had now quite forgotten my presence and -was talking or, rather, murmuring to himself. He was composing aloud. -"During that long exile which lasted a hundred years, and passed in a -flash, she had no dreams." - -"You mean she has no heart," I said. - -"No, not that," he answered, "heart as much as you like. She is kind. -She is affectionate. But no passion, no dreams. Above all, no dreams. -That is what she is. The Princess without any dreams. Do you think that -would do as a title? No, it is not quite right. _The Sleeping Beauty in -the World?_ No. Why did Rostand use the title, _La Princesse Lointaine_? -That would have done. No, that is not quite right either. She is not far -away. She is here. She looks far away and isn't. I must think about it. -It will come." - -Then, quite abruptly, he asked me what I imagined the garden of the -hotel looked like. I said that I had never been here before and that I -had only heard descriptions of the place from my acquaintances and from -my servant, but I imagined the end of the garden, where I had often -walked, to be rather like a Russian landscape. I had never been to -Russia, but I had read Russian books, and what I imagined to be a rather -untidy piece of long grass, fringed with a few birch trees and some -firs, the whole rather baked and dry, reminded me of the descriptions in -Tourgenev's books. - -Rudd said it was not like Russia. Russia had so much more space. So much -more atmosphere. This little garden might be a piece of Scotland, might -be a piece of Denmark, but it was not Russian. - -I asked him whether he had been to Russia. Not in the flesh, he said, -but in the spirit he had lived there for years. - -Perhaps he wanted to see how much the second-hand impressions of a blind -man were worth. - -He soon reverted to the original subject of our talk. - -"Why is Miss Brandon not married?" he said. - -I said I knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. I presumed her -parents were dead. She was travelling with her aunt. They came here -every year for her aunt's rheumatism. Mrs. Lennox had a house in London. -She was a widow, not very well off, I thought. I told him I knew nothing -of London life. I have lived in Italy for the last twenty years. I very -seldom went to London, only, in fact, to see Kennaway. I told him he -must find out about Miss Brandon's early history himself. - -"She is very silent," he said. - -"Mrs. Lennox is very talkative," I told him. - -"What can I call it?" he asked, in an agony of impatience. "She has -every beauty, every grace, except that of expression." - -"_The Dumb Belle?_" The words escaped me and I immediately regretted -them. - -"No," he said, quite seriously, "she is not dumb, that is just the -point. She talks, but she cannot express herself. Or rather, she has -nothing to express. At least, I think she has nothing to express: or -what she has got to express is not what we think it is. I imagine a -story like Pygmalion and Galatea. Somebody waking her to life and then -finding her quite different from what the stone image seemed to promise, -from what it _did_ promise. At any rate I have got my subject and I am -extremely grateful. It is a wonderful subject." - -"Henry James," I ventured. - -"Ah, James," said Rudd, "yes, James, a wonderful intellect, but a -critic, not a novelist. The French could do it. What would they have -called it? _La Princesse désenchantée,_ or _La Belle revenue du Bois_? -You can't say that in English." - -"Nor in French either," I thought to myself, but I said aloud, "_Out of -the Wood_ would suggest quite a different kind of book." - -"A very different kind of book," said Rudd, quite gravely. "The kind of -book that sells by the million." - -Rudd then left me. He was enchanted with the idea of having something to -write about. I felt that a good title for his novel would be _Eurydice -Half-regained_, but I was diffident about suggesting a title to him, -besides which I felt he would not like it. Miss Brandon, he would -explain, was not like Eurydice, and if she was, she had forgotten her -experiences beyond the Styx. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I am going to divide my record into chapters just as if I were writing -a novel. The length of the chapters will be entirely determined by my -inclination at the moment of writing. When I am tired the chapter will -end. I don't know if this is what novelists do. It does not matter, as -I am not writing a novel. I know it is not what Rudd does. He told me -he planned out his novel before writing a line, and decided beforehand -on the length of each chapter, but that he often made them longer in -the first draft, and then eliminated. If you want to be terse, he said, -you must not start by trying to be terse, by leaving out. You must say -everything _first_. You can rub out afterwards. He told me he worked in -charcoal, as it were, at first. - -I shall not work in charcoal. I have no plan. - -I asked Princess Kouragine what Rudd was like. She said he had something -rather prim and dapper about him. I was quite wrong about his -appearance. He wears a black tie. Princess Kouragine said, "_Il a l'air -comme tout le monde, plutôt comme un médecin de campagne._" - -I asked her if she liked him. She said she did not know. She said he was -agreeable, but she found no real pleasure in his society. - -"You see," she said, "I like the society of my equals, I hate being -with my superiors; that is why I hate being with royalties, authors -and artists. Mr. Rudd can talk of nothing except his art, and I like -Tauchnitz novels that one can read without any trouble. I hate realistic -novels, especially in English." - -I told her his novels were more often fantastic, with a certain amount -of psychology in them. - -"That is worse," she said, "I am old-fashioned. It is no use to try and -convert me. I like Trollope and Ouida." - -I offered to lend her a novel by Rudd, but she refused. - -"I would rather not have read it," she said. "It would make me -uncomfortable when I talked to him. As it is, as the idiot who has read -nothing newer than Ouida, I am quite comfortable." - -I said he was writing something now which I thought would interest her. -I told her how Rudd was making Miss Brandon the pivot of a story. - -"Ah!" she said. "He told me he was writing something for his own -pleasure. I will read _that_ book." - -I said he did not intend to publish it. - -"He will publish it," she said. "It will be very interesting. I wonder -what he will make of Jean Brandon. I know her well. I have known her -for five years. They come here every year. They stay a long time. It is -economical. She is a good girl. I like her. _Elle me plaît_." - -I asked whether she was pretty. - -The Princess said she was changeable--_journalière, "Elle a souvent -mauvaise mine."_ Not tall enough. A beautiful skin like ivory, but too -pale. Eyes. Yes, she had eyes. Most remarkable eyes. You could not tell -whether they were blue or grey. Graceful. Pretty hands. Badly dressed, -but from poverty and economy more than from _mauvais goût_. A very -_English_ beauty. "You will probably tell me she is Scotch or Irish. I -don't care. I don't mean Keapsake or Gainsborough, nor Burne-Jones, -but English all the same. But I can't describe her. She has charm and -it escapes one. She has beauty, but it doesn't fit into any of the -categories. - -"One feels there is a lamp inside her which has gone out, for the time -being, at any rate. She reminds me of some lines of Victor Hugo: - - "Et les plus sombres d'entre nous - Ont eu leur aube éblouissante." - -"I can imagine her having been quite dazzling when she was a young girl. -I can imagine her still being dazzling now if someone were to light the -lamp. It could be lit, I know. Once, two years ago, at the races here at -Bavigny, I saw her excited. She wanted a friend to win a steeplechase -and he won. She was transfigured. At that moment I thought I had seldom -seen anyone more _éblouissante_. Her face shone as though it had been -transparent." - -Of course the poor girl was unhappy, and why was she unhappy? The reason -was a simple one, she was poor, and Mrs. Lennox economized and used her -as an economy. - -"You see that the poor girl is obliged to make _de petites économies_ -in her clothes. She suffers from it I'm sure. Who wouldn't? This all -comes from your silly system of marriage in England. You let two totally -inexperienced beings with nothing to help them settle the question -on which the whole of their lives is to depend. You let a girl marry -her first love. It is too absurd. It never lasts. I do not say that -marriages in our country do not often turn out very badly. No one knows -that better than I do, Heaven knows; but I say that at least we give -the poor children a chance. We at least do not build marriages on a -foundation which we know to be unsound beforehand, or not there at all. -We do not let two people marry when we know that the circumstances -cannot help leading to disaster." - -I said I did not think there was much to choose between the two systems. -In France the young people had the chance of making a satisfactory -marriage; in our country the young people had the chance of marrying -whom they chose, of making the right choice. It was sometimes -successful. Besides, when there were real obstacles the marriages did -not as a rule come off. Mrs. Lennox had told me that Miss Brandon had -been engaged when she was nineteen to a man in the army. He was too -poor. The engagement had been broken off. The man had left the army and -gone to the colonies, and there the matter had remained. I didn't think -she would have been happier if she had been married off to a _parti_. - -"She would not have been poor," said Princess Kouragine. "And she would -have been more independent. She would have had a home." - -She said she did not attach an enormous importance to riches, but she -did attach great importance to real poverty, especially to poverty in -the class of people with whom Miss Brandon lived. She said the worst -kind of poverty was to live with people richer than yourself. It was a -continual strain, she knew it from experience. She had been through it -herself soon after she was married, after the first time her husband had -been ruined. And nobody who had not been through it knew what it meant, -the constant daily fret. - -"The little subterfuges. Having to think of every cab and every box of -cigarettes. Not that I thought of those," she said. "But it was clothes -which were the trouble. I can see that that poor Jean suffers in the -same way. And then, what a life! To spend all one's time with that Mrs. -Lennox, who is as hard as a stone and ruthlessly selfish. She does not -want Jean to marry. Jean is too useful to her." - -I said I wondered why she had not married. Surely lots of men must have -wanted to marry her. - -Princess Kouragine said that Mrs. Lennox was quite capable of preventing -it. She rarely took her out in London. She brought her to Haréville when -the London season began and they stayed here two months. It was cheaper. -In the winter they went to Florence or Nice. - -I said I wondered whether she was still faithful to the man she had been -engaged to, and what he was like. - -Princess Kouragine said she did not know him. She had never seen him, -but she had heard he was charming, _très bien_, but he hadn't a penny. -It appeared, however, that he had a relation, possibly an uncle, who -was well off, and who would probably leave him money. But he was not an -old man and might live for years. - -I said that perhaps Miss Brandon was waiting for him. - -"Perhaps," said Princess Kouragine, "but she was only nineteen when -they were engaged, and he has been away for the last five years. People -change. She is no longer now what she was then, nor he, probably." - -She did not think this episode was a real obstacle; she was convinced -Miss Brandon did not feel bound, but she thought she had not yet met -anyone whom she felt she would like to marry. Nor was it likely for her -to do so considering the _milieu_ in which she lived, in which she was -obliged to live. - -Mrs. Lennox liked the continental, international world. The world in -which everyone spoke English and hardly anyone was English. It was not -even the best side of the continental world she liked. She did not -mean it was the shady side, not the world of adventurers and gamblers, -but the world of international "culture." All the intellectual snobs -were drawn instinctively to Mrs. Lennox. People who discovered new -musicians, new novelists, and new painters, who suddenly pronounced as a -dogma that Beethoven couldn't compose and that the old masters did not -know how to draw, and that there was a new music, a new science, and, -above all, a new religion. - -"She is always surrounded just by those one or two men and women -'_qui rendent l'Europe insupportable et qui la gobent_,' they swallow -everything in her, her views on art, her dyed hair, and her ridiculous -hats. Is it likely that Miss Brandon, the daughter of an old general, -brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, and passionately fond of -outdoor life, would find a husband among people who were discussing all -day long whether Wagner was not better as a writer than a musician? She -never complains of it, poor child, but I know quite well that she is -_écoeurée_. She has had five years of it. Her father died five years -ago. Till he died she used to look after him and that was probably not -an easy life, either, as I believe he was a very exacting old man. Her -mother had died years before, and she had no brothers and no sisters. No -relations who were friends, and few women friends. She is alone in a -world she hates." - -I said I wondered that she had not left it. Girls often struck out a -line for themselves now and found occupations. - -Princess Kouragine said that Miss Brandon was not that sort of girl. -She was shy and apathetic as far as that kind of thing was concerned, -apathetic now about everything. She had just given in. What else could -she do? Where could she live? She had not a penny. - -"You see if a sensible marriage had been arranged for her, all this -would not have happened. She would have now had a home and children." - -I said that perhaps she was being faithful to the young man. - -Princess Kouragine said I could take it from her that she had never -loved, "_elle n'a jamais aimé_" She had never had a _grande passion_. - -I asked the Princess whether she thought her capable of such a thing. -She seemed so quiet. - -"You have never seen the lamp lit," said the Princess, "but I have; only -for one moment, it is true, but I shall never forget it." - -She wondered what Rudd would make of the character. He hardly knew her. -Did he seem to understand her? - -I said I thought he spun people out of his own inner consciousness. A -face gave him an idea and he made his own character, but he thought -he was being very analytical, and that all he created was based on -observation. - -"He certainly observes nothing," said the Princess. - -She asked who would be the hero. I said we had not got as far as the -hero when he had discussed it with me. - -"And what will he call the novel?" she asked. - -Ah, that was just the question. He had discussed that at length. He -had not found a title that satisfied him. He had got so far as "_The -Princess without any Dreams_." - -"_Dieu qu'il est bête_," she said. "_Cette enfant ne fait que rêver_." - -She told me I must get Rudd to discuss it with me again. - -"Perhaps he will talk to me about it, too. I will make him do so, in -fact. It will not be difficult. Then we will compare notes. It will be -most amusing. The Princess without any dreams, indeed! He might just as -well call her the Princess without any eyes!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -This afternoon I was sitting on a bench in the most secluded part of the -park when I heard someone approach, and Miss Brandon asked if she might -sit down near me and talk a little. Mrs. Lennox had gone for a motor -drive with Mr. Rudd. - -"He is our new friend," she explained. "That is to say, more Aunt -Netty's friend than mine." - -I asked her whether she liked him. - -"Yes, but he doesn't take much notice of me. He asks me questions, but -never waits for the answer. I feel he has made up his mind about me, -that I am labelled and pigeon-holed. He loves Aunt Netty." - -I asked what they talked about. - -"Books," she said. - -"His books, I suppose," I said. - -I wondered whether Mrs. Lennox had read them. I could feel Miss Brandon -guessing my inward question. - -"Aunt Netty _is_ very clever," she said. "She makes people enjoy -themselves, especially those kind of people.... Last night he dined at -our table, and so did Mabel Summer. You don't know her? You must know -her, you would like her. She is going away to-morrow, for a fortnight -to the Lakes, but she is coming back then. We nearly laughed at one -moment. It was awful. They were discussing Balzac, and Aunt Netty said -that Balzac was a snob like all--and she was just going to say like all -novelists, when she caught herself up and said: 'like Thackeray.' Mr. -Rudd said that Balzac and Thackeray had nothing in common, and Mabel, -who had caught my eye, and I, were speechless. Just for a moment I was -shaking, and Mr. Rudd looked at us. It was awful, but Mabel recovered -and said she didn't think we could realize now the kind of atmosphere -that Thackeray lived in." - -I said I didn't suppose that Rudd had noticed anything. He didn't seem -to me to notice that kind of thing. - -She agreed, but said he had moments of lucidity which were unexpected -and disconcerting. "For one second," she said, "he suspected we were -laughing at him. Aunt Netty manages him perfectly. He loves her. She -knows exactly what to say to him. He knows she is not critical. I think -he is rather suspicious. How funny clever men are!" she said, after a -pause. - -I said she really meant to say, "How stupid clever men are!" I reminded -her of the profound saying of one of Kipling's women, that the stupidest -woman could manage a clever man, but it took a very clever woman to -manage a fool. - -She said she had always found the most disconcerting element in stupid -people--or people who were thought to be stupid--was their sudden -flashes of lucidity, when they saw things quite plainly. Clever men -didn't have these flashes, but the curious thing was that Rudd did. - -I said I thought this was because, apart from his literary talent, which -was an accomplishment like conjuring or acting, quite separate from the -rest of his personality, Rudd was not a clever man. All his cleverness -went into his books. I said I thought there were two kinds of writers: -those who were better than their books, and of whom the books were only -the overflow, and those who put every drop of their being into the books -and were left with a dry and uninteresting shell. - -She said she thought she had only met that kind. - -"Aunt Netty," she said, "loves all authors and it's odd considering----" - -She stopped, but I ended her sentence: "She has never read a book in her -life." - -Miss Brandon laughed and said I was unfair. - -"Reading tires her. I don't think anyone has time to read a book after -they are eighteen. I haven't. But I feel I am a terrible wet blanket to -all Aunt Netty's friends. I can't even pretend to be enthusiastic. You -see I like the other sort of people so much better." - -I said I was afraid the other sort of people were poorly represented -here just now. - -"We have another friend," she said, "at least, I have." - -"Also a new friend?" I asked. - -"I have known him in a way a long time," she said. "He is a Russian -called Kranitski. We met him first two years ago at Florence. He was -looking after his mother, who was ill and who lived at Florence. We used -to meet him often, but I never got to know him. We never spoke to each -other. We saw him, too, in the distance once on the Riviera." - -I asked what he was like. - -"He is all lucid intervals," she said, "it is frightening. But he is -very easy to get on with. Of course I don't know him at all really. I -have only seen him twice. But one didn't have to plough through the -usual commonplaces. He began at once as if we had known each other for -years, and I felt myself doing the same thing." - -I asked what he was. - -She didn't quite know. - -I said I thought I knew the name. It reminded me of something, but I -certainly did not know him. Miss Brandon said she would introduce me to -him. I asked what he looked like. - -"Oh, an untidy, comfortable face," she said. "He is always smiling. He -is not at all international. He is like a dog. The kind of dog that -understands you in a minute. The extraordinary thing is that after the -first time we had a talk I felt as if I knew him intimately, as if I -had met him on some other planet, as if we were going on, not as if we -were beginning. I suddenly found myself telling him things I had never -told anyone. Of course, this does happen to one sometimes with perfect -strangers, at least it does to me. Don't you think it easy sometimes to -pour out confidences to a perfect stranger? But I don't expect people -give you the opportunity. They tell you things." - -I said this did happen sometimes, probably because people thought I -didn't count, and that as I couldn't see their faces they needn't tell -the truth. - -"I would find it as difficult to tell you a lie," she said, "as to tell -a lie on the telephone. You know how difficult that is. I should think -people tell you the truth as they do in the Confessional. The priest -shuts his eyes, doesn't he?" - -I said I believed this was the case. - -"This Russian is a Catholic," she said. "Isn't that rare for a Russian?" - -I said he was, perhaps, a Pole. The name sounded Polish. - -No, he had told her he was not a Pole. He was not a man who explained. -Explanations evidently bored him. He was not a soldier, but he had been -to the Manchurian War. He had lived in the Far East a great deal, and in -Italy. Very little in Russia apparently. He had come to Haréville for a -rest cure. - -"I asked him," she said, "if he had been ill, and he said something had -been cut out of his life. He had been pruned. The rest of him went on -sprouting just the same." - -I said I supposed he spoke English. - -Yes, he had had an English nurse and an English governess. He had once -been to England as a child for a few weeks to the Isle of Wight. He knew -no English people. He liked English books. - -"Byron, and Jerome K. Jerome?" I suggested. - -"No," she said, "Miss Austen." - -I asked whether he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. Yes, they had -talked a little. - -"Aunt Netty talked to him about Tolstoi. Tolstoi is one of Mr. Rudd's -stock topics." - -I said I supposed she had retailed Rudd's views on the Russian. Was he -astonished? - -"Not a bit. I could see he had heard it all before," she said. "He was -angelic. He shook his ears now and then like an Airedale terrier. Aunt -Netty doesn't want him. Mr. Rudd is enough for her and she is enjoying -herself. She always finds someone here. Last year it was a composer." - -"Does Princess Kouragine know him?" I asked. - -No, she didn't. She had never met him, but she knew of him. - -I asked what Mr. Rudd thought about Princess Kouragine. - -"Mr. Rudd and Aunt Netty discuss her for hours. He has theories about -her. He began by saying she had the Slav indifference. Then Aunt Netty -said she was French. But Mr. Rudd said it was catching. People who lived -in Ireland became Irish, and people who lived in Russia became Russian. -Then Aunt Netty said Princess Kouragine had lived in France and Italy. -Mr. Rudd said she had caught the microbe, and that she was a woman who -lived only by half-hours. He meant she was only alive for half-an-hour -at a time." - -At that moment someone walked up the path. - -"Here is Monsieur Kranitski," she said. She introduced us. - -"I have been walking to the end of the park," he said. "It is curious, -but that side of the park with the dry lawn-tennis court, those birch -trees and some straggling fir trees on the hill and the long grass, -reminds me of a Russian garden which I used to know very well." - -I said that when people had described that same spot to me I had -imagined it like the descriptions of places in Tourgenev's books. - -He said I was quite right. - -I said it was a wonderful tribute to an author's powers that he could -make the character of a landscape plain, not only to a person who had -never been in his country, but even to a blind man. - -Kranitski said that Tourgenev described gardens very well, and a -particular kind of Russian landscape. "What I call the orthodox kind. -I hear James Rudd, the writer, is staying here. He has a gift for -describing places: Italian villages, journeys in France, little canals -at Venice, the Campagna." - -"You like his books?" I asked. - -"Some of them; when they are fantastic, yes. When he is psychological I -find them annoying, but one says I am wrong." - -"He is too complicated," Miss Brandon said. "He spoils things by seeing -too much, by explaining too much." - -I asked Kranitski if he was a great novel reader. He said he liked -novels if they were very good, like Miss Austen and Henry James, or -else very, very bad ones. He could not read any novel because it was a -novel. On the other hand he could read any detective story, good, bad or -middling. - -Miss Brandon asked him if he would like to know Rudd. - -"Is he very frightful?" he asked. - -I said I did not think he was at all alarming. - -Yes, he said, he would like to make his acquaintance. He had never met -an English author. - -"You won't mind his explaining the Russian character to you?" I said. - -Kranitski said he would not mind that, and that as his mother was -Italian, and as he had lived very little in Russia and spoke Russian -badly, perhaps Mr. Rudd would not count him as a Russian. - -Miss Brandon said that would make the explanation more complicated -still. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Life begins very early in the morning here. The water-drinkers and the -bathers begin their day at half-past six. My day does not begin till -half-past seven, as I don't drink many glasses of the water. - -At seven o'clock the village bell rings for Mass. - -It was some days after the conversations I recorded in my last chapter -I woke one morning early at half-past six and got up. I asked my -servant, Henry, to lead me to the village church. I went in and sat down -at the bottom of the aisle. Early Mass had not yet begun. The church -seemed to me empty. But from a corner I heard the whispered mutter of -a confession. Presently two people walked past me, the priest and the -penitent, I surmised. Someone walked upstairs. A boy's footsteps then -clattered past me. The church bell was rung. Someone walked downstairs -and up the aisle; the priest again, I thought. Then Mass began. Towards -the end someone again walked up the aisle. I remained sitting till the -end. - -At the door, outside the church, someone greeted me. It was Kranitski. -He walked back with me to the hotel. He asked me whether I was a -Catholic. I told him that Catholic churches attracted me, but that I was -an agnostic. He seemed slightly astonished at this; astonished at the -attraction in my case, I supposed. He said something which indicated -surprise. - -I told him I could not explain it. It was certainly not the exterior -panoply and trappings of the church which attracted me, for of those I -saw nothing. Nor was it the music, for although I was not a musician, my -long blindness had made me acutely sensitive to sound, and the sounds in -churches were often, I found, painful. - -I asked him if he was a Catholic. - -"I was born a Catholic," he said, "but for years I have not been -_pratiquant_, until I came here. Not for seven years." - -"You have not been inside a church for seven years?" I said. - -"Oh yes," he said, "inside a church very often." - -I said most people lost their faith as young men. Sometimes it came back. - -"I was not like that," he said, "I never lost my faith, not for a day, -not for an hour." - -I said I didn't understand. - -"There were reasons--an obstacle," he said. "But now they are not there -any more. Now I am once more inside." - -"Inside what?" I asked. - -"The church. During those seven years I was outside." - -"But as you went to church when you liked," I said, "I do not see the -difference." - -"I cannot explain it to you," he said. "You would not understand. At -least, you would understand if you knew and I could explain, only it -would be too long. But as it was it was like knowing you couldn't have -a bath if you wanted one--like feeling always starved. You see I am -naturally believing. If I had not been, it would have been no matter. I -cannot help believing. Many times I should have liked not to believe. -Many times I was envying people who feel you go out like a candle when -you die. I am not _mystique_ or anything like that; but something at the -back of my mind is keeping on saying to me: 'You know it _is_ true,' -just as in some people there is something inside them which is keeping -on saying: 'You know it is _not_ true.' And yet I couldn't do otherwise. -That is to say, I resolved not to do otherwise. Life is complicated. -Things are so mixed up sometimes. One has to sacrifice what one most -cares for. At least, I had to. I was caring for my religion more than -I can describe, but I had to give it up. No, that is wrong, I didn't -_have to_, but I gave it up. It was all very embarrassing. But now the -obstacle is not there. I am free. It is a relief." - -"But if you never lost your faith and went on going to church, and -_could_ go to church whenever you liked, I cannot see what you had to -give up. I don't see what the obstacle prevented." - -"To explain you that I should have to tell too long a story," he said. -"I will tell you some day if you have patience to listen. Not now." - -We had got back to the park. I went into the pavilion to drink the -water. I asked Kranitski if he was going to have a glass. - -"No," he said, "I do not need any waters or any cure. I am cured -already, but I need a long rest to forget it all. You know sometimes -after illness you regret the _maladie_, and I am still a little bit -dizzy. After you have had a tooth out, in spite of the relief from pain -you mind the hole." - -He went into the hotel. - -Later in the morning I met Princess Kouragine. - -She asked me how Rudd's novel was getting on. I said I had not seen -him, and had had no talk with him about it. I told her I had made the -acquaintance of Kranitski. - -"I too," she said. "I like him. I never knew him before, but I know a -little of his history. He has been in love a very long time with someone -I knew--and still know, I won't say her name. I don't want to rake up -old scandals, but she was Russian, and she lived, a long time ago, in -Rome, and she was unhappy with her husband, whom I always liked, and -thought extremely _comme il faut_, but they were not suited." - -"Why didn't she divorce him?" I asked. - -"The children," she said; "three children, two boys and a girl, and she -adored them, so did the father, and he would never have let them go, -nor would she have left them for anyone in the world." - -"If she lived at Rome, I may have met her," I said. - -"It is quite possible," said the Princess. "My friend was a charming -person, a little vague, very gentle, very graceful, very musical, very -attractive." - -"Is the husband still alive?" I asked. - -"Yes, he is alive. They do not live at Rome any more, but in the -Caucasus, and at Paris in the winter. I saw them both in Paris this -winter." - -I asked if the Kranitski episode was still going on. - -"It is evidently over," said Princess Kouragine. - -"Why?" I asked. - -"Because he is happy. _Il n'a plus des yeux qui regardent au delà._" - -"Was he very much in love with her?" I asked. - -"Yes, very much. And she too. He will be a character for Mr. Rudd," she -went on, "I saw him talking to him yesterday, with Mrs. Lennox and Jean. -Jean likes him. She looks better these last two days." - -I said I had noticed she seemed more lively. - -"Ah, but physically she looks different. That child wants admiration and -love." - -"Love?" I said. "Won't it be rather unfortunate if she looks for love in -that quarter? He won't love again, will he? Or not so soon as this." - -"You are like the people who think one can only have measles once," she -said. "One can have it over and over again, and the worse you have it -once, the worse you may get it again. He is just in the most susceptible -state of all." - -I said they both seemed to me in the same position. They were both of -them bound by old ties. - -"That is just what will make it easier." - -I asked whether there would be any other obstacles to a marriage between -them, such as money. Princess Kouragine said that Kranitski ought to be -quite well off. - -"There was no obstacle of that kind," she said. "He is a Catholic, but I -do not suppose that will make any difference." - -"Not to Miss Brandon," I said, "nor really to her aunt: Mrs. Lennox -might, I think, look upon it as a kind of obstacle; but a little more -an obstacle than if he was a radical and a little less of one than if he -was socialist." - -She said she did not think that Mrs. Lennox would like her niece to -marry anyone. - -"But if they want to get married nothing will stop them. That girl has a -character of iron." - -"And he?" I asked. - -"He has got some character." - -"Would the other person mind--the lady at Rome?" - -"She probably will mind, but she would not prevent it. _Elle est -foncièrement bonne._ Besides which she knows that it is over, there is -nothing more to be said or done. She is _philosophe_ too. A sensible -woman. She insisted on marrying her husband. She was in love with him -directly she came out, and they were married at once. He would have been -an excellent husband for almost anyone else except for her, and if she -had only waited two years she would have known this herself. As it was, -she married him, and found she had married someone else. The inevitable -happened. She is far too sensible to complain now. She knows she has -made a _gâchis_ of her life, and that she only has herself to thank. -As it is, she has her children and she is devoted to them. She will not -want to make a _gâchis_ of Kranitski's life as well as of her own, and -she nearly did that too. If he marries and is happy she ought to be -pleased, and she will be." - -"And what about the young man who was engaged to Miss Brandon?" I asked. - -"I do not give that story a thought," said the Princess. "They were -probably in the same situation towards each other as the Russian -couple I told you of were before they were married, only Jean had the -good fortune to do nothing in a hurry. She is probably now profoundly -grateful. How can a girl of eighteen know life? How can she even know -her own mind?" - -"It depends on the young man," I said. "We know nothing about him." - -"Yes, we know nothing about him; but that probably shows there is -nothing to know. If there were something to know we should know it by -now. It was all so long ago. They are both different people now, and -they probably know it." - -I said I would not like to speculate or even hazard a guess on such a -matter. It might be as she said, but the contrary might just as well be -true. I did not think Miss Brandon was a person who would change her -mind in a hurry. I thought she was one of the rare people who did know -her own mind. I could imagine her waiting for years if it was necessary. - -As I was saying this, Princess Kouragine said to me: - -"She is walking across the park now with Kranitski. They have sat down -on a seat near the music kiosk. They are talking hard. The lamp is being -lit--she looks ten years younger than she did last week, and she has got -on a new hat." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -During the rest of that day I saw nobody. I gathered there were races -somewhere, and Mrs. Lennox had taken a large party. Just before dinner I -got a message from Rudd asking whether he might dine at my table. - -I do not dine in the big dining-room, as I find the noise and the bustle -trying, but in a smaller room where some of the visitors have their -_petit déjeuner_. - -So we were alone and had the room to ourselves. I asked him if he had -been working. - -He said he had been making notes, plans and sketches, but he could not -get on unless he could discuss his work with someone. - -"The story is gradually taking shape," he said. "I haven't made up my -mind what the setting is to be. But I have got the kernel. My story is -what I told you it would be. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, but when -the Prince wakes her up she is no longer the same person as she was -when she went to sleep. The enchantment has numbed her. She will have -none of the Fairy Prince; she doesn't recognize him as a Fairy Prince, -and she lets him go away. As soon as he is gone she regrets what she -has done and begins to hope he will come back some day. Time passes and -he does come back, but he has forgotten her and he does not recognize -her. Someone else falls in love with her, and she thinks she loves him; -but, at the first kiss he gives her, the forest closes round her and she -falls asleep again." - -I asked him if it was going to be a fairy-tale. - -He said, No, a modern story with perhaps a mysterious lining to it. - -He imagined this kind of story. A girl brought up in romantic -surroundings. She meets a boy who falls in love with her. This, in a -way, wakens her to life, but she will not marry him; and he goes away -for years. Time passes. She leads a numbed existence. She travels, and -somewhere abroad she meets the love of her youth again. He has forgotten -her and loves someone else. Someone else wants to marry her. They are -engaged to be married. But as soon as things get as far as this the man -finds that in some inexplicable way she is different, and _he_ breaks -off the engagement, and she goes on living as she did before, apparently -the same, but in reality dead. - -"Then," I said, "she always loves the Fairy Prince of her youth." - -He said: "She thinks she loves him when it is too late, but in reality -she never loves anyone. She is only half-awake in life. She never gets -over the enchantment which numbs her for life." - -I asked what would correspond to the enchantment in real life. - -He said perhaps the romantic surroundings of her childhood. - -I said I thought he had not meant her to be a romantic character. - -"No more she is," he explained. "The romance is all from outside. -She looks romantic, but she isn't. She is like a person who has been -bewitched. She always thinks she is going to behave like an ordinary -person, but she can't. She has no dreams. She would like to marry, to -have a home, to be comfortable and free, but something prevents it. When -the young man proposes to her she feels she can never marry him. As -soon as he is gone, she regrets having done this, and imagines that if -he came back she would love him." - -"And when he does come back, does she love him?" I asked. - -"She thinks she does, but that is only because he has forgotten her. -If he hadn't forgotten her, and had asked her to marry him, she would -have said 'No' a second time. Then when the other person who is in love -with her wants to marry her, she _thinks_ she is in love with him; she -thinks _he_ is the Fairy Prince; but as soon as they are engaged, _he_ -feels that his love has gone. It has faded from the want of something -in _her_ which he discovers at the very first kiss; he breaks off the -engagement, and she is grateful at being set free, and glad to go back -to her forest." - -I asked if she is unhappy when it is over. - -He said, "Yes, she is unhappy, but she accepts it. She is not -broken-hearted because she never loved him. She realizes that she can't -love and will never love, and accepts the situation." - -I said that I saw no mysterious lining in the story as told that way. - -He said there was none; but the lining would come in the manner the -story was told. He would try and give the reader the impression that -she had come into touch with the fairy world by accident and that the -adventure had left a mark that nothing could alter. - -She had no business to have adventures in fairy land. - -She had strayed into that world by mistake. She was not native to it, -although she looked as if she were. - -I said I thought there ought to be some explanation of how and why she -got into touch with the fairy world. - -He said it was perhaps to be found in the surroundings of her childhood. -She perhaps inherited some strange spiritual, magic legacy. But whatever -it was it must come from the _outside_. Perhaps there was a haunted wood -near her home, and she was forbidden to go into it. Perhaps the legend -of the place said that anyone of her family who visited that wood before -they were fifteen years old, went to sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps -she visited the wood and fell asleep and had a dream. That dream was -the hundred years' sleep, but she forgot the dream as soon as she was -awake. - -I asked him if he thought this story fitted on to Miss Brandon's -character or to the circumstances of her life. - -He said he knew little about the circumstances of her life. Mrs. Lennox -had told him that her niece had once nearly married someone, but that it -had been an impossible marriage for many reasons, and that she did not -think her niece regretted it. That several people had wanted to marry -her abroad, but that she had never fallen in love. - -"As to her character, I am confirmed," he said, "in what I thought about -her the first time I saw her. All her looks are poetry and all her -thoughts are prose. She is practical and prosaic and unimaginative and -quite passionless. But I should not be in the least surprised if she -married a fox-hunting squire with ten thousand a year. All that does not -matter to me. I am not writing her story, but the story of her face. -What might have been her story. And not the story of what her face looks -like, but the story of what her face means. The story of her soul, which -may be very different from the story of her life. It is the story of a -numbed soul. A soul that has visited places which it had no business to -visit and had had to pay the price in consequence. - -"She reminds me of those lines of Heine: - - "Sie waren langst gestorben und wussten - es selber kaum." - - -"That is, of course, only one way of writing the story I have planned -to you. I shall not begin at the beginning at any rate. Perhaps I shall -never write the story at all. You see, I do not intend to publish it in -any case. People would say I was making a portrait. As if an artist ever -made a portrait from one definite real person. People give him ideas. -But on the other hand it is my holiday, and I do not want to have all -the labour of planning a real story, and at the same time I want an -occupation. This will keep me busy. I shall amuse myself by sketching -the story as I see it now." - -I asked who the hero would be. - -"The man who wants to marry her and whom she consents to marry will be a -foreigner," he said. - -"An Italian?" I asked. - -"No," he said, "not an Italian. Not a southerner. A northerner. Possibly -a Norwegian. A Norwegian or a Dane. That would be just the kind of -person to be attracted by this fairy-tale-looking, in reality, prosaic -being." - -"And who would the original Fairy Prince be?" I asked. - -"He would be an ordinary Englishman. Any of the young men I saw here -would do for that. The originality of his character would be in this: -that he would _look_ and be considered the type of dog-like fidelity -and unalterable constancy, and in reality he would forget all about her -directly he met someone else he loved. He would have been quite faithful -till then. Faithful for two or three years. Then he would have met -someone else: a married woman. Someone out of his reach, and he would -have been passionately devoted to her and have forgotten all about the -Fairy Princess. - -"The Norwegian would be attracted by her very apathy and seeming -coldness and aloofness. He would imagine that this would all melt -and vanish away at the first kiss. That she would come to life like -Galatea. It would be the opposite of Galatea. The first kiss would turn -her to stone once more. - -"Then being a very nice honest fellow he would be miserable. He would -not know what to do. He would be a sailor perhaps, and be called away. -That would have to be thought about." - -Then we talked of other things. I asked Rudd if he had made Kranitski's -acquaintance. He said, Yes, he had. He was quite a pleasant fellow, no -brains and very commonplace and rather reactionary in his ideas; not -politically, he meant, but intellectually. - -He had not got further than Miss Austen and he was taken in by -Chesterton. All that was very crude. But he was amiable and good-natured. - -I said Princess Kouragine liked him. - -"Ah," he said, "that is an interesting type. The French character -infected by the Slav microbe. - -"What a powerful thing the Slav microbe is; more powerful even than the -Irish microbe. Her French common sense and her Latin logic had been -stricken by that curious Russian intellectual malaria. She will never -get it out of her system." - -I asked him if he thought Kranitski had the same malaria. - -"It is less noticeable in him," Rudd said, "because he _is_ Russian; -there is no contrast to observe, no conflict. He is simply a Slav of -a rather conventional type. His Slavness would simply reveal itself -in his habits; his incessant cigarette-smoking; his good head for -cards--he was an admirable card-player--his facility for playing the -piano, and perhaps singing folk-songs--I don't know if he does, but he -well might; his good-natured laziness; his social facility; his quick -superficiality. There is nothing interesting psychologically there." - -I said that I believed his mother was Italian. - -Rudd said this was impossible. She might be Polish, but there was -evidently no southern strain in him. Although I knew for a fact that -Rudd was wrong, I could not contradict him; greatly as I wished to do so -I could not bring the words across my lips. - -I said he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. - -He said he knew that he had met him in their rooms. - -I asked whether he thought Miss Brandon liked him. - -Rudd said that Miss Brandon was the same towards everyone. Profoundly -indifferent, that is to say. He did not think, he was, in fact, quite -certain that there was not a soul at Haréville who raised a ripple of -interest on the perfectly level surface of her resigned discontent. - -Then we went out into the park and listened to the music. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The day after Rudd dined with me I was summoned by telegram to London. -My favourite sister, who is married and whom I seldom see, was seriously -ill. She wanted to see me. I started at once for London and found -matters better than I expected, but still rather serious. I stayed with -my sister nearly a month, by which time she was convalescent. Kennaway -insisted on my going back to Haréville to finish my cure. - -When I got back, I found all the members of the group to which I had -become semi-attached still there, and I made a new acquaintance: Mrs. -Summer, who had just come back from the Lakes. I know little about her. -I can only guess at her appearance. I know that she is married and that -she cannot be very young and that is all. On the other hand, I feel now -that I know a great deal about her. - -We sat after dinner in the park. She is a friend of Miss Brandon's. We -talked of her. Mrs. Summer said: - -"The air here has done her such a lot of good." - -She meant to say: "She is looking much better than she did when she -arrived," but she did not want to talk about _looks_ to me. - -I said: "She must get tired of coming here year after year." - -Mrs. Summer said that Miss Brandon hated London almost as much. - -I said: "You have known her a long time?" - -She said: "All her life. Ever since she was tiny." - -I asked what her father was like. - -"He was very selfish, violent-tempered, and rather original. When he -dined out he always took his champagne with him in a pail and in a -four-wheeler. He lived in an old house in the south of Ireland. He was -not really Irish. He had been a soldier. He played picquet with Jean -every evening. He went up to London two months every year--not in the -summer. He liked seeing the Christmas pantomime. He was devoted to -Jean, but tyrannized over her. He never let her out of his sight. - -"When he died he left nothing. The house in Ireland was sold, and -the house in London, a house in Bedford Square. I think there were -illegitimate children. In Ireland he entertained the neighbours, talked -politics, and shouted at his guests, and quarrelled with everyone." - -I presumed he was not a Radical. I was right. - -I said I supposed Miss Brandon could never escape. - -She had been engaged to be married once, but money--the want of it--made -the marriage impossible. Even if there had been money she doubted. - -"Because of the father?" I said. - -"Yes, she would never have left him. She couldn't have left him." - -"Did the father like the young man?" - -"Yes, he liked him, but regarded him as quite impossible, quite out of -the question as a husband." - -I said I supposed he would have thought anyone else equally out of the -question. - -"Of course," she said. "It was pure selfishness----" - -I asked what had happened to the young man. - -He was in the army, but left it because it was too expensive. He went -out to the Colonies--South Africa--as A.D.C. He was there now. - -"Still unmarried?" I asked. - -Mrs. Summer said he would never marry anyone else. He had never looked -at anyone else. He was supposed, at one time, to have liked an Italian -lady, but that was all nonsense. - -She felt I did not believe this. - -"You don't believe me," she said. "But I promise you it's true. He is -that kind of man--terribly faithful; faithful and constant. You see, -Jean isn't an ordinary girl. If one once loved her it would be difficult -to love anyone else. She was just the same when he knew her as she is -now." - -"Except younger." - -"She is just as beautiful now, at least she could be----" - -"If someone told her so." - -"Yes, if someone thought so. Telling wouldn't be necessary." - -"Perhaps someone will." - -Mrs. Summer said it was extremely unlikely she would ever meet anyone -abroad who would be the kind of man. - -I said I thought life was a play in which every entrance and exit was -arranged beforehand, and the momentous entrance and the _scène à faire_ -might quite as well happen at Haréville as anywhere else. - -Mrs. Summer made no comment. I thought to myself: "She knows about -Kranitski and doesn't want to discuss it." - -"The man who marries Jean would be very lucky," she said. "Jean -is--well--there is no one like her. She's more than _rare_. She's -_introuvable_." - -I said that Rudd thought she would never marry anyone. - -"Perhaps not," she said, "but if Mr. Rudd is right about her he will be -right for the wrong reasons. Sometimes the people who see everything -wrong _are_ right. It is very irritating." - -I asked her if she thought Rudd was always wrong. - -"I don't know," she said, "but he would be wrong about Jean. Wrong about -you. Wrong about me. Wrong about Princess Kouragine, and wrongest of -all about Netty Lennox. Perhaps his instincts as an artist _are_ right. -I think people's books are sometimes written by _someone else_, a kind -of planchette. All the authors I have met have been so utterly and -completely wrong about everything that stared them in the face." - -I asked whether she liked his books. - -Yes, she liked them, but she thought they were written by a familiar -spirit. She couldn't fit him into his books. - -"Then," I said, "supposing he wrote a book about Miss Brandon, however -wrong he might be about her, the book might turn out to be true." - -She didn't agree. She thought if he wrote a book about an imaginary Miss -Jones it might turn out to be right in some ways about Jean Brandon, and -in some ways about a hundred other people; but if he set out to write a -book about Jean it would be wrong. - -"You mean," I said, "he is imaginative and not observant?" - -"I mean," she said, "that he writes by instinct, as good actors act." - -She said there was a Frenchman at the hotel who had told her that he had -seen a rehearsal of a complicated play, in which a great actress was -acting. The author was there. He explained to the actress what he wanted -done. She said: "Yes, I see this, and this, and this." Everything she -said was terribly wide of the mark, the opposite of what he had meant. -He saw she hadn't understood a word he had said. Then the actress got on -to the stage and acted it exactly as if she understood everything. - -"I think," she said, "that Mr. Rudd is like that." - -I asked Mrs. Summer if she knew Kranitski. - -"Just a little," she said. "What do you think about him?" - -I said I liked him. - -"He's very quick and easy to get on with," she said. - -"Like all Russians." - -"Like all Russians, but I don't think he's quite like all Russians, at -least not the kind of Russians one meets." - -"No, more like the Russians one doesn't meet." - -"Tolstoi's Russians. Yes. It's a pity they have such a genius for -unhappiness." - -I said I thought Kranitski did not seem unhappy. - -"No, but more as if he had just recovered than if he was quite well." - -I said I thought he gave one the impression that he was capable of being -very happy. There was nothing gloomy about him. - -"All people who are unhappy are generally very happy, too," she said, -"at least they are often very...." - -"Gay?" I suggested. - -She agreed. - -I said I thought he was more than an unhappy person with high spirits, -which one saw often enough. He gave me the impression of a person -capable of _solid_ happiness, the kind of business-like happiness that -comes from a fundamental goodness. - -"Yes, he might, be like that," she said, "only one doesn't know quite -what his life has been and is." - -She meant she knew all too well that his life had not been one in which -happiness was possible. - -I agreed. - -"One knows so little about other people." - -"Nothing," I said. "Perhaps he is miserable. He ought to marry. I feel -he is very domestic." - -"I sometimes think," she said, "that the people who marry--the men I -mean--are those who want the help and support of a woman, women are so -far stronger and braver than men; and that those who don't marry are -sometimes those who are strong enough to face life without this help. Of -course, there are others who aren't either strong enough or weak enough -to need it, but they don't matter." - -I said I supposed she thought Kranitski would be strong enough to do -without marriage. - -"I think so," she said, "but then, I hardly know him." - -"Does your theory apply to women, too?" I asked. "Are there some women -who are strong enough to face life alone?" - -She said women were strong enough to do either. In either case life was -for them just as difficult. - -I asked if she thought Miss Brandon would be happier married or not -married. - -"Jean would never marry unless she married the right person, the man she -wanted to marry," she said. - -"Would the person she wanted to marry," I said, "necessarily be the -right person?" - -"He would be more right for her, whatever the drawbacks, than anyone -else." - -I said I supposed nearly everyone thought they were marrying the right -person, and yet how strangely most marriages turned out. - -"Nothing better than marriage has been invented, all the same," she -said, "and if people marry when they are old enough...." - -"To know better," I said. - -"Yes, it doesn't then turn out so very badly as a rule." - -I said that as things were at present Miss Brandon's life seemed to me -completely wasted. - -"So it is, but it might be worse. It might be a tragedy. Supposing she -married someone who became fond of someone else." - -"She would mind," I said. - -"She would mind terribly." - -I said I thought people always got what they wanted in the long run. -If she wanted a marriage of a definite kind she would probably end by -getting it. - -Mrs. Summer agreed in the main, but she thought that although one often -did get what one wanted in the long run, it often came either too late -or not quite at the moment when one wanted it, or one found when one had -got it that it was after all not quite what one had wanted. - -"Then," I said, "you think it is no use wanting anything?" - -"No use," she said, "no use whatever." - -"You are a pessimist." - -"I am old enough to have no illusions." - -"But you want other people to have illusions?" - -"I think there is such a thing as happiness in the world, and that when -you see someone who might be happy, missing the chance of it, it's a -pity. That's all." - -Then I said: - -"You want other people to want things." - -"Other people? Yes," she said. "Quite dreadfully I want it." - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox came up to us and said: - -"I have won five hundred francs, and I had the courage to leave the -Casino. I can't think what has happened to Jean. I have been looking for -her the whole evening." I left them and went into the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was the morning after the conversation I had with Mrs. Summer that I -received a message from Miss Brandon. She wanted to speak to me. Could I -be, about five o'clock, at the end of the alley? I was punctual at the -rendezvous. - -"I wanted to have a talk," she said, "to-day, if possible, because -to-morrow Aunt Netty has organized an expedition to the lakes, and the -day after we are all going to the races, so I didn't know when I should -see you again." - -"But you are not going away yet, are you?" I asked. - -No, they were not going away, they would very likely stay on till the -end of July. Then there was an idea of Switzerland; or perhaps the -Mozart festival at Munich, followed by a week at Bayreuth. Mr. Rudd -was going to Bayreuth, and had convinced Mrs. Lennox that she was a -Wagnerite. - -"I thought you couldn't be going away yet--but one never knows, here -people disappear so suddenly, and I wanted to see you so particularly -and at once. You are going to finish your cure?" - -I said my time limit was another fortnight. After that I was going back -to my villa at Cadenabbia. - -"Shall you come here next year?" - -I said it depended on my doctor. I asked her her plans. - -"I don't think I shall come back next year." - -There was a slight note of suppressed exultation in her voice. I asked -whether Mrs. Lennox was tired of Haréville. - -"Aunt Netty loves it, better than ever. Mr. Rudd has promised her to -come too." - -There was a long pause. - -"I can't bear it any longer," she said at last. - -"Haréville?" - -"Haréville and all of it--everything." - -There was another long pause. She broke it. - -"You talked to Mabel Summer yesterday?" - -I said we had had a long talk. - -"I'm sure you liked her?" - -I said I had found her delightful. - -"She's my oldest friend, although she's older than I am. Poor Mabel, -she's had a very unhappy life." - -I said one felt in her the sympathy that came from experience. - -"Oh yes, she's so brave; she's wonderful." - -I said I supposed she'd had great disappointments. - -"More than that. Tragedies. One thing after another." - -I asked whether she had any children. - -"Her two little girls both died when they were babies. But it wasn't -that. She'll tell you all about it, perhaps, some day." - -I said I doubted whether we would ever meet again. - -"Mabel always keeps up with everybody she makes friends with. She -doesn't often make new friends. She told me she had made two new friends -here. You and Kranitski." - -"She likes him?" I said. - -"She likes him very much. She's very fastidious, very hard to please, -very critical." - -I said everyone seemed to like Kranitski. - -"Aunt Netty says he's commonplace, but that's because Mr. Rudd said he -was commonplace." - -I said Rudd always had theories about people. - -"You like Mr. Rudd?" she asked. - -I said I did, and reminded her that she had told me she did. - -"If you want to know the truth," she said, "I don't. I think he's -awful." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? A week ago I would have rather -died than admit this to you, but now I don't care. Of course I know he's -a good writer and clever and subtle, and all that--but I've come to the -conclusion----" - -"To what conclusion?" - -"Well, that I don't--that I like the other sort of people better." - -"The stupid people?" - -"No." - -"The clever people?" - -"No." - -"What people?" - -"I don't know. Nice people." - -"People like----" - -"People like Mabel Summer and Princess Kouragine," she interrupted. - -"They are both very clever, I think," I said. - -"Yes, but it's not that that matters." - -I said I thought intelligence mattered a great deal. - -"When it's natural," she said. - -"Do you think people can become religious if they're not?" she asked -suddenly. - -I said that I didn't feel that I could, but it certainly did happen to -some people. - -"I'm afraid it will never happen to me," she said. "I used to hope it -might never happen, but now I hope the opposite. Last night, after you -went in, Aunt Netty took us to the café, and we all sat there: Mr. -Rudd, Mabel, a Frenchman whose name I don't know, and M. Kranitski. -The Frenchman was talking about China, and said he had stayed with a -French priest there. The priest had asked him why he didn't go to Mass. -The Frenchman said he had no faith. The priest had said it was quite -simple, he had only to pray to the Sainte Vierge for faith, _Mon enfant, -c'est bien simple: il faut demander la foi à la Sainte Vierge._ He -said this, imitating the priest, in a falsetto voice. They all laughed -except M. Kranitski, who said, seriously, 'Of course, you should ask the -Sainte Vierge.' When the Frenchman and M. Kranitski went away, Mr. Rudd -said that in matters of religion Russians were childish, and that M. -Kranitski has a _simpliste_ mind." - -I said that Kranitski was obviously religious. - -"Yes," she said, "but to be like that, one must be born like that." - -I said that curious explosions often happened to people. I had heard -people talk of divine dynamite. - -"Yes, but not to the people who want them to happen." - -I said perhaps the method of the French priest in China was the best. - -"Yes, if only one could do it--I can't." - -I said that I felt as she did about these things. - -"I know so many people who are just in the same state," she said. -"Perhaps it's like wishing to be musical when one isn't. But after all -one _does_ change, doesn't one?" - -I said some people did, certainly. When one was in one frame of mind one -couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in another. - -"Yes," she said, "but I suppose there's a difference between being in -one frame of mind and not wishing ever to be in another, and in being in -the same frame of mind but longing to be in another." - -I asked if she knew how long Kranitski was going to stay at Haréville. - -"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it all depends." - -"On his health?" - -"I don't think so. He's quite well." - -"Religion must be all or nothing," I said, going back to the topic. - -"Yes, of course." - -"If I was religious I should----" - -She interrupted me in the middle of my sentence. - -"Mr. Rudd is writing a book," she said. "Aunt Netty asked him what it -was about, and he said it was going to be a private book, a book that he -would only write in his holidays for his own amusement. She asked him -whether he had begun it. He said he was only planning it, but he had -got an idea. He doesn't like Mabel Summer. He thinks she is laughing -at him. She isn't really, but she sees through him. I don't mean he -pretends to be anything he isn't, but she sees all there is to see, -and no more. He likes one to see more. Aunt Netty sees a great deal -more. I see less probably. I'm unfair to him, I know. I know I'm very -intolerant. You are so tolerant." - -I said I wasn't really, but kept my intolerances to myself out of -policy. It was a prudent policy for one in my position. - -"Mr. Rudd adores you," she said. "He says you are so acute, so sensitive -and so sensible." - -I said I was a good listener. - -"Has he told you about his book?" - -I said that he had told me what he had told them. - -"M. Kranitski has such a funny idea about it," she said. - -I asked what the idea was. - -"He thinks he is writing a book about all of us." - -"Who is the heroine?" I asked. - -"Mabel--I think," she said. "She's so pretty. Mr. Rudd admires her. He -said she was like a Tanagra, and I can see she puzzles him. He's afraid -of her." - -"And who is the hero?" I asked. - -"I can't imagine," she said. "I expect he has invented one." - -"Why is the book private?" - -"Because it's about real people." - -"Then we may all of us be in it?" - -"Yes." - -"What made Kranitski think that?" I asked. - -"The way he discusses all our characters. Each person who isn't there -with all the others who are there. For instance, he discusses Princess -Kouragine with Aunt Netty, and Mabel with Princess Kouragine, and you -with all of us; and M. Kranitski says he talks about people like a -stage manager settling what actors must be cast for a particular play. -He checks what one person tells him with what the others say. I have -noticed it myself. He talked to me for hours about Mabel one day, and -after he had discussed Princess Kouragine with us, he asked Mabel what -she thought of her. That is to say, he told her what he thought, and -then asked her if she agreed. I don't think he listened to what she -said. He hardly ever listens. He talks in monologues. But there must be -someone there to listen." - -"You have left out one of the characters," I said. - -"Have I?" - -"The most important one." - -"The hero?" - -"And the heroine." - -"He's sure to invent those." - -"I'm not so sure, I think you have left out the most important -character." - -"I don't think so." - -"I mean yourself." - -"Oh no, that's nonsense; he never pays any attention to me at all. He -doesn't talk about me to Aunt Netty or to the others." - -"Perhaps he has made up his mind." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "that's just it. He has made up his mind. He -thinks I'm a--well, just a lay figure." - -I said I was certain she would not be left out if he was writing that -kind of book. - -She laughed happily--so happily that I imagined her looking radiant and -felt that the lamp was lit. I asked her why she was laughing. - -"I'm laughing," she said, "because in one sense my novel is over--with -the ordinary happy, conventional ending--the reason I wanted to talk to -you to-day was to tell you----" - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox joined us. Miss Brandon's voice passed quite -naturally into another key, as she said: - -"Here is Aunt Netty." - -"I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mrs. Lennox, "I've got a -headache, and we've so many letters to write. When we've done them you -can watch me doing my patience." - -She said these last words as if she was conferring an undeserved reward -on a truant child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Later on in the evening, about six o'clock, as I was drinking a glass -of water in the Pavilion, someone nearly ran into me and was saved from -doing so by the intervention of a stranger who saw at once I was blind, -although the other person had not noticed it. He shepherded me away from -the danger and apologized. He said he supposed I was an Englishman, -and that he was one too. He told me his name was Canning. We talked a -little. He asked me if I was staying at the _Splendide_. I said I was. -He said he had hoped to meet some friends of his, who he had understood -were staying there too, but he could not find their names on the list -of visitors. A Mrs. Lennox, he said, and her niece, Miss Brandon. Did I -know them? I told him they were staying at the hotel; not at the hotel -proper, but at the annexe, which was a separate building. I described -to him where it was. The man's voice struck me. It was so gentle, so -courteous, with a tinge of melancholy in it. I asked him if he was -taking the waters? He said he hadn't settled. He liked watering places. -Then our brief conversation came to an end. - -After dinner, Rudd fetched me and I joined the group. I was introduced -to the stranger I met in the morning: Captain Canning they called him. -Mrs. Summer and Princess Kouragine were sitting with them. They all -talked a great deal, except Miss Brandon, who said little, and Captain -Canning who said nothing. - -The next morning Kranitski met me at the Pavilion, and we talked a great -deal. He was in high spirits and looking forward to an expedition to -the lakes which Mrs. Lennox had organized. He was going with her, Miss -Brandon and others. While we were sitting on a seat in the _Galeries_ -the postman went by with the letters. There was a letter for Kranitski, -and he asked me if I minded his reading it. He read it. There was a -silence and then suddenly he laughed: a short rather mirthless chuckle. -We neither of us said anything for a moment, and I felt, I knew, -something had happened. There was a curious strain in his voice which -seemed to come from another place, as he said: "It is time for my -douche. I shall be late. I will see you this evening." He then left me. -I saw nobody for the rest of the day. - -The next day I saw some of the group in the morning just before -_déjeuner_. Rudd read out a short story to us from a magazine. After -luncheon Rudd came up to my room. He wished to have a talk. He had been -so busy lately. - -"With your book?" I asked. - -"No. I have had no time to touch it," he said. "It's all simmering in my -mind. I daresay I shall never write it at all." - -I asked him who Captain Canning was. He knew all about him. He was the -young man who had once been engaged to Miss Brandon, so Mrs. Lennox had -told him. But it was quite obvious that he no longer cared for her. - -"Then why did he come here?" I asked. - -"He caught fever in India and wanted to consult Doctor Sabran, the great -malaria expert here. He was not staying on. He was going away in a few -days' time. That was one reason. There was another. Donna Maria Alberti, -the beautiful Italian, had been here for a night on her way to Italy. -Canning had met her in Africa and was said to be devoted to her." - -I asked him why he thought Canning no longer cared for Miss Brandon. - -"Because," he said, "if he did he would propose to her at once." - -"But money," I said. - -That was all right now. His uncle had died. He was quite well off. He -could marry if he wanted to. He had not paid the slightest attention to -Miss Brandon. - -"And she?" I asked. - -"He is a different person now to what he was, but she is the same. She -accepts the fact." - -"But does she love anyone else?" - -"Oh! that----" - -"Is 'another story'?" I said. - -"Quite a different story," he said gravely. - -Rudd then left me. He was going out with Mrs. Lennox. Not long after -he had gone, Canning himself came and talked to me. He said he was not -staying long. He had not much leave and there was a great deal he must -do in England. He had come here to see a special doctor who was supposed -to know all about malaria. But he had found this doctor was no longer -here. He had meant to have a holiday, as he liked watering-places--they -amused him--but he found he had had so much to do in England. He kept -on getting so many business letters that he would have to go away much -sooner than he intended. He was going back to South Africa at the end of -the month. - -"I have still got another year out there," he said. "After that I shall -take up the career of a farmer in England, unless I settle in Africa -altogether. It is a wonderful place. I have been so much away that I -hardly feel at home in England now. At least, I think I shall hardly -feel at home there. I only passed through London on my way out here." - -I told him that if he ever came to Italy he must stay with me at -Cadenabbia. He said he would like to come to Italy. He had several -Italian friends. One of them, Donna Maria Alberti, had been here -yesterday, but she had gone. He sat for some time with me, but he did -not talk much. - -After dinner I found the usual group, all but Miss Brandon who had got a -headache, and Kranitski who was playing in the Casino. Canning joined -us for a moment, but he did not stay long. - -The next day I saw nothing of any of the group. There were races going -on not far off, and I had gathered that Mrs. Lennox was going to these. - -It was two or three days after this that Kranitski came up to my room at -ten o'clock in the morning, and asked whether he could see me. He said -he wanted to say "Good-bye," as he was going away. - -"My plans have been changed," he said. "I am going to London, and then -probably to South Africa at the end of the month. I have been making the -acquaintance of that nice Englishman, Canning. I am going with him." - -"Just for the sea voyage?" I asked. - -"No; I shall stay there for a long time. I am _Europamüde_, if you know -what that means--tired of Europe." - -"And of Russia?" I asked. - -"Most of all of Russia," he said. - -"I want to tell you one thing," he went on. "After our meeting the other -day I have been thinking you might think wrong. You are what we call in -Russia very _chutki_, with a very keen scent in impressions. I want -you not to misjudge. You may be thinking the obstacle has come back. It -hasn't. I am free as air, as empty air. That is what I have been wanting -to tell you. If you are understanding, well and good. If you are not -understanding, I can tell you no more. I have enjoyed our acquaintance. -We have not been knowing each other much, yet I know you very well now. -I want to thank you and go." - -I asked him if he would like letters. I said I wrote letters on a -typewriter. - -He said he would. I told him he could write to me if he didn't mind -letters being read out. My sister generally read my letters to me. She -stayed with me whenever she could at Cadenabbia. But now she was busy. - -He said he would write. He didn't mind who read his letters. I told him -I lived all the year in Italy, and very seldom saw anyone, so that I -should have little news to send him. "Tell me what you are thinking," he -said. "That is all the news I want." - -I asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He said, "Yes, -send me any books that Mr. Rudd writes. They would interest me." - -I promised him I would do this. Then he said "Good-bye." He went away by -the seven o'clock train. - -That evening I saw no one. The next morning I learnt that Canning had -gone too. - -Rudd came up to my rooms to see me, but I told Henry I was not well and -he did not let him come in. - -The next morning I talked to Princess Kouragine at the door of the -hotel. She was just leaving. I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"They have gone," said the Princess. "They went last night to Paris. -They are going to Munich and then to Bayreuth. Jean asked me to say -'Good-bye' to you. She said she hopes you will come here next year." - -"Has Rudd gone with them?" I asked. - -"He will meet them at Bayreuth later. He does not love Mozart. And there -is a Mozart festival at Munich." - -I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"The same as before," said the Princess. "The lamp was lit for a moment, -but they put it out. It is a pity. The man behaved well." - -At that moment we were interrupted. I wanted to ask her a great deal -more. But the motor-bus drove up to the door. She said "Good-bye" to me. -She was going to Paris. She would spend the winter at Rome. - -In the afternoon I saw Mrs. Summer, but only for a moment. She told me -Miss Brandon had sent me a lot of messages, and I wanted to ask her -what had happened and how things stood, but she had an engagement. We -arranged to meet and have a long talk the next morning. - -But when the next morning came, I got a message from her, saying she had -been obliged to go to London at once to meet her husband. - -A little later in the day, I received a letter by post from my unmarried -sister, saying she would meet me in Paris and we could both go back to -Italy together. So I decided to do this. I saw Rudd once before I left. -He dined with me on my last night. He said that his holiday was shortly -coming to an end. He would spend three days at Bayreuth and then he -would go back to work. - -"On the Sleeping Beauty?" I asked. - -"No, not on that." He doubted whether he would ever touch that again. -The idea of it had been only a holiday amusement at first. "But now," he -said, "the idea has grown. If I do it, it will have to be a real book, -even if only a short one, a _nouvelle._ The idea is a fascinating one. -The Sleeping Beauty awake and changed in an alien world. Perhaps I may -do it some day. If I do, I will send it to you. In any case I was right -about Miss Brandon. She would be a better heroine for a fairy tale than -for a modern story. She is too emotionless, too calm for a modern novel." - -"I have got another idea," he went on, "I am thinking of writing a story -about a woman who looked as delicate as a flower, and who crushed those -who came into contact with her and destroyed those who loved her. The -idea is only a shadow as yet. But it may come to something. In any case -I must do some regular work at once. I have had a long enough holiday. -I have been wasting my time. I have enjoyed it, it has done me good, -and conversations are never wasted, as they are the breeding ground of -ideas. Sometimes the ideas do not flower for years. But the seed is sown -in talk. I am grateful to you too, and I hope I shall meet you here -again next year. I can't invent anything unless I am in sympathetic -surroundings." - -The next day I left Haréville and met my sister in Paris. We travelled -to Cadenabbia together. - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - - - -PART II - - -FROM THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY. - - -I - - -Two years after I had written these few chapters, I was sent once more -to Haréville. Again I went early in the season. There was nobody left -of the old group I had known during my first visit. Mrs. Lennox and her -niece were not there, and they were not expected. They had spent some -months at Haréville the preceding year. - -I had spent the intervening time in Italy. I had heard once or twice -from Mrs. Summer, and sometimes from Kranitski. He had gone to South -Africa with Canning and had stayed there He liked the country. Miss -Brandon was not yet married. Princess Kouragine I had not seen again. -Rudd I had neither heard from nor of. Apparently he had published one -book since he had been to Haréville and several short stories in -magazines. The book was called _The Silver Sandal_, and had nothing to -do with any of his experiences here or with any of the fancies which -they had called up. It was, on the contrary, a semi-historical romance -of a fantastic nature. - -During the first days of my stay here I made no acquaintances, and I was -already counting on a dreary three weeks of unrelieved dullness when my -doctor here introduced me to Sabran, the malaria specialist, who had -been away during my first cure. - -Dr. Sabran, besides being a specialist with a reverberating reputation -and a widely travelled man of great experience and European culture, had -a different side to his nature which was not even suspected by many of -his patients. - -Under the pseudonym of Gaspard Lautrec he had written some charming -stories and some interesting studies in art and literature. Historical -questions interested him; and still more, the quainter facts of human -nature, psychological puzzles, mysterious episodes, unvisited by-ways, -and baffling and unsolved problems in history, romance and everyday -life. He was a voracious reader, and there was little that had escaped -his notice in the contemporary literature of Europe. - -I found him an extraordinarily interesting companion, and he was kind -enough, busy as I knew him to be, either to come and see me daily, or -to invite me to his house. I often dined with him, and we would remain -talking in his sitting-room till late in the night, while he would tell -me of some of the remarkable things that had come under his notice or -sometimes weave startling and paradoxical theories about nature and man. - -I asked him one day if he knew Rudd's work. He said he admired it, -but it had always struck him as strange that a writer could be as -intelligent as Rudd and yet, at the same time, so obviously _à côté_ -with regard to some of the more important springs and factors of human -nature. - -I asked him what made him think that. - -"All his books," he said, "any of them. I have just been reading his -last book in the Tauchnitz edition, a book of stories, not short -stories: _nouvelles_. It is called _Unfinished Dramas_. I will lend it -you if you like." - -We talked of other things, and I took the book away with me when I went -away. The next day I received a letter from Rudd, sending me a privately -printed story (one of 500 signed copies) called _Overlooked_, which, he -said, completed the series of his "Unfinished Dramas," but which he had -not published for reasons which I would understand. - -Henry read out Rudd's new book to me. There were three stories in the -book. They did not interest me greatly, and I made Henry hurry through -them; but the privately printed story _Overlooked_ was none other than -the story he had thought of writing when we were at Haréville together. - -He had written the story more or less as he had said he had intended -to. All the characters of our old group were in it. Miss Brandon was -the centre, and Kranitski appeared, not as a Swede but as a Russian. I -myself flitted across the scene for a moment. - -The facts which he related were as far as I knew actually those which -had occurred to that group of people during their stay at Haréville two -years ago, but the deductions he drew from them, the causes he gave as -explaining them, seemed to me at least wide of the mark. - -His conception of such of his characters as I knew at all well, and -his interpretation of their motives were, in the cases in which I had -the power of checking them by my own experience, I considered quite -fantastically wrong. - -When I had finished reading the book, I sent it to Sabran, and with it -the MS. I had written two years ago, and I begged the doctor to read -what I had written and to let me know when he had done so, so that we -might discuss both the documents and their relation one to the other and -to the reality. - -(_Note_.--Here, in the bound copy of Anthony Kay's Papers, follows the -story called _Overlooked,_ by James Rudd.) - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By JAMES RUDD. - - -1 - -It was the after-luncheon hour at Saint-Yves-les-Bains. The Pavilion, -with its large tepid glass dome and polished brass fountains, where the -salutary, and somewhat steely, waters flowed unceasingly, the Pompeian -pillared "Galeries" were deserted; so were the trim park with its -kiosk, where a scanty orchestra played rag-time in the morning and in -the evenings; the florid Casino, which denoted the third of the three -styles of architecture that distinguished the appendages of the Hôtel de -La Source, where a dignified, shabby, white Louis-Philippe nucleus was -still to be detected half-concealed and altogether overwhelmed by the -elegant improvements and dainty enlargements of the Second Empire and -the over-ripe _Art Nouveau_ excrescences of a later period. - -Kathleen Farrel had the park to herself. She was reading the _Morning -Post_, which her aunt, Mrs. Knolles, took in for the literary articles, -and which you would find on her table side by side with newspapers and -journals of a widely different and sometimes, indeed, of a startling and -flamboyant character; for Mrs. Knolles was catholic in her ideas and -daring in her tastes. - -Kathleen Farrel was reading listlessly without interest. She had lived -so much abroad that English news had little attraction for her, and she -was no longer young enough to regret missing any of the receptions, -race-meetings, garden-parties, and other social events which she was -idly skimming the record of. For it was now the height of the London -season, but Mrs. Knolles had let the London house in Hill Street. She -always let it every summer, and in the winter as well, whenever she -could find a tenant. - -A paragraph had caught Kathleen's eye and had arrested her attention. -It began thus: "The death has occurred at Monks-well Hall of Sir James -Stukely." - -Sir James Stukely was Lancelot Stukely's uncle. Lancelot would inherit -the baronetcy and a comfortable income. He had left the army some years -ago. He was at present abroad, performing some kind of secretarial -duties to the Governor of Malta. He would give up that job, which was -neither lucrative nor interesting, he would come home, and then---- - -At any rate, he had not altogether forgotten her. His monthly letters -proved that. They had been unfailingly regular. Only--well, for the -last year they had been undefinably different. Ever since that visit -to Cairo. She had heard stories of an attachment, a handsome Italian -lady, who looked like a Renaissance picture and who was said to be -unscrupulous. But she really knew nothing, and Lancelot had always -been so reserved, so reticent; his letters had always been so bald, -almost formal, ever since their brief engagement six years before had -been broken off. Ever since that memorable night in Ireland when she -confessed to her father, who was more than usually violent and had drunk -an extra glass of old Madeira, that she had refused to marry Lancelot. -At first she had asked him not to write, and he had dutifully accepted -the restriction. But later, when her father died, he had written to her -and she had answered his letter. Since then he had written once a month -without fail from India, where his regiment had been quartered, and -then from Malta. But never had there been a single allusion to the past -or to the future. The tone of them would be: "Dear Miss Farrel, We are -having very good sport." Or "Dear Miss Farrel, We went to the opera last -night. It was too classical for me." And they had always ended: "Yours -sincerely, Lancelot Stukely." - -And yet she could not believe he was really different. Was she -different? "Am I perhaps different?" she thought. She dismissed the -idea. What had happened to make her different? Nothing. For the last -five years, ever since her father had died, she had lived the same -life. The winter at her aunt's villa at Bordighera, sometimes a week or -two at Florence, the summer at Saint-Yves-les-Bains, where they lived -in the hotel, on special terms, as Mrs. Knolles was such a constant -client. Never a new note, always the same gang of people round them; -the fashionable cosmopolitan world of continental watering-places, the -English and foreign colonies of the Riviera and North Italy. She had -never met anyone who had roused her interest, and the only persons whose -attention she had seemed to attract were, in her Aunt Elsie's words, -"frankly impossible." - -She would be thirty next year. She already felt infinitely older. "But -perhaps," she thought, "he will come back the same as he was before. He -will propose and I will accept him this time." Why had she refused him? -Their financial situation--her poverty and his own very small income -had had nothing to do with it, because Lancelot had said he was willing -to wait for years, and everyone knew he had expectations. She could not -have left her father, but then her father died a year after she refused -Lancelot. - -No, the reason had been that she thought she did not love him. She -had liked Lancelot, but she hoped for something more and something -different. A fairy prince who would wake her to a different life. As -soon as he had gone away, and still more when his series of formal -letters began, she realized that she had made a mistake, and she had -never ceased to repent her action. The fact was, she said to herself, -I was too young to make such a decision. I did not know my own mind. -If only he had come back when father died. If only he had been a little -more insistent. He had accepted everything without a murmur. And yet now -she felt certain he had been faithful and was faithful still, whatever -anyone might say to the contrary. - -"Perhaps I am altered," she thought. "Perhaps he won't even recognize -me." And yet she knew she did not believe this. For although her Aunt -Elsie used to be seriously anxious about her niece's looks--fearing -anaemia, so much so that they sometimes visited dreary places on the -sea-coasts of England and France--she knew her looks had not altered -sensibly. People still stared at her when she entered a room, for -although there was nothing classical nor brilliant about her features -and her appearance, hers was a face you could not fail to observe -and which it was difficult to forget. It was a face that appealed to -artists. They would have liked to try and paint that clear white, -delicate skin, and those extraordinarily haunting round eyes which -looked violet in some lights and a deep sea-blue in others, and to try -and render the romantic childish glamour of her person, that wistful, -fairy-tale-like expression. It was extraordinary that with such an -appearance she should have been the inspirer of no romance, but so it -was. Painters had admired her; one or two adventurers had proposed to -her; but with the exception of Lancelot Stukely no one had fallen in -love with her. Perhaps she had frightened people. She could not make -conversation. She did not care for books. She knew nothing of art, and -the people her aunt saw--most of whom were foreigners--talked glibly and -sometimes wittily of all these things. - -Kathleen had been born for a country life, and she was condemned to live -in cities and in watering-places. She was insular; though she had lived -a great deal in Ireland, she was not Irish, and she had been cast for a -continental part. She was matter-of-fact, and her appearance promised -the opposite. She was in a sense the victim of her looks, which were so -misleading. - -But perhaps the solution, the real solution of the absence of romance, -or even of suitors, was to be found in her unconquerable listlessness -and apathy. She was, as it were, only half-alive. - -Once, when she was a little girl, she had gone to pick flowers in the -great dark wood near her home, where the trees had huge fantastic -trunks, and gnarled boles, and where in the spring-time the blue-bells -stretched beneath them like an unbroken blue sea. After she had been -picking blue-bells for nearly an hour, she had felt sleepy. She lay down -under the trunk of a tree. A gipsy passed her and asked to tell her -fortune. She had waved her away, as she had no sympathy with gipsies. -The gipsy had said that she would give her a piece of good advice -unasked, and that was, not to go to sleep in the forest on the Eve of -St. John, for if she did she would never wake. She paid no attention -to this, and she dozed off to sleep and slept for about half-an-hour. -She was an obstinate child, and not at all superstitious. When she -got home, she asked the housekeeper when was the Eve of St. John. -It happened to fall on that very day. She said to herself that this -proved what nonsense the gipsies talked, as she had slept, woken up, -come back to the house, and had high tea in the schoolroom as usual. -She never gave the incident another thought; but the housekeeper, who -was superstitious, told one of the maids that Miss Kathleen had been -_overlooked_ by the fairy-folk and would never be quite the same again. -When she was asked for further explanations, she would not give any. But -to all outward appearances Kathleen was the same, and nobody noticed any -difference in her, nor did she feel that she had suffered any change. - -As long as she had lived with her father in Ireland, she had been fairly -lively. She had enjoyed out-door life. The house, a ramshackle, Georgian -grey building, was near the sea, and her father who had been a sailor -used sometimes to take her out sailing. She had ridden and sometimes -hunted. All this she had enjoyed. It was only after she dismissed -Lancelot, who had known her ever since she was sixteen, that the mist -of apathy had descended on her. After her father's death, this mist had -increased in thickness, and when her continental life with her aunt had -began, she had altogether lost any particle of _joie de vivre_ she had -ever had. Nor did she seem to notice it or to regret the past. She never -complained. She accepted her aunt's plans and decisions, and never made -any objection, never even a suggestion or a comment. - -Her aunt was truly fond of her, and she tried to devise treats to please -her, and tried to awaken her interest in things. One year she had -taken Kathleen to Bayreuth, hoping to rouse her interest in music, but -Kathleen had found the music tedious and noisy, although she listened to -it without complaining, and when her aunt suggested going there another -year, she agreed to the suggestion with alacrity. The only thing which -ever roused her interest was horse-racing. Sometimes they went to the -races near Saint-Yves, and then Kathleen would become a different girl. -She would be, as long as the racing lasted, alive for the time being, -and sink back into her dreamless apathy as soon as they were over. - -At the same time, whenever she thought of Lancelot Stukely she felt a -pang of regret, and after reading this paragraph in the _Morning Post_, -she hoped, more than ever she had hoped before, that he would come back, -and come back unchanged and faithful, and that she would be the same for -him as she had been before, and that she would once more be able to -make his slow honest eyes light up and smoulder with love, admiration -and passion. - -"This time I will not make the same mistake," she said to herself. "If -he gives me the chance----" - - - -2 - - -Her reverie was interrupted by the approach of an hotel acquaintance. It -was Anikin, the Russian, who had in the last month become an accepted -and established factor in their small group of hotel acquaintances. -Kathleen had met him first some years ago at Rome, but it was only at -Saint-Yves that she had come to know him. - -As he took off his hat in a hesitating manner, as if afraid of -interrupting her thoughts, she registered the fact that she knew him, -not only better than anyone else at the hotel, but better almost than -anyone anywhere. - -"Would you like a game?" he asked. He meant a game which was provided in -the park for the distraction of the patients. It consisted in throwing -a small ring, attached to a post by a string, on to hooks which were -fixed on an upright sloping board. The hooks had numbers underneath -them, which varied from one to 5,000. - -"Not just at present," she said, "I am waiting for Aunt Elsie. I must -see what she is going to do, but later on I should love a game." - -He smiled and went on. He understood that she wanted to be left alone. -He had that swift, unerring comprehension of the small and superficial -shades of the mind, the minor feelings, social values, and human -relations that so often distinguishes his countrymen. - -He might, indeed, have stepped out of a Russian novel, with his -untidy hair, his short-sighted, kindly eyes, his colourless skin, and -nondescript clothes. Kathleen had never reflected before whether she -liked him or disliked him. She had accepted him as part of the place, -and she had not noticed the easiness of relations with him. It came upon -her now with a slight shock that these relations were almost peculiar -from their ease and naturalness. It was as if she had known him for -years, whereas she had not known him for more than a month. All this -flashed through her mind, which then went back to the paragraph in the -_Morning Post_, when her aunt rustled up to her. - -Mrs. Knolles had the supreme elegance of being smart without looking -conventional, as if she led rather than followed the fashion. There was -always something personal and individual about her Parisian hats, her -jewels, and her cloaks; and there was something rich, daring and exotic -about her sumptuous sombre hair, with its sudden gold-copper glints and -her soft brown eyes. There was nothing apathetic about her. She was -filled to the brim with life, with interest, with energy. She cast a -glance at the _Morning Post_, and said rather impatiently: - -"My dear child, what are you reading? That newspaper is ten days old. -Don't you see it is dated the first?" - -"So it is," said Kathleen apologetically. But that moment a thought -flashed through her: "Then, surely, Lancelot must be on his way home, if -he is not back already." - -"I've brought you your letters," said her aunt. "Here they are." - -Kathleen reached for them more eagerly than usual. She expected to see, -she hoped, at least, to see, Lancelot's rather childish hand-writing, -but both the letters were bills. - -"Mr. Arkright and Anikin are dining with us," said her aunt, "and Count -Tilsit." - -Kathleen said nothing. - -"You don't mind?" said her aunt. - -"Of course not." - -"I thought you liked Count Tilsit." - -"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen. - -Kathleen felt that she had, against her intention, expressed -disappointment, or rather that she had not expressed the necessary -blend of surprise and pleasure. But as Arkright and Anikin dined with -them frequently, and as she had forgotten who Count Tilsit was, this -was difficult for her. Arkright was an English author, who was a friend -of her aunt's, and had sufficient penetration to realize that Mrs. -Knolles was something more than a woman of the world; to appreciate her -fundamental goodness as well as her obvious cleverness, and to divine -that Kathleen's exterior might be in some ways deceptive. - -"You remember him in Florence?" said Mrs. Knolles, reverting to Count -Tilsit. - -"Oh, yes, the Norwegian." - -"A Swede, darling, not a Norwegian." - -"I thought it was the same thing," said Kathleen. - -"I have got a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Knolles. - -Kathleen made an effort to prepare her face. She was determined that it -should reveal nothing. She knew quite well what was coming. - -"Lancelot Stukely is in London," her aunt went on. "He came back just in -time to see his uncle before he died. His uncle has left him everything." - -"Was Sir James ill a long time?" Kathleen asked. - -"I believe he was," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, then I suppose he won't go back to Malta," said Kathleen, with -perfectly assumed indifference. - -"Of course not," said Mrs. Knolles. "He inherits the place, the title, -everything. He will be very well off. Would you like to drive to Bavigny -this afternoon? Princess Oulchikov can take us in her motor if you would -like to go. Arkright is coming." - -"I will if you want me to," said Kathleen. - -This was one of the remarks that Kathleen often made, which annoyed -her aunt, and perhaps justly. Mrs. Knolles was always trying to devise -something that would amuse or distract her niece, but whenever she -suggested anything to her or arranged any expedition or special treat -which she thought might amuse, all the response she met with was a -phrase that implied resignation. - -"I don't want you to come if you would rather not," she said with -beautifully concealed impatience. - -"Well, to-day I _would_ rather not," said Kathleen, greatly to her -aunt's surprise. It was the first time she had ever made such an answer. - -"Aren't you feeling well, darling?" she asked gently. - -"Quite well, Aunt Elsie, I promise," Kathleen said smiling, "but I said -I would sit and talk to Mr. Asham this afternoon." - -Mr. Asham was a blind man who had been ordered to take the waters at -Saint-Yves. Kathleen had made friends with him. - -"Very well," said Mrs. Knolles, with a sigh. "I must go. The motor will -be there. Don't forget we've got people dining with us to-night, and -don't wear your grey. It's too shabby." One of Miss Farrel's practices, -which irritated her aunt, was to wear her shabbiest clothes on an -occasion that called for dress, and to take pains, as it were, not to do -herself justice. - -Her aunt left her. - -Kathleen had made no arrangement with Asham. She had invented the excuse -on the spur of the moment, but she knew he would be in the park in the -afternoon. She wanted to think. She wanted to be alone. If Lancelot had -been in England when Sir James died, then he must have started home at -least a fortnight ago, as the news that she had read was ten days old. -She had not heard from him for over a month. This meant that his uncle -had been ill, he had returned to London, and had experienced a change of -fortune without writing her one word. - -"All the same," she thought, "it proves nothing." - -At that moment a friendly voice called to her. - -"What are you doing all by yourself, Kathleen?" - -It was her friend, Mrs. Roseleigh. Kathleen had known Eva Roseleigh -all her life, although her friend was ten years older than herself and -was married. She was staying at Saint-Yves by herself. Her husband was -engrossed in other occupations and complications besides those of his -business in the city, and of a different nature. Mrs. Roseleigh was -one of those women whom her friends talked of with pity, saying "Poor -Eva!" But "Poor Eva" had a large income, a comfortable house in Upper -Brook Street. She was slight, and elegant; as graceful as a Tanagra -figure, fair, delicate-looking, appealing and plaintive to look at, with -sympathetic grey eyes. Her husband was a successful man of business, and -some people said that the neglect he showed his wife and the publicity -of his infidelities was not to be wondered at, considering the contempt -with which she treated him. It was more a case of "Poor Charlie," they -said, than "Poor Eva." - -Kathleen would not have agreed with these opinions. She was never tired -of saying that Eva was "wonderful." She was certainly a good friend to -Kathleen. - -"Sir James Stukely is plead," said Kathleen. - -"I saw that in the newspaper some time ago. I thought you knew," said -Mrs. Roseleigh. - -"It was stupid of me not to know. I read the newspapers so seldom and so -badly." - -"That means Lancelot will come home." - -"He has come home." - -"Oh, you know then?" - -"Know what?" - -"That he is coming here?" - -Kathleen blushed crimson. "Coming here! How do you know?" - -"I saw his name," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "on the board in the hall of the -hotel, and I asked if he had arrived. They told me they were expecting -him to-night." - -At that moment a tall dark lady, elegant as a figure carved by Jean -Goujon, and splendid as a Titian, no longer young, but still more than -beautiful, walked past them, talking rather vehemently in Italian to a -young man, also an Italian. - -"Who is that?" asked Kathleen. - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "is Donna Laura Bartolini. She is still -very beautiful, isn't she? The man with her is a diplomat." - -"I think," said Kathleen, "she is very striking-looking. But what -extraordinary clothes." - -"They are specially designed for her." - -"Do you know her?" - -"A little. She is not at all what she seems to be. She is, at heart, -matter-of-fact, and domestic, but she dresses like a Bacchante. She has -still many devoted adorers." - -"Here?" - -"Everywhere. But she worships her husband." - -"Is he here?" - -"No, but I think he is coming." - -"I remember hearing about her a long time ago. I think she was at Cairo -once." - -"Very likely, Her husband is an archaeologist, a _savant_." - -Was that the woman, thought Kathleen, to whom Lancelot was supposed to -have been devoted? If so, it wasn't true. She was sure it wasn't true. -Lancelot would never have been attracted by that type of woman, and -yet---- - -"Aunt Elsie has asked a Swede to dinner. Count Tilsit. Do you know him?" - -"I was introduced to him yesterday. He admired you." - -"Do you like him?" - -"I hardly know him. I think he is nice-looking and has good manners and -looks like an Englishman." - -But Kathleen was no longer listening. She was thinking of Lancelot, of -his sudden arrival. What could it mean? Did he know they were here? -The last time he had written was a month ago from London. Had she said -they were coming here? She thought she had. Perhaps she had not. In any -case that would hardly make any difference, as he knew they went abroad -every year, knew they went to Saint-Yves most years, and if he didn't -know, would surely hear it in London. Yes, he must know. Then it meant -either that--or perhaps it meant something quite different. Perhaps -the doctor had sent him to Saint-Yves. He had suffered from attacks of -Malta fever several times. Saint-Yves was good for malaria. There was a -well-known malaria specialist on the medical staff. He might be coming -to consult him. What did she want to be the truth? What did she feel? -She scarcely knew herself. She felt exhilarated, as if life had suddenly -become different, more interesting and strangely irridescent. What -would Lancelot be like? Would he be the same? Or would he be someone -quite different? She couldn't talk about it, not even to Eva, although -Eva had known all about it, and Mrs. Roseleigh with her acute intuition -guessed that, and guessed what Kathleen was thinking about, and said -nothing that fringed the topic; but what disconcerted Kathleen and gave -her a slight quiver of alarm was that she thought she discerned in Eva's -voice and manner the faintest note of pity; she experienced an almost -imperceptible chill in the temperature; an inkling, the ghost of a -warning, as if Eva were thinking. "You mustn't be disappointed if----" -Well, she wouldn't be disappointed _if_. At least nobody should divine -her disappointment: not even Eva. - -Mrs. Roseleigh guessed that her friend wanted to be alone and left her -on some quickly invented pretext. As soon as she was alone Kathleen rose -from her seat and went for a walk by herself beyond the park and through -the village. Then she came back and played a game with Anikin at the -ring board, and at five o'clock she had a talk with Asham to quiet her -conscience. She stayed out late, until, in fact, the motor-bus, which -met the evening express, arrived from the station at seven o'clock. -She watched its arrival from a distance, from the galleries, while she -simulated interest in the shop windows. But as the motor-bus was emptied -of its passengers, she caught no sight of Lancelot. When the omnibus had -gone, and the new arrivals left the scene, she walked into the hall of -the hotel, and asked the porter whether many new visitors had arrived. - -"Two English gentlemen," he said, "Lord Frumpiest and Sir Lancelot -Stukely." She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and even her Aunt -Elsie was satisfied with her appearance that night. She had put on her -sea-green tea-gown: a present from Eva, made in Paris. - -"I wish you always dressed like that," said Mrs. Knolles, as they walked -into the Casino dining-room. "You can't think what a difference it -makes. It's so foolish not to make the best of oneself when it needs so -very little trouble." But Mrs. Knolles had the untaught and unlearnable -gift of looking her best at any season, at any hour. It was, indeed, no -trouble to her; but all the trouble in the world could not help others -to achieve the effects which seemed to come to her by accident. - - - -3 - - -As they walked into the large hotel dining-room, Kathleen was conscious -that everyone was looking at her, except Lancelot, if he was there, and -she felt he _was_ there. Arkright and Count Tilsit were waiting for them -at their table and stood up as they walked in. They were followed almost -immediately by Princess Oulchikov, whose French origin and education -were made manifest by her mauve chiffon shawl, her buckled shoes, and -the tortoise-shell comb in her glossy black hair. Nothing could have -been more unpretentious than her clothes, and nothing more common to -hundreds of her kind, than her single row of pearls and her little -platinum wrist-watch, but the manner in which she wore these things was -French, as clearly and unmistakably French and not Russian, Italian, -or English, as an article signed Jules Lemaître or the ribbons of a -chocolate Easter Egg from the _Passage des Panoramas_. She looked like a -Winterhalter portrait of a lady who had been a great beauty in the days -of the Second Empire. - -Her married life with Prince Oulchikov, once a brilliant and reckless -cavalry officer, and not long ago deceased, after many vicissitudes -of fortune, ending by prosperity, since he had died too soon after -inheriting a third fortune to squander it, as he had managed to squander -two former inheritances, and her at one time prolonged sojourns in the -country of her adoption had left no trace on her appearance. As to -their effect on her soul and mind, that was another and an altogether -different question. - -Mrs. Knolles, whose harmonious draperies of black and yellow seemed to -call for the brush of a daring painter, sat at the further end of the -table next to the window, on her left at the end of the table Arkright, -whom you would never have taken for an author, since his motto was what -a Frenchman once said to a young painter who affected long hair and -eccentric clothes: "_Ne savez-vous pas qu'il faut s'habiller comme tout -le monde et peindre comme personne?_" On his other side sat Princess -Oulchikov; next to her at the end of the table, Kathleen, and then Count -Tilsit (fair, blue-eyed, and shy) on Mrs. Knolles's right. - -Kathleen, being at the end of the table, could not see any of the tables -behind her, but in front of her was a gilded mirror, and no sooner -had they sat down to dinner than she was aware, in this glass, of the -reflection of Lancelot Stukely's back, who was sitting at a table with -a party of people just opposite to them on the other side of the room. -There was nothing more remarkable about Lancelot Stukely's front view -than about his back view, and that, in spite of a certain military -squareness of shoulder, had a slight stoop. He was small and seemed made -to grace the front windows of a club in St. James's Street; everything -about him was correct, and his face had the honest refinement of a -well-bred dog that has been admirably trained and only barks at the -right kind of stranger. - -But the sudden sight of Lancelot transformed Kathleen. It was as if -someone had lit a lamp behind her alabaster mask, and in the effort -to conceal any embarrassment, or preoccupation, she flushed and became -unusually lively and talked to Anikin with a gaiety and an uninterrupted -ease, that seemed not to belong to her usual self. - -And yet, while she talked, she found time every now and then to study -the reflections of the mirror in front of them, and these told her that -Lancelot was sitting next to Donna Laura Bartolini. The young man she -had seen talking to Donna Laura was there also. There were others whom -she did not know. - -Mrs. Knolles was busily engaged in thawing the stiff coating of ice -of Count Tilsit's shyness, and very soon she succeeded in putting him -completely at his ease; and Arkright was trying to interest Princess -Oulchikov in Japanese art. But the Princess had lived too long in Russia -not to catch the Slav microbe of indifference, and she was a woman -who only lived by half-hours. This half-hour was one of her moment -of eclipse, and she paid little attention to what Arkright said. He, -however, was habituated to her ways and went on talking. - -Mrs. Knolles was surprised and pleased at her niece's behaviour. Never -had she seen her so lively, so gay. - -"Miss Farrel is looking extraordinarily well to-night," Arkright said, -in an undertone, to the Princess. - -"Yes," said Princess Oulchikov, "she is at last taking waters from -the right _source._" She often made cryptic remarks of this kind, and -Arkright was puzzled, for Kathleen never took the waters, but he knew -the Princess well enough not to ask her to explain. Princess Oulchikov -made no further comment. Her mind had already relapsed into the land of -listless limbo which it loved to haunt. - -Presently the conversation became general. They discussed the races, the -troupe at the Casino Theatre, the latest arrivals. - -"Lancelot Stukely is here," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," said Kathleen, with great calm, "dining with Donna Laura -Bartolini." - -"Oh, Laura's arrived," said Mrs. Knolles. "I am glad. That is good news. -What fun we shall all have together. Yes. There she is, looking lovely. -Don't you think she's lovely?" she said to Arkright and the Princess. - -Arkright admired Donna Laura unreservedly. Princess Oulchikov said she -would no doubt think the same if she hadn't known her thirty years ago, -and then "those clothes," she said, "don't suit her, they make her look -like an _art nouveau_ poster." Anikin said he did not admire her at all, -and as for the clothes, she was the last person who should dare those -kind of clothes; her beauty was conventional, she was made for less -fantastic fashions. He looked at Kathleen. He was thinking that her type -of beauty could have supported any costume, however extravagant; in fact -he longed to see her draped in shimmering silver and faded gold, with -strange stones in her hair. Count Tilsit, who was younger than anyone -present, said he found her young. - -"She is older than you think," said Princess Oulchikov. "I remember her -coming out in Rome in 1879." - -"Do you think she is over fifty?" said Kathleen. - -"I do not think it, I am sure," said the Princess. - -"Her figure is wonderful," said Mrs Knolles. - -"Was she very beautiful then?" asked Anikin. - -"The most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said the Princess. "People -stood on chairs to look at her one night at the French Embassy. It is -cruel to see her dressed as she is now." - -Count Tilsit opened his clear, round, blue eyes, and stared first at -the Princess and then at Donna Laura. It was inconceivable to his young -Scandinavian mind that this radiant and dazzling creature, dressed up -like the Queen in a Russian ballet, could be over fifty. - -"To me, she has always looked exactly the same," said Arkright. "In -fact, I admire her more now than I did when I first knew her fifteen -years ago." - -"That is because you look at her with the eyes of the past," said the -Princess, "but not of a long enough past, as I do. When you first saw -her you were young, but when I first saw her _she_ was young. That makes -all the difference." - -"I think she is very beautiful now," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"And so do I," said Kathleen. "I could understand anyone being in love -with her." - -"That there will always be people in love with her," said the Princess, -"and young people. She has charm as well as beauty, and how rare that -is!" - -"Yes," said Anikin, pensively, "how rare that is." - -Kathleen looked at the mirror as if she was appraising Donna Laura's -beauty, but in reality it was to see whether Lancelot was talking to -her. As far as she could see he seemed to be rather silent. General -conversation, with a lot of Italian intermixed with it, was going up -from the table like fireworks. Kathleen turned to Count Tilsit and made -conversation to him, while Anikin and the Princess began to talk in a -passionately argumentative manner of all the beauties they had known. -The Princess had come to life once more. Mrs. Knolles, having done her -duty, relapsed into a comfortable conversation with Arkright. They -understood each other without effort. - -The Italian party finished their dinner first, and went out on to the -terrace, and as they walked out of the room the extraordinary dignity -of Donna Laura's carriage struck the whole room. Whatever anyone might -think of her looks now, there was no doubt that her presence still -carried with it the authority that only great beauty, however much it -may be lessened by time, confers. - -"_Elle est encore très belle_," said Princess Oulchikov, voicing the -thoughts of the whole party. - -Mrs. Knolles suggested going out. Shawls were fetched and coffee was -served just outside the hotel on a stone terrace. - -Soon after they had sat down, Lancelot Stukely walked up to them. He was -not much changed, Kathleen thought. A little grey about the temples, -a little bit thinner, and slightly more tanned--his face had been -burnt in the tropics--but the slow, honest eyes were the same. He said -how-do-you-do to Mrs. Knolles and to herself, and was presented to the -others. - -Mrs. Knolles asked him to sit down. - -"I must go back presently," he said, "but may I stay a minute?" - -He sat down next to Kathleen. - -They talked a little with pauses in between their remarks. She did not -ask him how long he was going to stay, but he explained his arrival. He -had come to consult the malaria specialist. - -"We have all been discussing Donna Laura Bartolini," said Mrs. Knolles. -"You were dining with her?" - -"Yes," he said, "she is an old friend of mine. I met her first at Cairo." - -"Is she going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"No," he said, "she is only passing through on her way to Italy. She -leaves for Ravenna to-morrow morning." - -"She is looking beautiful," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful, isn't she?" - -Then he got up. - -"I hope we shall meet again to-morrow," he said to Kathleen and to Mrs. -Knolles. - -"Are you staying on?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I only wanted to see the doctor. I have got to go -back to England at once. I have got so much business to do." - -"Of course," said Mrs. Knolles. "We will see you to-morrow. Will you -come to the lakes with us?" - -Lancelot hesitated and then said that he, alas, would be busy all day -to-morrow. He had an appointment with the doctor--he had so little time. - -He was slightly confused in his explanations. He then said good-night, -and went back to his party. They were sitting at a table under the trees. - -Kathleen felt relieved, unaccountably relieved, that he had gone, and -she experienced a strange exhilaration. It was as if a curtain had been -lifted up and she suddenly saw a different and a new world. She had -the feeling of seeing clearly for the first time for many years. She -saw quite plainly that as far as Lancelot was concerned, the past was -completely forgotten. She meant nothing to him at all. He was the same -Lancelot, but he belonged to a different world. There were gulfs and -gulfs between them now. He had come here to see Donna Laura for a few -hours. He had not minded doing this, although he knew that he would meet -Kathleen. He had told her himself that he knew he would meet her. He -had mentioned the rarity of his letters lately. He had been so busy, and -then all that business ... his uncle's death. - -The situation was quite simple and quite clear. But the strange thing -was that, instead of feeling her life was over, as she had expected to -feel, she felt it was, on the contrary, for the first time beginning. - -"I have been waiting for years," she thought to herself, "for this fairy -Prince, and now I see that he was not the fairy Prince, after all. But -this does not mean I may not meet the fairy Prince, the _real_ one," and -her eyes glistened. - -She had never felt more alive, more ready for adventure. Anikin -suggested that they should all walk in the garden. It was still -daylight. They got up. The Princess, Arkright, Mrs. Knolles, and Count -Tilsit walked down the steps first, and passed on down an avenue. - -Kathleen delayed until the others walked on some way, and then she said -to Anikin, who was waiting for her: - -"Let us stay and talk here. It is quieter. We can go for a walk -presently." - - - -4 - - -They did not stay long on the terrace. As soon as they saw which -direction the rest of the party had taken they took another. They walked -through the hotel gates across the street as far as a gate over which -_Bellevue_ was written. They had never been there before. It was an -annexe of the hotel, a kind of detached park. They climbed up the hill -and passed two deserted and unused lawn-tennis courts and a dusty track -once used for skittles, and emerged from a screen of thick trees on to a -little plateau. Behind them was a row of trees and a green corn-field, -beneath them a steep slope of grass. They could see the red roofs of the -village, the roofs of the hotels, the grey spire of the village church, -the park, the green plain and, in the distance rising out of the green -corn, a large flat-topped hill. The long summer daylight was at last -fading away. The sky was lustrous and the air was quite still. - -The fields and the trees had that peculiar deep green they take on in -the twilight, as if they had been dyed by the tints of the evening. -Anikin said it reminded him of Russia. - -Kathleen had wrapped a thin white shawl round her, and in the dimness -of the hour she looked as white as a ghost, but in the pallor of her -face her eyes shone like black diamonds. Anikin had never seen her look -like that. And then it came to him that this was the moment of moments. -Perhaps the moon had risen. The cloudless sky seemed all of a sudden to -be silvered with a new light. There was a dry smell of sun-baked roads -and of summer in the air, and no sound at all. - -They had sat down on the bench and Kathleen was looking straight in -front of her out into the west, where the last remains of the sunset had -faded some time ago. - -This Anikin felt was the sacred minute; the moment of fate; the -imperishable instant which Faust had asked for even at the price of his -soul, but which mortal love had always denied him. In a whisper he asked -Kathleen to be his wife. She got up from the seat and said very slowly: - -"Yes, I will marry you." - -The words seemed to be spoken for her by something in her that was not -herself, and yet she was willing that they should be spoken. She seemed -to want all this to happen, and yet she felt that it was being done for -her, not of her own accord, but by someone else. Her eyes shone like -stars. But as he touched her hand, she still felt that she was being -moved by some alien spirit separate from herself and that it was not she -herself that was giving herself to him. She was obeying some exterior -and foreign control which came neither from him nor from her--some -mysterious outside influence. She seemed to be looking on at herself as -she was whirled over the edge of a planet, but she was not making the -effort, nor was it Anikin's words, nor his look, nor his touch, that -were moving her. He had taken her in his arms, and as he kissed her they -heard footsteps on the path coming towards them. The spell was broken, -and they gently moved apart one from the other. It was he who said -quietly: - -"We had better go home." - -Some French people appeared through the trees round the corner. A -middle-aged man in a nankin jacket, his wife, his two little girls. -They were acquaintances of Anikin and of Kathleen. It was the man who -kept a haberdasher's shop in the _Galeries_. Brief mutual salutations -passed and a few civilities were bandied, and then Kathleen and Anikin -walked slowly down the hill in silence. It had grown darker and a little -chilly. There was no more magic in the sky. It was as if someone had -somewhere turned off the light on which all the illusion of the scene -had depended. They walked back into the park. The band was playing an -undulating tango. Mrs. Knolles and the others were sitting on chairs -under the trees. Anikin and Kathleen joined them and sat down. Neither -of them spoke much during the rest of the evening. Presently Mrs. -Roseleigh joined them. She looked at Kathleen closely and there was a -slight shade of wonder in her expression. - -The next day Mrs. Knolles had organized an expedition to the lakes. -Kathleen, Anikin, Arkright, Princess Oulchikov and Count Tilsit were -all of the party. When they reached the first lake, they separated into -groups, Anikin and Kathleen, Count Tilsit and Mrs. Roseleigh, while -Arkright went with the Princess and Mrs. Knolles. - -Ever since the moment of magic at Bellevue, Kathleen had been like a -person in a trance. She did not know whether she was happy or unhappy. -She only felt she was being irresistibly impelled along a certain -course. It is certain that her strange state of mind affected Anikin. It -began to affect him from the moment he had held her in his arms on the -hill and that the spell had so abruptly been broken. He had thought this -had been due to the sudden interruption and the untimely intervention -of the prosaic realities of life. But was this the explanation? Was it -the arrival of the haberdasher on the scene that had broken the spell? -Or was it something else? Something far more subtle and mysterious, -something far more serious and deep? - -Curiously enough Anikin had passed through, on that memorable evening, -emotions closely akin to those which Kathleen had experienced. He said -to himself: "This is the Fairy Princess I have been seeking all my -life." But the morning after his moment of passion on the hill he began -to wonder whether he had dreamed this. - -And now that he was walking beside her along the broad road, under the -trees of the dark forest, through which, every now and then, they caught -a glimpse of the blue lake, he reflected that she was like what she had -been _before_ the decisive evening, only if anything still more aloof. -He began to feel that she was eluding him and that he was pursuing a -shadow. Just as he was thinking this ever so vaguely and tentatively, -they came to a turn in the road. They were at a cross-roads and they did -not know which road to take. They paused a moment, and from a path on -the side of the road the other members of the party emerged. - -There was a brief consultation, and they were all mixed up once more. -When they separated, Anikin found himself with Mrs. Roseleigh. Mrs. -Knolles had sent Kathleen on with Count Tilsit. - -Anikin was annoyed, but his manners were too good to allow him to show -it. They walked on, and as soon as they began to talk Anikin forgot his -annoyance. They talked of one thing and another and time rushed past -them. This was the first time during Anikin's acquaintance with Mrs. -Roseleigh that he had ever had a real conversation with her. He all at -once became aware that they had been talking for a long time and talking -intimately. His conscience pricked him; but, so far from wanting to -stop, he wanted to go on; and instead of their intimacy being accidental -it became on his part intentional. That is to say, he allowed himself to -listen to all that was not said, and he sent out himself silent wordless -messages which he felt were received instantly on an invisible aerial. - -For the moment he put all thoughts of what had happened away from him, -and gave himself up to the enchantment of understanding and being -understood so easily, so lightly. He put up his feet and coasted down -the long hill of a newly discovered intimacy. - -Presently there was a further meeting and amalgamation of the group as -they reached a famous view, and the party was reshuffled. This time -Anikin was left to Kathleen. Was it actually disappointment he was -feeling? Surely not; and yet he could not reach her. She was further off -than ever and in their talk there were long silences, during which he -began to reflect and to analyse with the fatal facility of his race for -what is their national moral sport. - -He reflected that except during those brief moments on the hill he had -never seen Kathleen alive. He had known her well before, and their -friendship had always had an element of easy sympathy about it, but -she had never given him a glimpse of what was happening behind her -beautiful mask, and no unspoken messages had passed between them. But -just now during that last walk with Mrs. Roseleigh, he recognized only -too clearly that notes of a different and a far deeper intimacy had -every now and then been struck accidently and without his being aware -of it at first, and then later consciously, and the response had been -instantaneous and unerring. - -And something began to whisper inside him: "What if she is not the -Fairy Princess after all, not your Fairy Princess?" And then there came -another more insidious whisper which said: "Your Fairy Princess would -have been quite different, she would have been like Mrs. Roseleigh, and -now that can never be." - -The expedition, after some coffee at a wayside hotel, came to an end -and they drove home in two motor cars. - -Once more he was thrown together with Mrs. Roseleigh, and once more -the soul of each of them seemed to be fitted with an invisible aerial -between which soundless messages, which needed neither visible channel -nor hidden wire, passed uninterruptedly. - -Anikin came back from that expedition a different man. All that night -he did not sleep. He kept on repeating to himself: "It was a mistake. -I do not love her. I can never love her. It was an illusion: the spell -and intoxication of a moment." And then before his eyes the picture of -Mrs. Roseleigh stood out in startling detail, her melancholy, laughing, -mocking eyes, her quick nervous laugh, her swift flashes of intuition. -How she understood the shade of the shadow of what he meant! - -And that mocking face seemed to say to him: "You have made a mistake -and you know it. You were spellbound for a moment by a face. It is a -ravishing face, but the soul behind it is not your soul. You do not -understand one another. You never will understand one another. There is -an unpassable gulf between you. Do not make the mistake of sacrificing -your happiness and hers as well to any silly and hollow phrases of -honour. Do not follow the code of convention, follow the voice of your -heart, your instincts that cannot go wrong. Tell her before it is too -late. And she, she does not love you. She never will love you. She was -spellbound, too, for the moment. But you have only to look at her now -to see that the spell is broken and it will never come back, at least -you will never bring it back. She is English, English to the core, -although she looks like the illustration to some strange fairy-tale, and -you are a Slav. You cannot do without Russian comfort, the comfort of -the mind, and she cannot do without English solidity. She will marry a -squire or, perhaps, who knows, a man of business; but someone solid and -rooted to the English soil and nested in the English conventions. What -can you give her? Not even talent. Not even the disorder and excitement -of a Bohemian life; only a restless voyage on the surface of life, -and a thousand social and intellectual problems, only the capacity of -understanding all that does not interest her." - -That is what the conjured-up face of Mrs. Roseleigh seemed to say to him. - -It was not, he said to himself, that he was in love or that he ever -would be in love with Mrs. Roseleigh. It was only that she had, by her -quick sympathy, revealed his own feelings to himself. She had by her -presence and her conversation given him the true perspective of things -and let him see them in their true light, and in that perspective and in -that light he saw clearly that he had made a mistake. He had mistaken -a moment of intoxication for the authentic voice of passion. He had -pursued a shadow. He had tried to bring to life a statue, and he had -failed. - -Then he thought that he was perhaps after all mistaken, that the next -morning he would find that everything was as it had been before; but -he did not sleep, and in the clear light of morning he realized quite -clearly that he did not love Kathleen. - -What was he to do? He was engaged to be married. Break it off? Tell her -at once? It sounded so easy. It was in reality--it would be to him at -any rate--so intensely difficult. He hated sharp situations. - -He felt that his action had been irrevocable: that there was no way out -of it. The chain around him was as thin as a spider's web. But would -he have the necessary determination to make the effort of will to snap -it? Nothing would be easier. She would probably understand. She would -perhaps help him, and yet he felt he would never be able to make the -slight gesture which would be enough to free him for ever from that -delicate web of gossamer. - - - -5 - - -When Anikin got up after his restless and sleepless night he walked out -into the park. The visitors were drinking the waters in the Pavilion -and taking monotonous walks between each glass. Asham was sitting in -a chair under the trees. His servant was reading out the _Times_ to -him. Anikin smiled rather bitterly to himself as he reflected how many -little dramas, comedies and tragedies might be played in the immediate -neighbourhood of that man without his being aware even of the smallest -hint or suggestion of them. He sat down beside him. The servant left -off reading and withdrew. - -"Don't let me interrupt you," said Anikin, but after a few moments -he left Asham. He found he was unable to talk and went back to the -hotel, where he drank his coffee and for a time he sat looking at the -newspapers in the reading room of the Casino. Then he went back to the -park. One thought possessed him, and one only. How was he to do it? -Should he say it, or write? And what should he say or write? He caught -sight of Arkright who was in the park by himself. He strolled up to him -and they talked of yesterday's expedition. Arkright said there were -some lakes further off than those they had visited, which were still -more worth seeing. They were thinking of going there next week--perhaps -Anikin would come too. - -"I'm afraid not," said Anikin. "My plans are changed. I may have to go -away." - -"To Russia?" asked Arkright. - -"No, to Africa, perhaps," said Anikin. - -"It must be delightful," said Arkright, "to be like that, to be able to -come and go when one wants to, just as one feels inclined, to start at -a moment's notice for Rome or Moscow and to leave the day after one has -arrived if one wishes to--to have no obligations, no ties, and to be at -home everywhere all over Europe." - -Arkright thought of his rather bare flat in Artillery Mansions, the -years of toil before a newspaper, let alone a publisher, would look at -any of his manuscripts, and then the painful, slow journey up the stairs -of recognition and the meagre substantial rewards that his so-called -reputation, his "place" in contemporary literature, had brought him; he -thought of all the places he had not seen and which he would give worlds -to see--Rome, Venice, Russia, the East, Spain, Seville; he thought of -what all that would mean to him, of the unbounded wealth which was there -waiting for him like ore in quarries in which he would never be allowed -to dig; he reflected that he had worked for ten years before ever being -able to go abroad at all, and that his furthest and fullest adventure -had been a fortnight spent one Easter at a fireless Pension in Florence. -Whereas here was this rich and idle Russian who, if he pleased, could -roam throughout Europe from one end to the other, who could take an -apartment in Rome or a palace in Venice, for whom all the immense spaces -of Russia were too small, and who could talk of suddenly going to -Africa, as he, Arkright, could scarcely talk of going to Brighton. - -"Life is very complicated sometimes," said Anikin. "Just when one -thinks things are settled and simple and easy, and that one has turned -over a new leaf of life, like a new clean sheet of blotting-paper, one -suddenly sees it is not a clean sheet; blots from the old pages come -oozing through--one can't get rid of the old sheets and the old blots. -All one's life is written in indelible ink--that strong violet ink which -nothing rubs out and which runs in the wet but never fades. The past is -like a creditor who is always turning up with some old bill that one -has forgotten. Perhaps the bill was paid, or one thought it was paid, -but it wasn't paid--wasn't fully paid, and there the interest has gone -on accumulating for years. And so, just as one thinks one is free, one -finds oneself more caught than ever and obliged to cancel all one's new -speculations because of the old debts, the old ties. That is what you -call the wages of sin, I think. It isn't always necessarily what you -would call a sin, but is the wages of the past and that is just as bad, -just as strong at any rate. They have to be paid in full, those wages, -one day or other, sooner or later." - -Arkright had not been an observer of human nature and a careful student -of minute psychological shades and impressions for twenty years for -nothing. He had had his eyes wide open during the last weeks, and Mrs. -Knolles had furnished him with the preliminary and fundamental data of -her niece's case. He felt quite certain that something had taken place -between Anikin and Kathleen. He felt the peculiar, the unmistakeable -relation. And now that the Russian had served him up this neat discourse -on the past he knew full well that he was not being told the truth. -Anikin was suddenly going away. A week ago he had been perfectly happy -and obviously in an intimate relation to Miss Farrel. Now he was -suddenly leaving, possibly to Africa. What had happened? What was the -cause of this sudden change of plan? He wanted to get out of whatever -situation he found himself bound by. But he also wanted to find for -others, at any rate, and possibly for himself as well, some excuse -for getting out of it. And here the fundamental cunning and ingenious -subtlety of his race was helping him. He was concocting a romance which -might have been true, but which was, as a matter of fact, untrue. He was -adding "the little more." He was inventing a former entanglement as an -obstacle to his present engagements which he wanted to cancel. - -Arkright knew that there had been a former entanglement in Anikin's -life, but what Anikin did not know was that Arkright also knew that this -entanglement was over. - -"It is very awkward," said Arkright, "when the past and the present -conflict." - -"Yes," said Anikin, "and very awkward when one is between two duties." - -I think I have got him there, thought Arkright. "A French writer," -he said aloud, "has said, '_de deux devoirs, il faut choisir le plus -désagréable_; that in chosing the disagreeable course you were likely to -be right." - -Anikin remained pensive. - -"What I find still more complicated," he said, "is when there is a -right reason for doing a thing, but one can't use it because the right -reason is not the real reason; there is another one as well." - -"For doing a duty," said Arkright. "Is that what you mean?" - -"There are circumstances," said Anikin, "in which one could point to -duty as a motive, but in which the duty happens to be the same as one's -inclinations, and if one took a certain course it would not be because -of the duty but because of the inclinations. So one can't any more talk -or think of duty." - -"Then," said Arkright, a little impatiently, "we can cancel the word -duty altogether. It is simply a case of choosing between duty and -inclination." - -"No," said Anikin, "it is sometimes a case of choosing between a -pleasure which is not contrary to duty (_et qui pourrait même avoir -l'excuse du devoir_)" he lapsed into French, which was his habit when -he found it difficult to express himself in English, "and an obligation -which is contrary both to duty and inclination." - -"What is the difference between an obligation and a duty?" asked -Arkright. He wished to pin the elusive Slav down to something definite. - -"Isn't there in life often a conflict between them?" asked Anikin. "In -practical life, I mean. You know Tennyson's lines: - - "His honour rooted in dishonour stood - And faith unfaithful made him falsely true." - -"Now I understand," thought Arkright, "he is going to pretend that he is -in the position of Lancelot to Elaine, and plead a prior loyalty to a -Guinevere that no longer counts." - -"I think," he said, "in that case one cannot help remaining 'falsely -true.'" That is, he thought, what he wants me to say. - -"One cannot, that is to say, disregard the past," said Anikin. - -"No, one can't," said Arkright, as if he had entirely accepted the -Russian's complicated fiction. - -He wanted, at the same time, to give him a hint that he was not quite so -easily deceived as all that. - -"Isn't it a curious thought," he said, "how often people invoke the -engagements of a past which they have comfortably disregarded up to -that moment when they no longer wish to face an obligation in the -present, like a man who in order to avoid meeting a new debt suddenly -points to an old debt as something sacred, which up till that moment he -had completely disregarded, and indeed, forgotten?" - -Anikin laughed. - -"Why are you laughing?" asked Arkright. - -"I am laughing at your intuition," said Anikin. "You novelists are -terrible people." - -"He knows I have seen through him," thought Arkright, "and he doesn't -mind. He wanted me to see through him the whole time. He wants me to -know that he knows I know, and he doesn't mind. I think that all this -elaborate romance was perhaps only meant for me. He will choose some -simpler means of breaking off his engagement with Miss Farrel than by -pleading a past obligation. He is far subtler and deeper than I thought, -subtler and deeper in his simplicity. I should not be surprised if he -were to give her no explanation whatsoever." - -Arkright was in a sense right. What Anikin had said to Arkright was -meant for him and not for Miss Farrel. It was not a rehearsal of a -possible explanation for her, but it was the testing of a possible -justification of himself to himself. He had not thought out what he was -going to say before he began to talk to Arkright. He had begun with -fact and had involuntarily embroidered the fact with fiction. It was -_Wahrheit und Dichtung_ and the _Dichtung_ had got the better of the -_Wahrheit_. His passion for make-belief and self-analysis had carried -him away, and he had said things which might easily have been true and -had hinted at difficulties which might have been his, but which, in -reality, were purely imaginary. When he saw that Arkright had divined -the truth, he laughed at the novelist's acuteness, and had let him see -frankly that he realized he had been found out and that he did not mind. - -It was cynical, if you called that cynicism. Anikin would not have -called it something else: the absence of cement, which a Russian writer -had said was the cardinal feature of the Russian character. He did -not mean to say or do anything to Kathleen that could possibly seem -slighting. He was far too gentle and far too easy-going, far too weak, -if you will, to dream of doing anything of the kind. With her, infinite -delicacy would be needed. He did not know whether he could break off -his engagement at all, so great was his horror of ruptures, of cutting -Gordian-knots. This knot, in any case, could not be cut. It must be -patiently unravelled if it was to be untied at all. - -"I think," said Arkright, "that all these cases are simple to reason -about, but difficult to act on." Anikin was once more amazed at the -novelist's perception. He laughed again, the same puzzling, quizzical -_Slav_ laugh. - -"You Russians," said Arkright, "find all these complicated questions of -conflicting duties, divided conscience and clashing obligations, much -easier than we do." - -"Why?" asked Anikin. - -"Because you have a simple directness in dealing with subtle questions -of this kind which is so complete and so transparent that it strikes us -Westerners as being sometimes almost cynical." - -"Cynical?" said Anikin. "I assure you I was not being cynical." - -He said this smiling so naturally and frankly that for a moment Arkright -was puzzled. And Anikin had been quite honest in saying this. He could -not have felt less cynical about the whole matter; at the same time -he had not been able to help taking momentary enjoyment in Arkright's -acute diagnosis of the case when it was put to him, and at his swift -deciphering of the hieroglyphics and his skilful diagnosis, and he had -not been able to help conveying the impression that he was taking a -light-hearted view of the matter, when, in reality, he was perplexed -and distressed beyond measure; for he still had no idea of what he was -to do, and the threads of gossamer seemed to bind him more tightly than -ever. - - - -6 - - -Anikin strolled away from Arkright, and as he walked towards the -Pavilion he met Mrs. Roseleigh. She saw at a glance that he had a -confidence to unload, and she determined to take the situation in hand, -to say what she wanted to say to him before he would have time to say -anything to her. After he had heard what she had to say he would no -longer want to make any more confidences, and if he did, she would know -how to deal with them. They strolled along the _Galeries_ till they -reached a shady seat where they sat down. - -"You are out early," he said, "I particularly wanted----" - -"I particularly wanted to see you this morning," she said. "I wanted to -talk to you about Lancelot Stukely. You know his story?" - -"Some of it," said Anikin. - -"He is going away." - -"Because of Donna Laura?" - -"Oh, it's not that." - -"I thought he was devoted to her." - -"He likes her. He thinks she's a very good sort. So she is, but she's a -lot of other things too." - -"He doesn't know that?" - -"No, he doesn't know that." - -"You know how he wanted to marry Kathleen Farrel?" she said, after a -moment's pause. - -"Yes," said Anikin, "I heard a little about it." - -"It was impossible before." - -"Because of money?" - -"Yes, but now it is possible. He's been left money," she explained. -"He's quite well off, he could marry at once." - -"But if he doesn't want to?" - -"He does want to, that is just it." - -"Then why not? Because Miss Farrel does not like him?" - -"Kathleen _does_ like him _really_; at least she would like him -really--only--" - -"There has been a misunderstanding," said Mrs. Roseleigh. She put an -anxious note into her voice, slightly lowering it, and pressing down as -it were the soft pedal of sympathy and confidential intimacy. - -"They have both misunderstood, you see; and one misunderstanding has -reacted on the other. Perhaps you don't know the whole story?" - -"Do tell it me," he said. Once more he had the sensation of coasting or -free-wheeling down a pleasant hill of perfect companionship. - -"Many years ago," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "she was engaged to Lancelot -Stukely. She wouldn't marry him because she thought she couldn't leave -her father. She couldn't have left him then. He depended on her for -everything. But he died, and Lancelot, who was away, didn't come back -and didn't write. He didn't dare, poor man! It was very silly of him. -He thought he was too poor to offer her to share his poverty, but she -wouldn't have minded. Anyhow he waited and time passed, and then the -other day his uncle died and left him money, and he came back at once, -and came here at once, to see her, not to see Donna Laura. That was just -an accident, Donna Laura being here, but when he came here he thought -Kathleen no longer cared, so he decided to go away without saying -anything. - -"Kathleen had been longing for him to come back, had been expecting him -to come back for years. She had been waiting for years. She was not -normal from excitement, and then she had a shock and disappointment. She -was not, you see, herself. She was susceptible to all influences. She -was magnetic for the moment, ready for an electric disturbance; she was -like a watch that is taken near a dynamo on board ship, it makes it go -wrong. And now she realizes that she is going wrong and that she won't -go right till she is demagnetized." - -"Ah!" said Anikin, "she realizes." - -"You see," said Mrs. Roseleigh gently, "it wasn't anyone's fault. It -just happened." - -"And how will she be demagnetized?" asked Anikin. - -"Ah, that is just it," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "We must all try and help -her. We must all try to show her that we want to help. To show her that -we understand." - -Anikin wondered whether Mrs. Roseleigh was speaking on a full knowledge -of the case, or whether she knew something and had guessed the rest. - -"I suppose," he said, "you have always known what has happened to Miss -Farrel?" - -"I know everything that has happened to Kathleen," she said. "You see, I -have known her for years. She's my best friend. And now I can judge just -as well from what she doesn't say, as from what she says. She always -tells me enough for it not to be necessary to tell me any more. If it -was necessary, if I had any doubt, I could, and should always ask." - -"Then you think," said Anikin, "that she will marry Stukely?" - -"In time, yes; but not at once." - -Anikin remembered Stukely's conduct and was puzzled. - -"I am sure," he said, "that since he has been here he has made no -effort." - -"Of course he didn't," she said, "He saw that it was useless. He knew at -once." - -"Is he that kind of man, that knows at once?" - -"Yes, he's that kind of man. He saw directly; directly he saw her, and -he didn't say a word. He just settled to go." - -Anikin felt this was difficult to believe; all the more difficult -because he wanted to believe it. Was Mrs. Roseleigh making it easy, too -easy? - -"But he's going back to Africa," he said. - -"How do you know?" she asked. - -"He told Mr. Asham, and he told me." - -"He will go to London first. Kathleen will not stay here much longer -either. I am going soon to London, too, and I shall see Lancelot Stukely -there before he goes away, and do my best. And if you see him----" - -"Before he goes?" - -"Before he goes," she went on, "if you see him, perhaps you could help -too, not by saying anything, of course, but sometimes one can help----" - -"I have a dread," said Anikin, "of some explanations." - -"That is just what she doesn't want--explanations, neither he nor -she," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "Kathleen wants us to understand without -explanations. She is praying we may understand without her having to -explain to us, or without our having to explain to her. She wants to be -spared all that. She has already been through such a lot. She is ashamed -at appearing so contradictory. She knows I understand, but she doubts -whether any one else ever could, and she does not know where to turn, -nor what to do." - -"And when you go to London," he asked, "will you make it all right?" - -"Oh yes," she said. - -"Are you quite sure you can make it all right? I mean with Stukely, of -course," he said. - -"Of course," said Mrs. Roseleigh, but she knew perfectly well that he -really meant all right with Kathleen. - -"And you think he will marry her, and that she will marry him?" he -asked one last time. - -"I am quite sure of it," she said, "not at once, of course, but in time. -We must give them time." - -"Very well," he said. He did not feel quite sure that it was all right. - -Mrs. Roseleigh divined his uncertainty and his doubts. - -"You see," she said, "what happened was very complicated. She knows that -ever since Lancelot arrived, she was never really herself----" - -"She knows?" he asked. - -"She only wants to get back to her normal self." - -"Well," he said, "I believe you know best. I will do what you tell me. -I was thinking of going to London myself," he added. "Do you think that -would be a good plan? I might see Stukely. I might even travel with him." - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "would be an excellent plan." - -Mrs. Roseleigh's explanation, the explanation she had just served out -to Anikin, was, as far as she was concerned, a curious blend of fact -and fiction; of honesty and disingenuousness. She was convinced that -both Kathleen and Anikin had made a mistake, and that the sooner the -mistake was rectified the better for both of them. She thought if it -was rectified, there was every chance of Stukely marrying Kathleen, but -she had no reason to suppose that her explanation of his conduct was -the true one. She thought Stukely had forgotten all about Kathleen, but -there was no reason that he should not be brought back into the old -groove. A little management would do it. He would have to marry now. He -would want to marry; and it would be the natural, normal thing for him -to marry Kathleen, if he could be persuaded that she had never cared -for anyone else; and Mrs. Roseleigh felt quite ready to undertake the -explanation. She was quite disinterested with regard to Kathleen and -quite disinterested towards Stukely. Was she quite disinterested towards -Anikin? - -She would not have admitted to her dearest friend, not even to herself, -that she was not; but as a matter of fact she had consciously or -unconsciously annexed Anikin. He was made to be charmed by her. She was -not in the least in love with him, and she did not think he was in -love with her; she was not a dynamo deranging a watch; she was a magnet -attracting a piece of steel; but she had not done it on purpose. She had -done it because she couldn't help it. Her conscience was quite clear, -because she was convinced she was helping Kathleen, Stukely and Anikin -out of a difficult and an impossible situation; but at the same time -(and this is what she would not have admitted) she was pleasing herself. - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival first of Kathleen -herself, then of Arkright. - -Kathleen had in her hands the copy of a weekly review. - -After mutual salutations had passed, Kathleen and Arkright sat down near -Mrs. Roseleigh and Anikin. - -"Aunt Elsie," said Kathleen to Arkright, "asked me to give you back -this. She is not coming down yet, she is very busy." She handed Arkright -the review. - -"Ah!" said Arkright. "Did the article on Nietzsche interest her?" - -"Very much, I think," said Kathleen, "but I liked the story best. The -story about the brass ring." - -"A sentimental story, wasn't it?" said Arkright. - -"What was it about?" asked Anikin. - -"Mr. Arkright will tell it you better than I can," said Kathleen. - -"I am afraid I don't remember it well enough," said Arkright. - -He remembered the story sufficiently well, although being of no literary -importance, it had small interest for him; but he saw that Miss Farrel -had some reason for wanting it told, and for telling it herself, so he -pressed her to indicate the subject. - -"Well," she said, "it's about a man who had been all sorts of things: a -soldier, a king, and a _savant_, and who wants to go into a monastery, -and says he had done with all that the world can give, and as he says -this to the abbot, a brass ring, which he wears round his neck, falls on -to the floor of the cell. The ring had been given him by a queen whom -he had loved, a long time ago, at a distance and without telling her or -anyone, and who had been dead for years. The abbot tells him to throw it -away and he can't. He gives up the idea of entering the monastery and -goes away to wander through the world. I think he was right not to throw -away the ring, don't you?" she said. - -"Do you think one ought never to throw away the brass ring?" said -Anikin, with the incomparable Slav facility for "catching on," who -instantly adopted the phrase as a symbol of the past. - -"Never," said Kathleen. - -"Whatever it entails?" Anikin asked. - -"Whatever it entails," she answered. - -"Have you never thrown away your brass ring?" asked Anikin, smiling. - -"I haven't got one to throw away," she said. - -"Then I will send you one from London, I am going there in a day or -two," he said. - -"Mrs. Roseleigh was right," he said to himself, "no explanations are -necessary." - -Mrs. Roseleigh looked at him with approval. Kathleen Farrel seemed -relieved too, as though a weight too heavy for her to bear had been -lifted from her, as though after having forced herself to keep awake in -an alien world and an unfamiliar sunlight, she was now allowed to go -back once more to the region of dreamless limbo. - -"Yes,", she said, "please send me one from London," as if there were -nothing surprising or unexpected about his departure. - -In truth she was relieved. The episode at _Bellevue_ was as far away -from her now as the dreams and adventure of her childhood. She felt no -regret. She asked for no explanation. Anikin's words gave her no pang; -nothing but a joyless relief; but it was with the slightest tinge of -melancholy that she realized that she must be different from other -people, and she would not have had things otherwise. - -As Arkright looked at her dark hair, her haunting eyes and her listless -face, he thought of the Sleeping Beauty in the wood; and wondered -whether a Fairy Prince would one day awaken her to life. He did not know -her full story; he did not know that she was a mortal who had trespassed -in Fairyland and was now paying the penalty. - -The enchanted thickets were closing round her, and the forest was taking -its revenge on the intruder who had once rashly dared to violate its -secrecy. - -He did not know that Kathleen Farrel had in more senses than one been -overlooked. - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--Part II - - - -II - - -Dr. Sabran read the papers I sent him the very same night he received -them, and the following evening he asked me to dinner, and after dinner -we sat on the verandah of his terrace and discussed the story. - -"I recognized Haréville," said Dr. Sabran, "of course, although -his Saint-Yves-les-Bains might just as well have been any other -watering-place in the world. I do not know his heroine, nor her aunt, -even by sight, because I only arrived at Haréville two years ago after -they had left, and last year I was absent. Princess Kouragine I have met -in Paris. She and yourself therefore are the only two characters in the -book whom I know." - -"He bored Princess Kouragine," I said. - -"Yes," said Sabran, "that is why he has to invent a Slav microbe to -explain her indifference. But Mrs. Lennox flattered him?" - -"Very thoroughly," I said. - -"Well, the first thing I want to know is," said Sabran, "what happened? -What happened then? but first of all, what happened afterwards?" - -I said I knew little. All I knew was that Miss Brandon was still -unmarried; that Canning went back to Africa, stayed out his time, and -had then come back to England last year; and that I had heard from -Kranitski once or twice from Africa, but for the last ten months I had -heard nothing, either from or of him. - -"But," I said, "before I say anything, I want you to tell me what you -think happened and why it happened." - -"Well," said the doctor, "to begin with, I understand, both from your -story as well as from his, that Kranitski and Miss Brandon were engaged -to be married and that the engagement was broken off. But I also -understood from your MS. that the man Canning was for nothing in the -rupture of the engagement. It happened before he arrived. It was due, -in my opinion, to something which happened to Kranitski. - -"Now, what do we know about Kranitski as related by you? First of all, -that he was for a long time attached to a Russian lady who was married, -and who would not divorce because of her children. - -"Then, from what he told you, we know that although a believing Catholic -he said he had been outside the Church for seven years. That meant, -obviously, that he had not been _pratiquant_. That is exactly what would -have happened if he had been living with a married woman and meant to -go on doing so. Then when he arrives at Haréville, he tells you that -the obstacle to his practising his religion no longer exists. Kranitski -makes the acquaintance of Miss Brandon, or rather renews his old -acquaintance with her, and becomes intimate with her. Princess Kouragine -finds she is becoming a different being. You go away for a month, and -when you come back she almost tells you she is engaged--it is the same -as if she told you. The very next day Kranitski meets you, about to -spend a day at the lakes with Miss Brandon and evidently not sad--on -the contrary. He received a letter in your presence. You are aware -after he has read this letter of a sudden change in him. - -"Then a few days later he comes to see you and announces a change of -plans, and says he is going to Africa. He also gives you to understand -that the obstacle has not come back into his life. What obstacle? It can -only be one thing, the obstacle he told you of, which was preventing him -from practising his religion. - -"Now, what do we learn from the novel? - -"We learn from the novel that the day after that expedition to the -lakes, Rudd describes the Russian having a conversation with the -novelist (himself) in which he tells the novelist, firstly, that he is -going away, probably to Africa. So far we know that he was telling the -truth. Then he says that just as he found himself, as he thought, free, -an old debt or tie or obligation rises up from the past which has to -be paid or regarded or met. Rudd, in the person of Arkright, thinks he -is inventing. They talk of conflicts and divided duties and the choice -between two duties. The Russian is made to say that the most difficult -complication is when duty and pleasure are both on one side and an -obligation is on the other side, and one has to choose between them. -The novelist gives no explanation of this, he treats it merely as a -gratuitous piece of embroidery--a fantasy. - -"Now, I believe the Russian said what Rudd makes him say, because if he -didn't it doesn't seem to me like the kind of fantasy the novelist would -have invented had he been inventing. If he had been inventing, I think -he would have found something else." - -"All the same," I interrupted, "we don't know whether he said that." - -"We don't know whether he said anything at all," said Sabran. - -"I know they had a conversation," I said, "because I was in the park all -that morning and someone told me they were talking to each other. On the -other hand, he may have invented the whole thing, as Rudd says that the -novelist in his story knew about the Russian's former entanglement, and -lays stress on the fact that the Russian did not know that he knew. So -it may have been on that little basis of fact that all this fancy-work -was built." - -"I think," said Sabran, "that the conversation did take place. And I -think that it happened so. I think he spoke about the past and said that -thing about the blotting paper. There is a poem of Pushkin's about the -impossibility of wiping out the past." - -"And I think," I said, "that the Russian laughed, and said, 'You -novelists are terrible people.' Only he was laughing at the novelist's -density and not applauding his intuition." - -"Well, then," said Sabran, "let us postulate that the Russian did say -what he was reported to have said to the novelist, and let us conclude -that what he said was true." - -"In that case, the Russian said he was in the position of choosing -between a pleasure, that is to say, something he wanted to do which was -not contrary to his duty----" - -"For which duty might even be pleaded as an excuse," said Sabran, -quoting the very words said to have been used by the Russian. - -"And an obligation which was contrary both to duty and to inclination. -That is to say, there is something he wants to do. He could say it was -his duty to do it. And there is something he doesn't want to do, and he -can say it is contrary to his duty. And yet he feels he has got to do -it. It is an obligation, something which binds him." - -"It is the old liaison," said Sabran. - -"In that case," I said, "why did he go to Africa?" - -"Yes, why did he go to Africa? And stay there at any rate such a long -time. Did he talk of coming back?" - -"No, he said nothing about coming back. He said he liked the country and -the life, but he said little about either. He wrote chiefly about books -and abstract ideas." - -"Perhaps," said Sabran, "there is something else in his life which we -know nothing about. There is another reason why I do not think that -the old liaison is the obligation. He took the trouble to come and see -you before he went away and to tell you that the obstacle which had -prevented his practising his religion had not reappeared in his life. It -is probable that he was speaking the truth. And he knew he was going to -Africa. So it must be something else." - -"Perhaps," I said, "it was something to do with Canning. What are your -theories about Canning, the other man?" - -"What are yours?" he said. "I heard nothing about him." - -I said I thought that all Mrs. Summer had told me about Canning was -true. Rudd, I explained to Sabran, disliked Mrs. Summer, and had drawn -a portrait of her as a swooping gentle harpy, which I knew to be quite -false. "Although," I said, "I think the things he makes her say about -Canning are quite true. I think he reports her thoughts correctly but -attributes to her the wrong motives for saying them. I don't believe she -ever talked to him about Canning; but he knew her ideas on the subject, -through Mrs. Lennox. I believe that Canning arrived at Haréville on -purpose to see Miss Brandon. I know that the Italian lady had played -no part in his life and that it was just a chance that they met at -Haréville. I believe he arrived full of hope, and that when he saw Miss -Brandon he realized the situation as soon as he had spoken to her. This -is what Rudd makes Mrs. Summer say, and I believe that is what happened. -In Rudd's version of Mrs. Summer she is lying. Rudd had already a -preconceived notion that Miss Brandon's first love was to forget her. -He had made up his mind about that long before the young man came upon -the scene, before he knew he was coming on the scene, and when he did, -he distorted the facts to suit his fiction." - -"Then," said Sabran, "his ideas about Miss Brandon. All that idea -of her being the 'Princess without dreams,' without passion, being -muffled and half-awake--'overlooked,' as he says, which I suppose means -_ensorcelée._" - -I told him I thought that was not only fiction but perfectly baseless -fiction. I reminded him of what Princess Kouragine had said about Miss -Brandon. - -"I must think it over," said Sabran. "For the present I do not see any -completely satisfactory solution. I am convinced of one thing only, and -that is that the novelist drew false deductions from facts which were -perhaps sometimes correctly observed." - -I said I agreed with him. Rudd's deductions were wrong; his facts were -probably right in some cases; Sabran's deductions were right, I thought, -as far as they went; but we either had not enough facts or not enough -intuition to arrive at a solution of the problem. - -As I was saying this, Sabran interrupted me and said: - -"If we only knew what was in the letter that the Russian received when -he was with you we should have the key of the enigma. It was from the -moment that he received that letter that he was different, wasn't it?" - -I said this was so, and what happened afterwards proved that it was not -my imagination. - -"What in the world can have been in that letter?" said Sabran. - -I said I did not think we should ever know that. - -"Probably not," he said, musingly. "And that incident about the story of -the Brass Ring. Do you think that happened? Did they say all that?" - -I was able to tell him exactly what had happened with regard to that -incident. - -"I was sitting in the garden. It was, I think, the morning after they -had all been to the lakes, and about the middle of the day, after the -band had stopped playing, shortly before _déjeuner_, that Rudd, Miss -Brandon, Kranitski and Mrs. Summer all came and talked to me before I -went into the hotel. - -"Miss Brandon gave the copy of the _Saturday Review_, or whatever the -newspaper was, back to Rudd, and mentioned the story of the 'Brass -Ring,' and they discussed it, and I asked what it was about. Rudd was -asked to read it aloud to us, and he did. Miss Brandon and Kranitski -made no comments; and Rudd asked Kranitski if he thought the man had -done right to throw away his ring, and Kranitski said: 'A chain is no -stronger than its weakest link.' - -"Rudd said: 'Perhaps the brass ring was the strongest link.' - -"Kranitski and Miss Brandon said nothing, and Mrs. Summer said she was -glad the man had not thrown the ring away. Then Rudd asked Miss Brandon -whether she had ever thrown away her brass ring. - -"Miss Brandon said she hadn't got one, and changed the subject. Then -they all left me. That was all that happened." - -"I understand," said Sabran; "that is interesting, and it helps us to -understand the methods of the novelist. But we are still no nearer -a solution. I must think it over. _Que diable y avait-il dans cette -lettre?_" - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--PART II - - - -III - - -The more I thought over the whole story the more puzzling it seemed to -me. The puzzle was increased rather than simplified by a letter which I -received from Kranitski from Africa, in which he expressed no intention -of coming back, but said he was living by himself, quite contented in -his solitude. - -I told Sabran of this letter and the Doctor said we were without one -important _donnée,_ some probably quite simple fact which would be the -clue of the whole situation: the contents of the letter Kranitski had -received when he was with me-- - -"What we want," he said, "is a moral Sherlock Holmes, to deduce what was -in that letter----" - -It was after I had been at Haréville about ten days, that Sabran asked -me whether I would like to make the acquaintance of a Countess Yaskov. -She was staying at Haréville and was taking the waters. He had only -lately made her acquaintance himself, but she was dining with him and -he wanted to ask a few people to meet her. I asked him what she was -like. He said she was not exactly pretty, but gentle and attractive. He -said: "_Elle n'est pas vraiment jolie, mais elle a une jolie taille, de -beaux yeux, et des perles._" - -She had been divorced from her husband for years and lived generally at -Rome, so he had been told. - -I went to Sabran's dinner. There were several people there. I had -never met Countess Yaskov before. She seemed to be a very pleasant and -agreeable lady. I sat next to her. She was an accomplished musician, and -she played the pianoforte after dinner with a ravishing touch. She was -certainly gentle, intelligent, and natural. We were talking of Italy, -when she astonished me by saying she had not been there for some time. -Later on she astonished me still more by talking of her husband in the -most natural way in the world. But I had heard cases of Russians being -divorced and yet continuing to be good friends. I longed to ask her if -she knew Kranitski, but I could not bring his name across my lips. I -asked her if she knew Princess Kouragine. She said, "Which one?" And -when I explained or tried to describe the one I knew, there turned out -to be about a dozen Princess Kouragines scattered all over Europe; some -of them Russian and some of them not, so we did not get any further, and -Countess Yaskov was vagueness itself. - -We talked of every conceivable subject. As she was going away she asked -Sabran if he could lend her a book. He lent her Rudd's _Unfinished -Dramas_, and asked me if he might lend her _Overlooked_. I said -certainly, but I explained that it was more or less a private book about -real people. - -Two or three days later I met her in the park. She asked me if I had -read Rudd's story. I told her it had been read to me. - -"But it is meant to happen here, isn't it?" she said. "And aren't you -one of the characters?" - -I said this was, I believed, the case. - -"Then you were here when all that happened?" she said. "Did it happen -like that, or was it all an invention?" - -I said I thought there was some basis of fact in the story, and a great -deal of fancy, but I really didn't know. I did not wish to let her know -at once how much I knew. - -"Novelists," I said, "invent a great deal on a very slender basis, -especially James Rudd." - -"You know him?" she said. "He was here with you, of course?" - -I told her I had made his acquaintance here, but that I had never seen -him before or since. - -"What sort of man is he?" she asked. - -I gave her a colourless, but favourable portrait of Rudd. - -"And the young lady?" she said, "Miss--I've forgotten her name." - -"The heroine?" I asked. - -"Yes, the heroine who is 'overlooked.' Do you think she was -'overlooked'?" - -"In what sense?" - -"In the fairy-tale sense." - -I said I thought that was all fancy-work. - -"I wonder," she said, "if she married the young man." - -"Which one?" - -"The Englishman." - -I said I had not heard of her being married. - -"And was there a Russian here, too?" she asked. - -"Yes," I said, "his name was Kranitski." - -"That sounds like a Polish name." - -I said he was a Russian. - -"You knew him, too?" - -"Just a little." - -"It is an interesting story," she said, "but I think Rudd makes all the -characters more complicated than they probably were. Does Mr. Rudd know -Russia?" - -I said I believed not at all. - -"I thought not," she said. - -I said that Kranitski seemed to me a far simpler character than Rudd's -Anikin. - -"Did Dr. Sabran know all those people?" she asked. - -I said Dr. Sabran had not been here while it was going on. - -"It would be very annoying for that poor girl to find herself in a -book," she said, "if he published it." - -I said that Rudd would probably never publish it--although he would -probably deny that he had made portraits, and to some extent with -reason, as his Kathleen Farrel was quite unlike Miss Brandon. - -"Oh, her name was Miss Brandon," Countess Yaskov said, pensively. "If -she comes here this year you must introduce me to her. I think I should -like her." - -"Everyone said she was beautiful," I said. - -"One sees that from the novel. I suppose James Rudd invented a character -which he thought suited her face." - -I said that that was exactly what had happened. Rudd had started with -a theory about Miss Brandon, that she was such and such person, and he -distorted the facts till they fitted with his theory. At least, that was -what I imagined to have been the case. - -I asked Countess Yaskov what she thought of the psychology of Rudd's -Russian. I said she ought to be a good judge. She laughed and said: - -"Yes, I ought to be a good judge. I think he is rather severe on the -Slavs, don't you? He makes that poor Anikin so very complicated, and so -very sly and fickle as well." - -I said I thought the excuses which Rudd credited the Russian with making -to himself for breaking off the engagement with the heroine of the book, -were absurd. - -"Do you think the Russian said those things or that the novelist -invented them?" she asked. - -I said I thought he had said what he was reported to have said. - -"If he said that, he was not lying," she said. - -I agreed, and I also thought he _had_ said all that; but that Rudd's -explanation of his words was wrong. If that was true he must have broken -off his engagement. - -"There is nothing very improbable in that, is there?" she asked. - -"Nothing," I said. And yet I thought that Kranitski had finished with -whatever there was in the past that might have been an obstacle to his -present. - -"Did he tell you that?" she asked. - -As she said that, although the tone of her voice was quite natural, -almost too natural, there was a peculiar intonation in the way she -said the word "he," in that word and that word only, which gave me the -curious sensation of a veil being lifted. I felt I was looking through -a hole in the clouds. I felt certain that Countess Yaskov had known -Kranitski. - -"He never told me one word that had anything to do with what Rudd tells -in his novel," I said. - -I felt that my voice was no longer natural as I said this. There was a -strain in it. There was a pause. I do not know why I now felt certain -that Countess Yaskov possessed the key of the mystery. I suddenly -felt she was the woman whom Kranitski had known and loved for seven -years, so much so, that I could say nothing further. I also felt that -she knew that I knew. We talked of other things. In the course of the -conversation I asked her if she thought of staying a long time at -Haréville. - -"It depends on my husband," she said. "I don't know yet whether he is -coming here to fetch me, or whether he wants me to meet him. At any rate -I shall go back to Russia for my boys' holidays. I have two sons at -school." - -The next time I saw Sabran I asked him what he had meant by telling me -that Countess Yaskov was divorced from her husband. I told him what she -had said to me about her husband and her sons. He did not seem greatly -surprised; but he stuck to his point that she was divorced. - -The next time I saw Countess Yaskov, she told me she had told a friend -of hers about Rudd's story. Her friend had instantly recognized the -character of Anikin. - -"My friend tells me," she said, "that the novelist is quite false as -far as that character is concerned, false and not fair. She said what -happened was this: The man whom Rudd describes as Anikin had been in -love for many years with a married woman. She was in love with him, -too, but she did not want to divorce her husband, for various reasons. -So they separated. They separated after having known each other a long -time. Then the woman changed her mind and she settled she would divorce, -and she let Anikin know. She wrote to him and said she was willing, at -last, to divorce. My friend says it was complicated by other things as -well. She did not tell me the whole story, but the man went to Africa -and the woman did not divorce. What Anikin was supposed to have said to -the novelist was true. He told the truth, and the novelist thought he -was saying false things. That is what you thought, too. But all has been -for the best in the end, because do you know what there is in to-day's -_Daily Mail_?" she asked. - -I said no one had read me the newspaper as yet. - -"The marriage is announced," she said, "of Miss Brandon to a man called -Sir Somebody Canning." - -"That," said I, "is the Englishman in the book." - -"So Mr. Rudd was wrong altogether," she said, and she laughed. - -That is all that passed between us on this occasion, and I think this -is a literal and complete transcription of our conversation. Countess -Yaskov told me her story, the narrative of her friend, with perfect -naturalness and with a quiet ease. She talked as if she were relating -_facts_ that had no particular personal interest for her. There was not -a tremor in her voice, not an intonation, either of satisfaction or -pain, nothing but the quiet impersonal interest one feels for people in -a book. She might have been discussing Anna Karenina, or a character of -Stendhal. She was neutral and impartial, an interested but completely -disinterested spectator. - -The tone of her voice was subtly different from what it had been -the other day towards the end of our conversation. For during that -conversation, admirably natural as she had been, and although her voice -only betrayed her in the intonation of one syllable. I feel now, -looking back on it, that she was not sure of herself, that she knew she -was walking the whole time on the edge of a precipice. - -This time I felt she was quite sure of herself; sure of her part. She -was word-perfect and serenely confident. - -Of course, what she said startled me. First of all, the _soi-disant_ -explanation of her friend. Had she told a friend about the story? I -thought not. Indeed, I feel now quite certain that the friend was an -invention, quite certain that she knew I had recognized her as the -missing factor in the drama, and that she had wished me not to have a -false impression of Kranitski. But at the time, while she was talking -she seemed so natural that for the moment I believed, or almost -believed, in the friend. But when she told me of Miss Brandon's marriage -she furnished me with the explanation of her perfect acting, if it was -acting. I thought it was the possession of this piece of news which -enabled her to tell me that story so calmly and so dispassionately. - -Of course I may still be quite wrong. I may be seeing too much. Perhaps -she had nothing to do with Kranitski, and perhaps she did tell a -friend. She has friends here. - -Nevertheless I felt certain during our first conversation, at the moment -I felt I was looking through the clouds, that she had been aware of -it; aware that I had not been able to go on talking of the story as -naturally as I had done before. Her explanation, what her friend was -supposed to have said, fitted in exactly with my suppositions, and -with what I already knew. Sabran had been right. The clue to the whole -thing was the letter. The letter that Kranitski had received when he -was talking to me and which had made so sudden a change in him was the -letter from her, from Countess Yaskov, saying she was ready to divorce -and to marry him. He received this letter just after he was engaged to -be married to Miss Brandon. It put him in a terrible situation. This -situation fitted exactly with what Rudd made him say to the novelist in -the story: his obligation to the past conflicted with his inclination, -namely, his desire to marry Miss Brandon. - -Of course I might be quite wrong. It might all be my imagination. The -next day I got a belated letter, from Miss Brandon, forwarded from -Cadenabbia, telling me of her engagement. She said they were to be -married at once, quite quietly. She knew it was no use asking me, but if -I had been in London, etc. She made no other comments. - -That evening I dined with Sabran. I told him the news about Miss -Brandon, and I told him what Countess Yaskov had told me her friend had -told her about the story. - -"Half the problem is solved," he said. "The story of Countess -Yaskov's friend explains the words which Rudd lends to the Russian. -His inclination, which was to marry Miss Brandon, coincides with the -religious duty of a _croyant_, which is not to marry a _divorcée_, and -not to put himself once more outside the pale of the Church, but it -clashes with his obligation, which is to be faithful to his friend of -seven years. His inclination coincides with his duty, but his duty is -in conflict with his obligation. What does he do? He goes away. Does he -explain? Who knows? He was, indeed, in a _fichu_ situation. And now Miss -Brandon marries the young man. Either she had loved him all the time, or -else, feeling her romance was over, she was marrying to be married. In -any case, her novel, so far from being ended, is only just beginning. -And the Russian? Was it a real _amour_ or a _coup-de-tête_? Time will -show. For himself he thought it was only a _coup-de-tête_: he will go -back to his first love, but she will never divorce." - -I asked him again whether he was sure that Countess Yaskov was divorced -from her husband. He was quite positive. He knew it _de source -certaine_. She had been divorced years ago, and she lived at Rome. I was -puzzled. In that case, why did she try and deceive me, and at the same -time if she wanted to deceive me why did she tell me so much? Why did -she give me the key of the problem? I said nothing of that to Sabran. I -saw it was no use. - -A few days later, Countess Yaskov left Haréville. She told me she was -going to join her husband. I did not remain long at Haréville after -that. A few days before I left, Princess Kouragine arrived. I told her -about Miss Brandon's marriage. She said she was not surprised. Canning -deserved to marry her for having waited so long. "But," she said, "he -will never light that lamp." - -I asked her if she was sorry for Kranitski. She said: - -"_Very_, but it could not be otherwise." - -That is all she said. When I told her that I had made the acquaintance -of Countess Yaskov, she said: - -"Which one?" - -I said it was the one who lived in Rome and who was separated from her -husband. - -The next day she said to me: "You were mistaken about Countess Yaskov. -The Countess Yaskov who was here is Countess _Irina_ Yaskov. She is not -divorced, and she lives in Russia now. The one you mean is Countess -Helene Yaskov. She lives at Rome. They are not relations even. You -confused the two, because they both at different times lived at Rome." I -now saw why I had been put off the scent for a moment by Sabran. I asked -her if she knew my Countess Yaskov. She said she had met her, but did -not know her well. - -"She is a quiet woman," she said. "_On dit qu'elle est charmante_." - -Just about this time I received a long letter from Rudd. He said he -must publish _Overlooked._ He had been told he ought to publish it by -everybody. He might, he said, just as well publish it, since printing -five hundred copies and circulating them privately was in reality -courting the maximum of publicity: the maximum in quality if not in -quantity. By doing this, one made sure that the only people it might -matter reading the book, read it. He did not care who saw it, in the -provinces, in Australia, or in America. The people who mattered, and the -only people who mattered, were friends, acquaintances and the London -literary world, and now they had all seen it. Besides which, his series -of unfinished dramas would be incomplete without it; and he did not -think it was _fair_ on his publisher to leave out _Overlooked_. "Besides -which," he said, "it is not as if the characters in the books were -portraits. You know better than anyone that this is not so." He ended -up, after making it excruciatingly clear that he had irrevocably and -finally made up his mind to publish, by asking my advice; that is to -say, he wanted me to say that I agreed with him. I wrote to him and said -that I quite understood why he had settled to publish the story, and I -referred to Miss Brandon's marriage at the end of my letter. Before I -heard from him again, I was called away from Haréville, and I had to -leave in a hurry. It was lucky I did so, because I got away only just in -time, either to avoid being compelled to remain at Haréville for a far -longer time than I should have wished to do, or from having to take part -in a desperate struggle for escape. The date of my departure was July -27th, 1914. - -The morning I left I said good-bye to Princess Kouragine, and I reminded -her that when I had said good-bye to her two years ago she had said to -me, talking of Miss Brandon: "The _man_ behaved well." I asked her which -man she had meant. She said: - -"I meant the other one." - -"Which do you call the other one?" I asked. - -She said she meant by the other one: - -"_Le grand amoureux_." - -I said I didn't know which of the two was the "_grand amoureux_." - -"Oh, if you don't know that you know nothing," she said. - -At that moment I had to go. The motor-bus was starting. - -I feel that Princess Kouragine was right and that, after all, perhaps I -know nothing. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - -***** This file should be named 42703-8.txt or 42703-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/0/42703/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/42703-8.zip b/old/42703-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e6db8fa..0000000 --- a/old/42703-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/42703-h.zip b/old/42703-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1c6659a..0000000 --- a/old/42703-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/42703-h/42703-h.htm b/old/42703-h/42703-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 485c2fe..0000000 --- a/old/42703-h/42703-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4766 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Overlooked - -Author: Maurice Baring - -Release Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #42703] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1>OVERLOOKED</h1> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>MAURICE BARING</h2> - - -<h5>London: William Heinemann</h5> - -<h5>1922</h5> - - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<h4>To</h4> - -<h4>M.A.T</h4> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>OVERLOOKED</h3> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h3><a id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h3> - -<h3>THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY</h3> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<p>When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me that -I must go to Haréville and stay there a month or, still better, two -months, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possible -pastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred from -that pastime.</p> - -<p>He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?"</p> - -<p>I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said that -a famous editor, of the <i>Figaro</i>, I think, had once said that every -man had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted for -newspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on my -typewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understand -by authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing a -book. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thought -no more about this till after I had been at Haréville a week.</p> - -<p>When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I made -acquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time was -taken up in idle conversation.</p> - -<p>After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintance -of James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed, -rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderly -ladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or country -gentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation, -which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government.</p> - -<p>James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. He -was passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem in -the least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted I -had read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind could -hardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read to -me. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I was -calling attention to the absence of his books in the series which have -been transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfied -that I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me, -but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him take -for granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken for -granted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar, -and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), to -be a non-smoker—I am, in fact, sure of that—a practical teetotaler, -not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather than -on experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of all -the arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but still -passionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of any -interest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating. -He had been sent to Haréville by Kennaway, which gave us a link. -Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if he -possibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longing -to write, but could think of no subject.</p> - -<p>I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people at -Haréville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that they -could form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea, -and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who is -not, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, <i>née</i> Robert, who -married a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a lady -of so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom and experience, that I felt her -acquaintance must do any novelist good. I also introduced him to Mrs. -Lennox, who is here with her niece, Miss Jean Brandon. Mrs. Lennox, -I knew, would enjoy meeting a celebrity; she sacrificed an evening's -gambling for the sake of his society, and the next day, she asked him -to luncheon. In the evening he told me that Miss Brandon would be a -suitable heroine for his novel.</p> - -<p>I asked him if he had begun it. He said he was planning it, but as it -was a holiday novel, and as he had been forbidden to work, he was not -going to make it a real book. He was going to write this novel for -his own enjoyment, and not for the public. He would never publish it. -He would be very grateful, all the same, if I allowed him to discuss -it with me, as he could not write a story without discussing it with -someone.</p> - -<p>I said I would willingly discuss the story with him, and I have -determined to keep a record of our conversations, and indeed of -everything that affects this matter, in case he one day publishes the -novel, or publishes what the novel may turn into; for I feel that it -will not remain unpublished, even though it turns into something quite -different. I shall thus have all the fun of seeing a novel planned -without the trouble of writing one myself.</p> - -<p>"Of course you have the advantage of knowing these people quite well," -he said. I told him that he was mistaken. I had never met any of them, -except Princess Kouragine, before. And it was years since I had seen her.</p> - -<p>"The first problem is," he said, "Why is Miss Brandon not married? She -must be getting on for thirty, if she is not thirty yet, and it is -strange that a person with her looks——"</p> - -<p>"I have often wondered what she looks like," I said, "and I have made my -picture of her. Shall I tell it you, and you can tell me whether it is -at all like the reality?"</p> - -<p>He was most anxious to hear my description. I said that I imagined -Miss Brandon to be as changeable in appearance as the sky. I explained -to him that I had not always been blind, that my blindness had come -comparatively late in life from a shooting accident, in which I lost one -eye—the sight of the other I lost gradually afterwards. I had imagined -her as the lady who walked in the garden in Shelley's <i>Sensitive Plant</i> -(I could not remember all the quotation):</p> - - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"A sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean."</span><br /> -</p> - - -<p>Still, and rather mysterious, elusive and rare. He said I was right -about the variability, but that he saw her differently. It was true -she was pale, delicate, and extremely refined, but her eyes were the -interesting thing about her. She was like a sapphire. She looked better -in the daytime than in the evening. By candle-light she seemed to fade. -She did not remind him of Shelley at all. She was not ethereal nor -diaphanous. She was a sapphire, not a moonstone. She belonged to the -world of romance, not to the world of lyric poetry. Something had been -left out when she had been created. She was unfinished. What had been -left out? Was it her soul? Was it her heart? Was she Undine? No. Was she -Lilith? No. All the same she belonged to the fairy-tale world; to the -Hans Andersen world, or to Perrault. The Princess without ... without -what? She was the Sleeping Beauty in the wood, who had woken up and -remembered nothing, and could never recover from the long trance. She -would never be the same again. Never really awake in the world. And yet -she had brought nothing back from fairyland except her looks.</p> - -<p>"She reminds me," he said, "of a line of Robert Lytton's: 'All her -looks are poetry and all her thoughts are prose.' It is not that she is -prosaic, but she is muffled. You see, during that long slumber which -lasted a hundred years——" Rudd had now quite forgotten my presence and -was talking or, rather, murmuring to himself. He was composing aloud. -"During that long exile which lasted a hundred years, and passed in a -flash, she had no dreams."</p> - -<p>"You mean she has no heart," I said.</p> - -<p>"No, not that," he answered, "heart as much as you like. She is kind. -She is affectionate. But no passion, no dreams. Above all, no dreams. -That is what she is. The Princess without any dreams. Do you think that -would do as a title? No, it is not quite right. <i>The Sleeping Beauty in -the World?</i> No. Why did Rostand use the title, <i>La Princesse Lointaine</i>? -That would have done. No, that is not quite right either. She is not far -away. She is here. She looks far away and isn't. I must think about it. -It will come."</p> - -<p>Then, quite abruptly, he asked me what I imagined the garden of the -hotel looked like. I said that I had never been here before and that I -had only heard descriptions of the place from my acquaintances and from -my servant, but I imagined the end of the garden, where I had often -walked, to be rather like a Russian landscape. I had never been to -Russia, but I had read Russian books, and what I imagined to be a rather -untidy piece of long grass, fringed with a few birch trees and some -firs, the whole rather baked and dry, reminded me of the descriptions in -Tourgenev's books.</p> - -<p>Rudd said it was not like Russia. Russia had so much more space. So much -more atmosphere. This little garden might be a piece of Scotland, might -be a piece of Denmark, but it was not Russian.</p> - -<p>I asked him whether he had been to Russia. Not in the flesh, he said, -but in the spirit he had lived there for years.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he wanted to see how much the second-hand impressions of a blind -man were worth.</p> - -<p>He soon reverted to the original subject of our talk.</p> - -<p>"Why is Miss Brandon not married?" he said.</p> - -<p>I said I knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. I presumed her -parents were dead. She was travelling with her aunt. They came here -every year for her aunt's rheumatism. Mrs. Lennox had a house in London. -She was a widow, not very well off, I thought. I told him I knew nothing -of London life. I have lived in Italy for the last twenty years. I very -seldom went to London, only, in fact, to see Kennaway. I told him he -must find out about Miss Brandon's early history himself.</p> - -<p>"She is very silent," he said.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Lennox is very talkative," I told him.</p> - -<p>"What can I call it?" he asked, in an agony of impatience. "She has -every beauty, every grace, except that of expression."</p> - -<p>"<i>The Dumb Belle?</i>" The words escaped me and I immediately regretted -them.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, quite seriously, "she is not dumb, that is just the -point. She talks, but she cannot express herself. Or rather, she has -nothing to express. At least, I think she has nothing to express: or -what she has got to express is not what we think it is. I imagine a -story like Pygmalion and Galatea. Somebody waking her to life and then -finding her quite different from what the stone image seemed to promise, -from what it <i>did</i> promise. At any rate I have got my subject and I am -extremely grateful. It is a wonderful subject."</p> - -<p>"Henry James," I ventured.</p> - -<p>"Ah, James," said Rudd, "yes, James, a wonderful intellect, but a -critic, not a novelist. The French could do it. What would they have -called it? <i>La Princesse désenchantée,</i> or <i>La Belle revenue du Bois</i>? -You can't say that in English."</p> - -<p>"Nor in French either," I thought to myself, but I said aloud, "<i>Out of -the Wood</i> would suggest quite a different kind of book."</p> - -<p>"A very different kind of book," said Rudd, quite gravely. "The kind of -book that sells by the million."</p> - -<p>Rudd then left me. He was enchanted with the idea of having something to -write about. I felt that a good title for his novel would be <i>Eurydice -Half-regained</i>, but I was diffident about suggesting a title to him, -besides which I felt he would not like it. Miss Brandon, he would -explain, was not like Eurydice, and if she was, she had forgotten her -experiences beyond the Styx.</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<p>I am going to divide my record into chapters just as if I were writing -a novel. The length of the chapters will be entirely determined by my -inclination at the moment of writing. When I am tired the chapter will -end. I don't know if this is what novelists do. It does not matter, as -I am not writing a novel. I know it is not what Rudd does. He told me -he planned out his novel before writing a line, and decided beforehand -on the length of each chapter, but that he often made them longer in -the first draft, and then eliminated. If you want to be terse, he said, -you must not start by trying to be terse, by leaving out. You must say -everything <i>first</i>. You can rub out afterwards. He told me he worked in -charcoal, as it were, at first.</p> - -<p>I shall not work in charcoal. I have no plan.</p> - -<p>I asked Princess Kouragine what Rudd was like. She said he had something -rather prim and dapper about him. I was quite wrong about his -appearance. He wears a black tie. Princess Kouragine said, "<i>Il a l'air -comme tout le monde, plutôt comme un médecin de campagne.</i>"</p> - -<p>I asked her if she liked him. She said she did not know. She said he was -agreeable, but she found no real pleasure in his society.</p> - -<p>"You see," she said, "I like the society of my equals, I hate being -with my superiors; that is why I hate being with royalties, authors -and artists. Mr. Rudd can talk of nothing except his art, and I like -Tauchnitz novels that one can read without any trouble. I hate realistic -novels, especially in English."</p> - -<p>I told her his novels were more often fantastic, with a certain amount -of psychology in them.</p> - -<p>"That is worse," she said, "I am old-fashioned. It is no use to try and -convert me. I like Trollope and Ouida."</p> - -<p>I offered to lend her a novel by Rudd, but she refused.</p> - -<p>"I would rather not have read it," she said. "It would make me -uncomfortable when I talked to him. As it is, as the idiot who has read -nothing newer than Ouida, I am quite comfortable."</p> - -<p>I said he was writing something now which I thought would interest her. -I told her how Rudd was making Miss Brandon the pivot of a story.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" she said. "He told me he was writing something for his own -pleasure. I will read <i>that</i> book."</p> - -<p>I said he did not intend to publish it.</p> - -<p>"He will publish it," she said. "It will be very interesting. I wonder -what he will make of Jean Brandon. I know her well. I have known her -for five years. They come here every year. They stay a long time. It is -economical. She is a good girl. I like her. <i>Elle me plaît</i>."</p> - -<p>I asked whether she was pretty.</p> - -<p>The Princess said she was changeable—<i>journalière, "Elle a souvent -mauvaise mine."</i> Not tall enough. A beautiful skin like ivory, but too -pale. Eyes. Yes, she had eyes. Most remarkable eyes. You could not tell -whether they were blue or grey. Graceful. Pretty hands. Badly dressed, -but from poverty and economy more than from <i>mauvais goût</i>. A very -<i>English</i> beauty. "You will probably tell me she is Scotch or Irish. I -don't care. I don't mean Keapsake or Gainsborough, nor Burne-Jones, -but English all the same. But I can't describe her. She has charm and -it escapes one. She has beauty, but it doesn't fit into any of the -categories.</p> - -<p>"One feels there is a lamp inside her which has gone out, for the time -being, at any rate. She reminds me of some lines of Victor Hugo:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Et les plus sombres d'entre nous</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Ont eu leur aube éblouissante."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"I can imagine her having been quite dazzling when she was a young girl. -I can imagine her still being dazzling now if someone were to light the -lamp. It could be lit, I know. Once, two years ago, at the races here at -Bavigny, I saw her excited. She wanted a friend to win a steeplechase -and he won. She was transfigured. At that moment I thought I had seldom -seen anyone more <i>éblouissante</i>. Her face shone as though it had been -transparent."</p> - -<p>Of course the poor girl was unhappy, and why was she unhappy? The reason -was a simple one, she was poor, and Mrs. Lennox economized and used her -as an economy.</p> - -<p>"You see that the poor girl is obliged to make <i>de petites économies</i> -in her clothes. She suffers from it I'm sure. Who wouldn't? This all -comes from your silly system of marriage in England. You let two totally -inexperienced beings with nothing to help them settle the question -on which the whole of their lives is to depend. You let a girl marry -her first love. It is too absurd. It never lasts. I do not say that -marriages in our country do not often turn out very badly. No one knows -that better than I do, Heaven knows; but I say that at least we give -the poor children a chance. We at least do not build marriages on a -foundation which we know to be unsound beforehand, or not there at all. -We do not let two people marry when we know that the circumstances -cannot help leading to disaster."</p> - -<p>I said I did not think there was much to choose between the two systems. -In France the young people had the chance of making a satisfactory -marriage; in our country the young people had the chance of marrying -whom they chose, of making the right choice. It was sometimes -successful. Besides, when there were real obstacles the marriages did -not as a rule come off. Mrs. Lennox had told me that Miss Brandon had -been engaged when she was nineteen to a man in the army. He was too -poor. The engagement had been broken off. The man had left the army and -gone to the colonies, and there the matter had remained. I didn't think -she would have been happier if she had been married off to a <i>parti</i>.</p> - -<p>"She would not have been poor," said Princess Kouragine. "And she would -have been more independent. She would have had a home."</p> - -<p>She said she did not attach an enormous importance to riches, but she -did attach great importance to real poverty, especially to poverty in -the class of people with whom Miss Brandon lived. She said the worst -kind of poverty was to live with people richer than yourself. It was a -continual strain, she knew it from experience. She had been through it -herself soon after she was married, after the first time her husband had -been ruined. And nobody who had not been through it knew what it meant, -the constant daily fret.</p> - -<p>"The little subterfuges. Having to think of every cab and every box of -cigarettes. Not that I thought of those," she said. "But it was clothes -which were the trouble. I can see that that poor Jean suffers in the -same way. And then, what a life! To spend all one's time with that Mrs. -Lennox, who is as hard as a stone and ruthlessly selfish. She does not -want Jean to marry. Jean is too useful to her."</p> - -<p>I said I wondered why she had not married. Surely lots of men must have -wanted to marry her.</p> - -<p>Princess Kouragine said that Mrs. Lennox was quite capable of preventing -it. She rarely took her out in London. She brought her to Haréville when -the London season began and they stayed here two months. It was cheaper. -In the winter they went to Florence or Nice.</p> - -<p>I said I wondered whether she was still faithful to the man she had been -engaged to, and what he was like.</p> - -<p>Princess Kouragine said she did not know him. She had never seen him, -but she had heard he was charming, <i>très bien</i>, but he hadn't a penny. -It appeared, however, that he had a relation, possibly an uncle, who -was well off, and who would probably leave him money. But he was not an -old man and might live for years.</p> - -<p>I said that perhaps Miss Brandon was waiting for him.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Princess Kouragine, "but she was only nineteen when -they were engaged, and he has been away for the last five years. People -change. She is no longer now what she was then, nor he, probably."</p> - -<p>She did not think this episode was a real obstacle; she was convinced -Miss Brandon did not feel bound, but she thought she had not yet met -anyone whom she felt she would like to marry. Nor was it likely for her -to do so considering the <i>milieu</i> in which she lived, in which she was -obliged to live.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Lennox liked the continental, international world. The world in -which everyone spoke English and hardly anyone was English. It was not -even the best side of the continental world she liked. She did not -mean it was the shady side, not the world of adventurers and gamblers, -but the world of international "culture." All the intellectual snobs -were drawn instinctively to Mrs. Lennox. People who discovered new -musicians, new novelists, and new painters, who suddenly pronounced as a -dogma that Beethoven couldn't compose and that the old masters did not -know how to draw, and that there was a new music, a new science, and, -above all, a new religion.</p> - -<p>"She is always surrounded just by those one or two men and women -'<i>qui rendent l'Europe insupportable et qui la gobent</i>,' they swallow -everything in her, her views on art, her dyed hair, and her ridiculous -hats. Is it likely that Miss Brandon, the daughter of an old general, -brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, and passionately fond of -outdoor life, would find a husband among people who were discussing all -day long whether Wagner was not better as a writer than a musician? She -never complains of it, poor child, but I know quite well that she is -<i>écoeurée</i>. She has had five years of it. Her father died five years -ago. Till he died she used to look after him and that was probably not -an easy life, either, as I believe he was a very exacting old man. Her -mother had died years before, and she had no brothers and no sisters. No -relations who were friends, and few women friends. She is alone in a -world she hates."</p> - -<p>I said I wondered that she had not left it. Girls often struck out a -line for themselves now and found occupations.</p> - -<p>Princess Kouragine said that Miss Brandon was not that sort of girl. -She was shy and apathetic as far as that kind of thing was concerned, -apathetic now about everything. She had just given in. What else could -she do? Where could she live? She had not a penny.</p> - -<p>"You see if a sensible marriage had been arranged for her, all this -would not have happened. She would have now had a home and children."</p> - -<p>I said that perhaps she was being faithful to the young man.</p> - -<p>Princess Kouragine said I could take it from her that she had never -loved, "<i>elle n'a jamais aimé</i>" She had never had a <i>grande passion</i>.</p> - -<p>I asked the Princess whether she thought her capable of such a thing. -She seemed so quiet.</p> - -<p>"You have never seen the lamp lit," said the Princess, "but I have; only -for one moment, it is true, but I shall never forget it."</p> - -<p>She wondered what Rudd would make of the character. He hardly knew her. -Did he seem to understand her?</p> - -<p>I said I thought he spun people out of his own inner consciousness. A -face gave him an idea and he made his own character, but he thought -he was being very analytical, and that all he created was based on -observation.</p> - -<p>"He certainly observes nothing," said the Princess.</p> - -<p>She asked who would be the hero. I said we had not got as far as the -hero when he had discussed it with me.</p> - -<p>"And what will he call the novel?" she asked.</p> - -<p>Ah, that was just the question. He had discussed that at length. He -had not found a title that satisfied him. He had got so far as "<i>The -Princess without any Dreams</i>."</p> - -<p>"<i>Dieu qu'il est bête</i>," she said. "<i>Cette enfant ne fait que rêver</i>."</p> - -<p>She told me I must get Rudd to discuss it with me again.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he will talk to me about it, too. I will make him do so, in -fact. It will not be difficult. Then we will compare notes. It will be -most amusing. The Princess without any dreams, indeed! He might just as -well call her the Princess without any eyes!"</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<p>This afternoon I was sitting on a bench in the most secluded part of the -park when I heard someone approach, and Miss Brandon asked if she might -sit down near me and talk a little. Mrs. Lennox had gone for a motor -drive with Mr. Rudd.</p> - -<p>"He is our new friend," she explained. "That is to say, more Aunt -Netty's friend than mine."</p> - -<p>I asked her whether she liked him.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but he doesn't take much notice of me. He asks me questions, but -never waits for the answer. I feel he has made up his mind about me, -that I am labelled and pigeon-holed. He loves Aunt Netty."</p> - -<p>I asked what they talked about.</p> - -<p>"Books," she said.</p> - -<p>"His books, I suppose," I said.</p> - -<p>I wondered whether Mrs. Lennox had read them. I could feel Miss Brandon -guessing my inward question.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Netty <i>is</i> very clever," she said. "She makes people enjoy -themselves, especially those kind of people.... Last night he dined at -our table, and so did Mabel Summer. You don't know her? You must know -her, you would like her. She is going away to-morrow, for a fortnight -to the Lakes, but she is coming back then. We nearly laughed at one -moment. It was awful. They were discussing Balzac, and Aunt Netty said -that Balzac was a snob like all—and she was just going to say like all -novelists, when she caught herself up and said: 'like Thackeray.' Mr. -Rudd said that Balzac and Thackeray had nothing in common, and Mabel, -who had caught my eye, and I, were speechless. Just for a moment I was -shaking, and Mr. Rudd looked at us. It was awful, but Mabel recovered -and said she didn't think we could realize now the kind of atmosphere -that Thackeray lived in."</p> - -<p>I said I didn't suppose that Rudd had noticed anything. He didn't seem -to me to notice that kind of thing.</p> - -<p>She agreed, but said he had moments of lucidity which were unexpected -and disconcerting. "For one second," she said, "he suspected we were -laughing at him. Aunt Netty manages him perfectly. He loves her. She -knows exactly what to say to him. He knows she is not critical. I think -he is rather suspicious. How funny clever men are!" she said, after a -pause.</p> - -<p>I said she really meant to say, "How stupid clever men are!" I reminded -her of the profound saying of one of Kipling's women, that the stupidest -woman could manage a clever man, but it took a very clever woman to -manage a fool.</p> - -<p>She said she had always found the most disconcerting element in stupid -people—or people who were thought to be stupid—was their sudden -flashes of lucidity, when they saw things quite plainly. Clever men -didn't have these flashes, but the curious thing was that Rudd did.</p> - -<p>I said I thought this was because, apart from his literary talent, which -was an accomplishment like conjuring or acting, quite separate from the -rest of his personality, Rudd was not a clever man. All his cleverness -went into his books. I said I thought there were two kinds of writers: -those who were better than their books, and of whom the books were only -the overflow, and those who put every drop of their being into the books -and were left with a dry and uninteresting shell.</p> - -<p>She said she thought she had only met that kind.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Netty," she said, "loves all authors and it's odd considering——"</p> - -<p>She stopped, but I ended her sentence: "She has never read a book in her -life."</p> - -<p>Miss Brandon laughed and said I was unfair.</p> - -<p>"Reading tires her. I don't think anyone has time to read a book after -they are eighteen. I haven't. But I feel I am a terrible wet blanket to -all Aunt Netty's friends. I can't even pretend to be enthusiastic. You -see I like the other sort of people so much better."</p> - -<p>I said I was afraid the other sort of people were poorly represented -here just now.</p> - -<p>"We have another friend," she said, "at least, I have."</p> - -<p>"Also a new friend?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I have known him in a way a long time," she said. "He is a Russian -called Kranitski. We met him first two years ago at Florence. He was -looking after his mother, who was ill and who lived at Florence. We used -to meet him often, but I never got to know him. We never spoke to each -other. We saw him, too, in the distance once on the Riviera."</p> - -<p>I asked what he was like.</p> - -<p>"He is all lucid intervals," she said, "it is frightening. But he is -very easy to get on with. Of course I don't know him at all really. I -have only seen him twice. But one didn't have to plough through the -usual commonplaces. He began at once as if we had known each other for -years, and I felt myself doing the same thing."</p> - -<p>I asked what he was.</p> - -<p>She didn't quite know.</p> - -<p>I said I thought I knew the name. It reminded me of something, but I -certainly did not know him. Miss Brandon said she would introduce me to -him. I asked what he looked like.</p> - -<p>"Oh, an untidy, comfortable face," she said. "He is always smiling. He -is not at all international. He is like a dog. The kind of dog that -understands you in a minute. The extraordinary thing is that after the -first time we had a talk I felt as if I knew him intimately, as if I -had met him on some other planet, as if we were going on, not as if we -were beginning. I suddenly found myself telling him things I had never -told anyone. Of course, this does happen to one sometimes with perfect -strangers, at least it does to me. Don't you think it easy sometimes to -pour out confidences to a perfect stranger? But I don't expect people -give you the opportunity. They tell you things."</p> - -<p>I said this did happen sometimes, probably because people thought I -didn't count, and that as I couldn't see their faces they needn't tell -the truth.</p> - -<p>"I would find it as difficult to tell you a lie," she said, "as to tell -a lie on the telephone. You know how difficult that is. I should think -people tell you the truth as they do in the Confessional. The priest -shuts his eyes, doesn't he?"</p> - -<p>I said I believed this was the case.</p> - -<p>"This Russian is a Catholic," she said. "Isn't that rare for a Russian?"</p> - -<p>I said he was, perhaps, a Pole. The name sounded Polish.</p> - -<p>No, he had told her he was not a Pole. He was not a man who explained. -Explanations evidently bored him. He was not a soldier, but he had been -to the Manchurian War. He had lived in the Far East a great deal, and in -Italy. Very little in Russia apparently. He had come to Haréville for a -rest cure.</p> - -<p>"I asked him," she said, "if he had been ill, and he said something had -been cut out of his life. He had been pruned. The rest of him went on -sprouting just the same."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed he spoke English.</p> - -<p>Yes, he had had an English nurse and an English governess. He had once -been to England as a child for a few weeks to the Isle of Wight. He knew -no English people. He liked English books.</p> - -<p>"Byron, and Jerome K. Jerome?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>"No," she said, "Miss Austen."</p> - -<p>I asked whether he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. Yes, they had -talked a little.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Netty talked to him about Tolstoi. Tolstoi is one of Mr. Rudd's -stock topics."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed she had retailed Rudd's views on the Russian. Was he -astonished?</p> - -<p>"Not a bit. I could see he had heard it all before," she said. "He was -angelic. He shook his ears now and then like an Airedale terrier. Aunt -Netty doesn't want him. Mr. Rudd is enough for her and she is enjoying -herself. She always finds someone here. Last year it was a composer."</p> - -<p>"Does Princess Kouragine know him?" I asked.</p> - -<p>No, she didn't. She had never met him, but she knew of him.</p> - -<p>I asked what Mr. Rudd thought about Princess Kouragine.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Rudd and Aunt Netty discuss her for hours. He has theories about -her. He began by saying she had the Slav indifference. Then Aunt Netty -said she was French. But Mr. Rudd said it was catching. People who lived -in Ireland became Irish, and people who lived in Russia became Russian. -Then Aunt Netty said Princess Kouragine had lived in France and Italy. -Mr. Rudd said she had caught the microbe, and that she was a woman who -lived only by half-hours. He meant she was only alive for half-an-hour -at a time."</p> - -<p>At that moment someone walked up the path.</p> - -<p>"Here is Monsieur Kranitski," she said. She introduced us.</p> - -<p>"I have been walking to the end of the park," he said. "It is curious, -but that side of the park with the dry lawn-tennis court, those birch -trees and some straggling fir trees on the hill and the long grass, -reminds me of a Russian garden which I used to know very well."</p> - -<p>I said that when people had described that same spot to me I had -imagined it like the descriptions of places in Tourgenev's books.</p> - -<p>He said I was quite right.</p> - -<p>I said it was a wonderful tribute to an author's powers that he could -make the character of a landscape plain, not only to a person who had -never been in his country, but even to a blind man.</p> - -<p>Kranitski said that Tourgenev described gardens very well, and a -particular kind of Russian landscape. "What I call the orthodox kind. -I hear James Rudd, the writer, is staying here. He has a gift for -describing places: Italian villages, journeys in France, little canals -at Venice, the Campagna."</p> - -<p>"You like his books?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Some of them; when they are fantastic, yes. When he is psychological I -find them annoying, but one says I am wrong."</p> - -<p>"He is too complicated," Miss Brandon said. "He spoils things by seeing -too much, by explaining too much."</p> - -<p>I asked Kranitski if he was a great novel reader. He said he liked -novels if they were very good, like Miss Austen and Henry James, or -else very, very bad ones. He could not read any novel because it was a -novel. On the other hand he could read any detective story, good, bad or -middling.</p> - -<p>Miss Brandon asked him if he would like to know Rudd.</p> - -<p>"Is he very frightful?" he asked.</p> - -<p>I said I did not think he was at all alarming.</p> - -<p>Yes, he said, he would like to make his acquaintance. He had never met -an English author.</p> - -<p>"You won't mind his explaining the Russian character to you?" I said.</p> - -<p>Kranitski said he would not mind that, and that as his mother was -Italian, and as he had lived very little in Russia and spoke Russian -badly, perhaps Mr. Rudd would not count him as a Russian.</p> - -<p>Miss Brandon said that would make the explanation more complicated -still.</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - - -<p>Life begins very early in the morning here. The water-drinkers and the -bathers begin their day at half-past six. My day does not begin till -half-past seven, as I don't drink many glasses of the water.</p> - -<p>At seven o'clock the village bell rings for Mass.</p> - -<p>It was some days after the conversations I recorded in my last chapter -I woke one morning early at half-past six and got up. I asked my -servant, Henry, to lead me to the village church. I went in and sat down -at the bottom of the aisle. Early Mass had not yet begun. The church -seemed to me empty. But from a corner I heard the whispered mutter of -a confession. Presently two people walked past me, the priest and the -penitent, I surmised. Someone walked upstairs. A boy's footsteps then -clattered past me. The church bell was rung. Someone walked downstairs -and up the aisle; the priest again, I thought. Then Mass began. Towards -the end someone again walked up the aisle. I remained sitting till the -end.</p> - -<p>At the door, outside the church, someone greeted me. It was Kranitski. -He walked back with me to the hotel. He asked me whether I was a -Catholic. I told him that Catholic churches attracted me, but that I was -an agnostic. He seemed slightly astonished at this; astonished at the -attraction in my case, I supposed. He said something which indicated -surprise.</p> - -<p>I told him I could not explain it. It was certainly not the exterior -panoply and trappings of the church which attracted me, for of those I -saw nothing. Nor was it the music, for although I was not a musician, my -long blindness had made me acutely sensitive to sound, and the sounds in -churches were often, I found, painful.</p> - -<p>I asked him if he was a Catholic.</p> - -<p>"I was born a Catholic," he said, "but for years I have not been -<i>pratiquant</i>, until I came here. Not for seven years."</p> - -<p>"You have not been inside a church for seven years?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," he said, "inside a church very often."</p> - -<p>I said most people lost their faith as young men. Sometimes it came back.</p> - -<p>"I was not like that," he said, "I never lost my faith, not for a day, -not for an hour."</p> - -<p>I said I didn't understand.</p> - -<p>"There were reasons—an obstacle," he said. "But now they are not there -any more. Now I am once more inside."</p> - -<p>"Inside what?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"The church. During those seven years I was outside."</p> - -<p>"But as you went to church when you liked," I said, "I do not see the -difference."</p> - -<p>"I cannot explain it to you," he said. "You would not understand. At -least, you would understand if you knew and I could explain, only it -would be too long. But as it was it was like knowing you couldn't have -a bath if you wanted one—like feeling always starved. You see I am -naturally believing. If I had not been, it would have been no matter. I -cannot help believing. Many times I should have liked not to believe. -Many times I was envying people who feel you go out like a candle when -you die. I am not <i>mystique</i> or anything like that; but something at the -back of my mind is keeping on saying to me: 'You know it <i>is</i> true,' -just as in some people there is something inside them which is keeping -on saying: 'You know it is <i>not</i> true.' And yet I couldn't do otherwise. -That is to say, I resolved not to do otherwise. Life is complicated. -Things are so mixed up sometimes. One has to sacrifice what one most -cares for. At least, I had to. I was caring for my religion more than -I can describe, but I had to give it up. No, that is wrong, I didn't -<i>have to</i>, but I gave it up. It was all very embarrassing. But now the -obstacle is not there. I am free. It is a relief."</p> - -<p>"But if you never lost your faith and went on going to church, and -<i>could</i> go to church whenever you liked, I cannot see what you had to -give up. I don't see what the obstacle prevented."</p> - -<p>"To explain you that I should have to tell too long a story," he said. -"I will tell you some day if you have patience to listen. Not now."</p> - -<p>We had got back to the park. I went into the pavilion to drink the -water. I asked Kranitski if he was going to have a glass.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, "I do not need any waters or any cure. I am cured -already, but I need a long rest to forget it all. You know sometimes -after illness you regret the <i>maladie</i>, and I am still a little bit -dizzy. After you have had a tooth out, in spite of the relief from pain -you mind the hole."</p> - -<p>He went into the hotel.</p> - -<p>Later in the morning I met Princess Kouragine.</p> - -<p>She asked me how Rudd's novel was getting on. I said I had not seen -him, and had had no talk with him about it. I told her I had made the -acquaintance of Kranitski.</p> - -<p>"I too," she said. "I like him. I never knew him before, but I know a -little of his history. He has been in love a very long time with someone -I knew—and still know, I won't say her name. I don't want to rake up -old scandals, but she was Russian, and she lived, a long time ago, in -Rome, and she was unhappy with her husband, whom I always liked, and -thought extremely <i>comme il faut</i>, but they were not suited."</p> - -<p>"Why didn't she divorce him?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"The children," she said; "three children, two boys and a girl, and she -adored them, so did the father, and he would never have let them go, -nor would she have left them for anyone in the world."</p> - -<p>"If she lived at Rome, I may have met her," I said.</p> - -<p>"It is quite possible," said the Princess. "My friend was a charming -person, a little vague, very gentle, very graceful, very musical, very -attractive."</p> - -<p>"Is the husband still alive?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he is alive. They do not live at Rome any more, but in the -Caucasus, and at Paris in the winter. I saw them both in Paris this -winter."</p> - -<p>I asked if the Kranitski episode was still going on.</p> - -<p>"It is evidently over," said Princess Kouragine.</p> - -<p>"Why?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Because he is happy. <i>Il n'a plus des yeux qui regardent au delà.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Was he very much in love with her?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very much. And she too. He will be a character for Mr. Rudd," she -went on, "I saw him talking to him yesterday, with Mrs. Lennox and Jean. -Jean likes him. She looks better these last two days."</p> - -<p>I said I had noticed she seemed more lively.</p> - -<p>"Ah, but physically she looks different. That child wants admiration and -love."</p> - -<p>"Love?" I said. "Won't it be rather unfortunate if she looks for love in -that quarter? He won't love again, will he? Or not so soon as this."</p> - -<p>"You are like the people who think one can only have measles once," she -said. "One can have it over and over again, and the worse you have it -once, the worse you may get it again. He is just in the most susceptible -state of all."</p> - -<p>I said they both seemed to me in the same position. They were both of -them bound by old ties.</p> - -<p>"That is just what will make it easier."</p> - -<p>I asked whether there would be any other obstacles to a marriage between -them, such as money. Princess Kouragine said that Kranitski ought to be -quite well off.</p> - -<p>"There was no obstacle of that kind," she said. "He is a Catholic, but I -do not suppose that will make any difference."</p> - -<p>"Not to Miss Brandon," I said, "nor really to her aunt: Mrs. Lennox -might, I think, look upon it as a kind of obstacle; but a little more -an obstacle than if he was a radical and a little less of one than if he -was socialist."</p> - -<p>She said she did not think that Mrs. Lennox would like her niece to -marry anyone.</p> - -<p>"But if they want to get married nothing will stop them. That girl has a -character of iron."</p> - -<p>"And he?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He has got some character."</p> - -<p>"Would the other person mind—the lady at Rome?"</p> - -<p>"She probably will mind, but she would not prevent it. <i>Elle est -foncièrement bonne.</i> Besides which she knows that it is over, there is -nothing more to be said or done. She is <i>philosophe</i> too. A sensible -woman. She insisted on marrying her husband. She was in love with him -directly she came out, and they were married at once. He would have been -an excellent husband for almost anyone else except for her, and if she -had only waited two years she would have known this herself. As it was, -she married him, and found she had married someone else. The inevitable -happened. She is far too sensible to complain now. She knows she has -made a <i>gâchis</i> of her life, and that she only has herself to thank. -As it is, she has her children and she is devoted to them. She will not -want to make a <i>gâchis</i> of Kranitski's life as well as of her own, and -she nearly did that too. If he marries and is happy she ought to be -pleased, and she will be."</p> - -<p>"And what about the young man who was engaged to Miss Brandon?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I do not give that story a thought," said the Princess. "They were -probably in the same situation towards each other as the Russian -couple I told you of were before they were married, only Jean had the -good fortune to do nothing in a hurry. She is probably now profoundly -grateful. How can a girl of eighteen know life? How can she even know -her own mind?"</p> - -<p>"It depends on the young man," I said. "We know nothing about him."</p> - -<p>"Yes, we know nothing about him; but that probably shows there is -nothing to know. If there were something to know we should know it by -now. It was all so long ago. They are both different people now, and -they probably know it."</p> - -<p>I said I would not like to speculate or even hazard a guess on such a -matter. It might be as she said, but the contrary might just as well be -true. I did not think Miss Brandon was a person who would change her -mind in a hurry. I thought she was one of the rare people who did know -her own mind. I could imagine her waiting for years if it was necessary.</p> - -<p>As I was saying this, Princess Kouragine said to me:</p> - -<p>"She is walking across the park now with Kranitski. They have sat down -on a seat near the music kiosk. They are talking hard. The lamp is being -lit—she looks ten years younger than she did last week, and she has got -on a new hat."</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - - -<p>During the rest of that day I saw nobody. I gathered there were races -somewhere, and Mrs. Lennox had taken a large party. Just before dinner I -got a message from Rudd asking whether he might dine at my table.</p> - -<p>I do not dine in the big dining-room, as I find the noise and the bustle -trying, but in a smaller room where some of the visitors have their -<i>petit déjeuner</i>.</p> - -<p>So we were alone and had the room to ourselves. I asked him if he had -been working.</p> - -<p>He said he had been making notes, plans and sketches, but he could not -get on unless he could discuss his work with someone.</p> - -<p>"The story is gradually taking shape," he said. "I haven't made up my -mind what the setting is to be. But I have got the kernel. My story is -what I told you it would be. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, but when -the Prince wakes her up she is no longer the same person as she was -when she went to sleep. The enchantment has numbed her. She will have -none of the Fairy Prince; she doesn't recognize him as a Fairy Prince, -and she lets him go away. As soon as he is gone she regrets what she -has done and begins to hope he will come back some day. Time passes and -he does come back, but he has forgotten her and he does not recognize -her. Someone else falls in love with her, and she thinks she loves him; -but, at the first kiss he gives her, the forest closes round her and she -falls asleep again."</p> - -<p>I asked him if it was going to be a fairy-tale.</p> - -<p>He said, No, a modern story with perhaps a mysterious lining to it.</p> - -<p>He imagined this kind of story. A girl brought up in romantic -surroundings. She meets a boy who falls in love with her. This, in a -way, wakens her to life, but she will not marry him; and he goes away -for years. Time passes. She leads a numbed existence. She travels, and -somewhere abroad she meets the love of her youth again. He has forgotten -her and loves someone else. Someone else wants to marry her. They are -engaged to be married. But as soon as things get as far as this the man -finds that in some inexplicable way she is different, and <i>he</i> breaks -off the engagement, and she goes on living as she did before, apparently -the same, but in reality dead.</p> - -<p>"Then," I said, "she always loves the Fairy Prince of her youth."</p> - -<p>He said: "She thinks she loves him when it is too late, but in reality -she never loves anyone. She is only half-awake in life. She never gets -over the enchantment which numbs her for life."</p> - -<p>I asked what would correspond to the enchantment in real life.</p> - -<p>He said perhaps the romantic surroundings of her childhood.</p> - -<p>I said I thought he had not meant her to be a romantic character.</p> - -<p>"No more she is," he explained. "The romance is all from outside. -She looks romantic, but she isn't. She is like a person who has been -bewitched. She always thinks she is going to behave like an ordinary -person, but she can't. She has no dreams. She would like to marry, to -have a home, to be comfortable and free, but something prevents it. When -the young man proposes to her she feels she can never marry him. As -soon as he is gone, she regrets having done this, and imagines that if -he came back she would love him."</p> - -<p>"And when he does come back, does she love him?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"She thinks she does, but that is only because he has forgotten her. -If he hadn't forgotten her, and had asked her to marry him, she would -have said 'No' a second time. Then when the other person who is in love -with her wants to marry her, she <i>thinks</i> she is in love with him; she -thinks <i>he</i> is the Fairy Prince; but as soon as they are engaged, <i>he</i> -feels that his love has gone. It has faded from the want of something -in <i>her</i> which he discovers at the very first kiss; he breaks off the -engagement, and she is grateful at being set free, and glad to go back -to her forest."</p> - -<p>I asked if she is unhappy when it is over.</p> - -<p>He said, "Yes, she is unhappy, but she accepts it. She is not -broken-hearted because she never loved him. She realizes that she can't -love and will never love, and accepts the situation."</p> - -<p>I said that I saw no mysterious lining in the story as told that way.</p> - -<p>He said there was none; but the lining would come in the manner the -story was told. He would try and give the reader the impression that -she had come into touch with the fairy world by accident and that the -adventure had left a mark that nothing could alter.</p> - -<p>She had no business to have adventures in fairy land.</p> - -<p>She had strayed into that world by mistake. She was not native to it, -although she looked as if she were.</p> - -<p>I said I thought there ought to be some explanation of how and why she -got into touch with the fairy world.</p> - -<p>He said it was perhaps to be found in the surroundings of her childhood. -She perhaps inherited some strange spiritual, magic legacy. But whatever -it was it must come from the <i>outside</i>. Perhaps there was a haunted wood -near her home, and she was forbidden to go into it. Perhaps the legend -of the place said that anyone of her family who visited that wood before -they were fifteen years old, went to sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps -she visited the wood and fell asleep and had a dream. That dream was -the hundred years' sleep, but she forgot the dream as soon as she was -awake.</p> - -<p>I asked him if he thought this story fitted on to Miss Brandon's -character or to the circumstances of her life.</p> - -<p>He said he knew little about the circumstances of her life. Mrs. Lennox -had told him that her niece had once nearly married someone, but that it -had been an impossible marriage for many reasons, and that she did not -think her niece regretted it. That several people had wanted to marry -her abroad, but that she had never fallen in love.</p> - -<p>"As to her character, I am confirmed," he said, "in what I thought about -her the first time I saw her. All her looks are poetry and all her -thoughts are prose. She is practical and prosaic and unimaginative and -quite passionless. But I should not be in the least surprised if she -married a fox-hunting squire with ten thousand a year. All that does not -matter to me. I am not writing her story, but the story of her face. -What might have been her story. And not the story of what her face looks -like, but the story of what her face means. The story of her soul, which -may be very different from the story of her life. It is the story of a -numbed soul. A soul that has visited places which it had no business to -visit and had had to pay the price in consequence.</p> - -<p>"She reminds me of those lines of Heine:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Sie waren langst gestorben und wussten</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">es selber kaum."</span><br /> -</p> - - -<p>"That is, of course, only one way of writing the story I have planned -to you. I shall not begin at the beginning at any rate. Perhaps I shall -never write the story at all. You see, I do not intend to publish it in -any case. People would say I was making a portrait. As if an artist ever -made a portrait from one definite real person. People give him ideas. -But on the other hand it is my holiday, and I do not want to have all -the labour of planning a real story, and at the same time I want an -occupation. This will keep me busy. I shall amuse myself by sketching -the story as I see it now."</p> - -<p>I asked who the hero would be.</p> - -<p>"The man who wants to marry her and whom she consents to marry will be a -foreigner," he said.</p> - -<p>"An Italian?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, "not an Italian. Not a southerner. A northerner. Possibly -a Norwegian. A Norwegian or a Dane. That would be just the kind of -person to be attracted by this fairy-tale-looking, in reality, prosaic -being."</p> - -<p>"And who would the original Fairy Prince be?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He would be an ordinary Englishman. Any of the young men I saw here -would do for that. The originality of his character would be in this: -that he would <i>look</i> and be considered the type of dog-like fidelity -and unalterable constancy, and in reality he would forget all about her -directly he met someone else he loved. He would have been quite faithful -till then. Faithful for two or three years. Then he would have met -someone else: a married woman. Someone out of his reach, and he would -have been passionately devoted to her and have forgotten all about the -Fairy Princess.</p> - -<p>"The Norwegian would be attracted by her very apathy and seeming -coldness and aloofness. He would imagine that this would all melt -and vanish away at the first kiss. That she would come to life like -Galatea. It would be the opposite of Galatea. The first kiss would turn -her to stone once more.</p> - -<p>"Then being a very nice honest fellow he would be miserable. He would -not know what to do. He would be a sailor perhaps, and be called away. -That would have to be thought about."</p> - -<p>Then we talked of other things. I asked Rudd if he had made Kranitski's -acquaintance. He said, Yes, he had. He was quite a pleasant fellow, no -brains and very commonplace and rather reactionary in his ideas; not -politically, he meant, but intellectually.</p> - -<p>He had not got further than Miss Austen and he was taken in by -Chesterton. All that was very crude. But he was amiable and good-natured.</p> - -<p>I said Princess Kouragine liked him.</p> - -<p>"Ah," he said, "that is an interesting type. The French character -infected by the Slav microbe.</p> - -<p>"What a powerful thing the Slav microbe is; more powerful even than the -Irish microbe. Her French common sense and her Latin logic had been -stricken by that curious Russian intellectual malaria. She will never -get it out of her system."</p> - -<p>I asked him if he thought Kranitski had the same malaria.</p> - -<p>"It is less noticeable in him," Rudd said, "because he <i>is</i> Russian; -there is no contrast to observe, no conflict. He is simply a Slav of -a rather conventional type. His Slavness would simply reveal itself -in his habits; his incessant cigarette-smoking; his good head for -cards—he was an admirable card-player—his facility for playing the -piano, and perhaps singing folk-songs—I don't know if he does, but he -well might; his good-natured laziness; his social facility; his quick -superficiality. There is nothing interesting psychologically there."</p> - -<p>I said that I believed his mother was Italian.</p> - -<p>Rudd said this was impossible. She might be Polish, but there was -evidently no southern strain in him. Although I knew for a fact that -Rudd was wrong, I could not contradict him; greatly as I wished to do so -I could not bring the words across my lips.</p> - -<p>I said he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance.</p> - -<p>He said he knew that he had met him in their rooms.</p> - -<p>I asked whether he thought Miss Brandon liked him.</p> - -<p>Rudd said that Miss Brandon was the same towards everyone. Profoundly -indifferent, that is to say. He did not think, he was, in fact, quite -certain that there was not a soul at Haréville who raised a ripple of -interest on the perfectly level surface of her resigned discontent.</p> - -<p>Then we went out into the park and listened to the music.</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<p>The day after Rudd dined with me I was summoned by telegram to London. -My favourite sister, who is married and whom I seldom see, was seriously -ill. She wanted to see me. I started at once for London and found -matters better than I expected, but still rather serious. I stayed with -my sister nearly a month, by which time she was convalescent. Kennaway -insisted on my going back to Haréville to finish my cure.</p> - -<p>When I got back, I found all the members of the group to which I had -become semi-attached still there, and I made a new acquaintance: Mrs. -Summer, who had just come back from the Lakes. I know little about her. -I can only guess at her appearance. I know that she is married and that -she cannot be very young and that is all. On the other hand, I feel now -that I know a great deal about her.</p> - -<p>We sat after dinner in the park. She is a friend of Miss Brandon's. We -talked of her. Mrs. Summer said:</p> - -<p>"The air here has done her such a lot of good."</p> - -<p>She meant to say: "She is looking much better than she did when she -arrived," but she did not want to talk about <i>looks</i> to me.</p> - -<p>I said: "She must get tired of coming here year after year."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Summer said that Miss Brandon hated London almost as much.</p> - -<p>I said: "You have known her a long time?"</p> - -<p>She said: "All her life. Ever since she was tiny."</p> - -<p>I asked what her father was like.</p> - -<p>"He was very selfish, violent-tempered, and rather original. When he -dined out he always took his champagne with him in a pail and in a -four-wheeler. He lived in an old house in the south of Ireland. He was -not really Irish. He had been a soldier. He played picquet with Jean -every evening. He went up to London two months every year—not in the -summer. He liked seeing the Christmas pantomime. He was devoted to -Jean, but tyrannized over her. He never let her out of his sight.</p> - -<p>"When he died he left nothing. The house in Ireland was sold, and -the house in London, a house in Bedford Square. I think there were -illegitimate children. In Ireland he entertained the neighbours, talked -politics, and shouted at his guests, and quarrelled with everyone."</p> - -<p>I presumed he was not a Radical. I was right.</p> - -<p>I said I supposed Miss Brandon could never escape.</p> - -<p>She had been engaged to be married once, but money—the want of it—made -the marriage impossible. Even if there had been money she doubted.</p> - -<p>"Because of the father?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she would never have left him. She couldn't have left him."</p> - -<p>"Did the father like the young man?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he liked him, but regarded him as quite impossible, quite out of -the question as a husband."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed he would have thought anyone else equally out of the -question.</p> - -<p>"Of course," she said. "It was pure selfishness——"</p> - -<p>I asked what had happened to the young man.</p> - -<p>He was in the army, but left it because it was too expensive. He went -out to the Colonies—South Africa—as A.D.C. He was there now.</p> - -<p>"Still unmarried?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Summer said he would never marry anyone else. He had never looked -at anyone else. He was supposed, at one time, to have liked an Italian -lady, but that was all nonsense.</p> - -<p>She felt I did not believe this.</p> - -<p>"You don't believe me," she said. "But I promise you it's true. He is -that kind of man—terribly faithful; faithful and constant. You see, -Jean isn't an ordinary girl. If one once loved her it would be difficult -to love anyone else. She was just the same when he knew her as she is -now."</p> - -<p>"Except younger."</p> - -<p>"She is just as beautiful now, at least she could be——"</p> - -<p>"If someone told her so."</p> - -<p>"Yes, if someone thought so. Telling wouldn't be necessary."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps someone will."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Summer said it was extremely unlikely she would ever meet anyone -abroad who would be the kind of man.</p> - -<p>I said I thought life was a play in which every entrance and exit was -arranged beforehand, and the momentous entrance and the <i>scène à faire</i> -might quite as well happen at Haréville as anywhere else.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Summer made no comment. I thought to myself: "She knows about -Kranitski and doesn't want to discuss it."</p> - -<p>"The man who marries Jean would be very lucky," she said. "Jean -is—well—there is no one like her. She's more than <i>rare</i>. She's -<i>introuvable</i>."</p> - -<p>I said that Rudd thought she would never marry anyone.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not," she said, "but if Mr. Rudd is right about her he will be -right for the wrong reasons. Sometimes the people who see everything -wrong <i>are</i> right. It is very irritating."</p> - -<p>I asked her if she thought Rudd was always wrong.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," she said, "but he would be wrong about Jean. Wrong about -you. Wrong about me. Wrong about Princess Kouragine, and wrongest of -all about Netty Lennox. Perhaps his instincts as an artist <i>are</i> right. -I think people's books are sometimes written by <i>someone else</i>, a kind -of planchette. All the authors I have met have been so utterly and -completely wrong about everything that stared them in the face."</p> - -<p>I asked whether she liked his books.</p> - -<p>Yes, she liked them, but she thought they were written by a familiar -spirit. She couldn't fit him into his books.</p> - -<p>"Then," I said, "supposing he wrote a book about Miss Brandon, however -wrong he might be about her, the book might turn out to be true."</p> - -<p>She didn't agree. She thought if he wrote a book about an imaginary Miss -Jones it might turn out to be right in some ways about Jean Brandon, and -in some ways about a hundred other people; but if he set out to write a -book about Jean it would be wrong.</p> - -<p>"You mean," I said, "he is imaginative and not observant?"</p> - -<p>"I mean," she said, "that he writes by instinct, as good actors act."</p> - -<p>She said there was a Frenchman at the hotel who had told her that he had -seen a rehearsal of a complicated play, in which a great actress was -acting. The author was there. He explained to the actress what he wanted -done. She said: "Yes, I see this, and this, and this." Everything she -said was terribly wide of the mark, the opposite of what he had meant. -He saw she hadn't understood a word he had said. Then the actress got on -to the stage and acted it exactly as if she understood everything.</p> - -<p>"I think," she said, "that Mr. Rudd is like that."</p> - -<p>I asked Mrs. Summer if she knew Kranitski.</p> - -<p>"Just a little," she said. "What do you think about him?"</p> - -<p>I said I liked him.</p> - -<p>"He's very quick and easy to get on with," she said.</p> - -<p>"Like all Russians."</p> - -<p>"Like all Russians, but I don't think he's quite like all Russians, at -least not the kind of Russians one meets."</p> - -<p>"No, more like the Russians one doesn't meet."</p> - -<p>"Tolstoi's Russians. Yes. It's a pity they have such a genius for -unhappiness."</p> - -<p>I said I thought Kranitski did not seem unhappy.</p> - -<p>"No, but more as if he had just recovered than if he was quite well."</p> - -<p>I said I thought he gave one the impression that he was capable of being -very happy. There was nothing gloomy about him.</p> - -<p>"All people who are unhappy are generally very happy, too," she said, -"at least they are often very...."</p> - -<p>"Gay?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>She agreed.</p> - -<p>I said I thought he was more than an unhappy person with high spirits, -which one saw often enough. He gave me the impression of a person -capable of <i>solid</i> happiness, the kind of business-like happiness that -comes from a fundamental goodness.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he might, be like that," she said, "only one doesn't know quite -what his life has been and is."</p> - -<p>She meant she knew all too well that his life had not been one in which -happiness was possible.</p> - -<p>I agreed.</p> - -<p>"One knows so little about other people."</p> - -<p>"Nothing," I said. "Perhaps he is miserable. He ought to marry. I feel -he is very domestic."</p> - -<p>"I sometimes think," she said, "that the people who marry—the men I -mean—are those who want the help and support of a woman, women are so -far stronger and braver than men; and that those who don't marry are -sometimes those who are strong enough to face life without this help. Of -course, there are others who aren't either strong enough or weak enough -to need it, but they don't matter."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed she thought Kranitski would be strong enough to do -without marriage.</p> - -<p>"I think so," she said, "but then, I hardly know him."</p> - -<p>"Does your theory apply to women, too?" I asked. "Are there some women -who are strong enough to face life alone?"</p> - -<p>She said women were strong enough to do either. In either case life was -for them just as difficult.</p> - -<p>I asked if she thought Miss Brandon would be happier married or not -married.</p> - -<p>"Jean would never marry unless she married the right person, the man she -wanted to marry," she said.</p> - -<p>"Would the person she wanted to marry," I said, "necessarily be the -right person?"</p> - -<p>"He would be more right for her, whatever the drawbacks, than anyone -else."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed nearly everyone thought they were marrying the right -person, and yet how strangely most marriages turned out.</p> - -<p>"Nothing better than marriage has been invented, all the same," she -said, "and if people marry when they are old enough...."</p> - -<p>"To know better," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it doesn't then turn out so very badly as a rule."</p> - -<p>I said that as things were at present Miss Brandon's life seemed to me -completely wasted.</p> - -<p>"So it is, but it might be worse. It might be a tragedy. Supposing she -married someone who became fond of someone else."</p> - -<p>"She would mind," I said.</p> - -<p>"She would mind terribly."</p> - -<p>I said I thought people always got what they wanted in the long run. -If she wanted a marriage of a definite kind she would probably end by -getting it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Summer agreed in the main, but she thought that although one often -did get what one wanted in the long run, it often came either too late -or not quite at the moment when one wanted it, or one found when one had -got it that it was after all not quite what one had wanted.</p> - -<p>"Then," I said, "you think it is no use wanting anything?"</p> - -<p>"No use," she said, "no use whatever."</p> - -<p>"You are a pessimist."</p> - -<p>"I am old enough to have no illusions."</p> - -<p>"But you want other people to have illusions?"</p> - -<p>"I think there is such a thing as happiness in the world, and that when -you see someone who might be happy, missing the chance of it, it's a -pity. That's all."</p> - -<p>Then I said:</p> - -<p>"You want other people to want things."</p> - -<p>"Other people? Yes," she said. "Quite dreadfully I want it."</p> - -<p>At that moment Mrs. Lennox came up to us and said:</p> - -<p>"I have won five hundred francs, and I had the courage to leave the -Casino. I can't think what has happened to Jean. I have been looking for -her the whole evening." I left them and went into the hotel.</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - - -<p>It was the morning after the conversation I had with Mrs. Summer that I -received a message from Miss Brandon. She wanted to speak to me. Could I -be, about five o'clock, at the end of the alley? I was punctual at the -rendezvous.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to have a talk," she said, "to-day, if possible, because -to-morrow Aunt Netty has organized an expedition to the lakes, and the -day after we are all going to the races, so I didn't know when I should -see you again."</p> - -<p>"But you are not going away yet, are you?" I asked.</p> - -<p>No, they were not going away, they would very likely stay on till the -end of July. Then there was an idea of Switzerland; or perhaps the -Mozart festival at Munich, followed by a week at Bayreuth. Mr. Rudd -was going to Bayreuth, and had convinced Mrs. Lennox that she was a -Wagnerite.</p> - -<p>"I thought you couldn't be going away yet—but one never knows, here -people disappear so suddenly, and I wanted to see you so particularly -and at once. You are going to finish your cure?"</p> - -<p>I said my time limit was another fortnight. After that I was going back -to my villa at Cadenabbia.</p> - -<p>"Shall you come here next year?"</p> - -<p>I said it depended on my doctor. I asked her her plans.</p> - -<p>"I don't think I shall come back next year."</p> - -<p>There was a slight note of suppressed exultation in her voice. I asked -whether Mrs. Lennox was tired of Haréville.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Netty loves it, better than ever. Mr. Rudd has promised her to -come too."</p> - -<p>There was a long pause.</p> - -<p>"I can't bear it any longer," she said at last.</p> - -<p>"Haréville?"</p> - -<p>"Haréville and all of it—everything."</p> - -<p>There was another long pause. She broke it.</p> - -<p>"You talked to Mabel Summer yesterday?"</p> - -<p>I said we had had a long talk.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure you liked her?"</p> - -<p>I said I had found her delightful.</p> - -<p>"She's my oldest friend, although she's older than I am. Poor Mabel, -she's had a very unhappy life."</p> - -<p>I said one felt in her the sympathy that came from experience.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, she's so brave; she's wonderful."</p> - -<p>I said I supposed she'd had great disappointments.</p> - -<p>"More than that. Tragedies. One thing after another."</p> - -<p>I asked whether she had any children.</p> - -<p>"Her two little girls both died when they were babies. But it wasn't -that. She'll tell you all about it, perhaps, some day."</p> - -<p>I said I doubted whether we would ever meet again.</p> - -<p>"Mabel always keeps up with everybody she makes friends with. She -doesn't often make new friends. She told me she had made two new friends -here. You and Kranitski."</p> - -<p>"She likes him?" I said.</p> - -<p>"She likes him very much. She's very fastidious, very hard to please, -very critical."</p> - -<p>I said everyone seemed to like Kranitski.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Netty says he's commonplace, but that's because Mr. Rudd said he -was commonplace."</p> - -<p>I said Rudd always had theories about people.</p> - -<p>"You like Mr. Rudd?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I said I did, and reminded her that she had told me she did.</p> - -<p>"If you want to know the truth," she said, "I don't. I think he's -awful." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? A week ago I would have rather -died than admit this to you, but now I don't care. Of course I know he's -a good writer and clever and subtle, and all that—but I've come to the -conclusion——"</p> - -<p>"To what conclusion?"</p> - -<p>"Well, that I don't—that I like the other sort of people better."</p> - -<p>"The stupid people?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"The clever people?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"What people?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Nice people."</p> - -<p>"People like——"</p> - -<p>"People like Mabel Summer and Princess Kouragine," she interrupted.</p> - -<p>"They are both very clever, I think," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but it's not that that matters."</p> - -<p>I said I thought intelligence mattered a great deal.</p> - -<p>"When it's natural," she said.</p> - -<p>"Do you think people can become religious if they're not?" she asked -suddenly.</p> - -<p>I said that I didn't feel that I could, but it certainly did happen to -some people.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it will never happen to me," she said. "I used to hope it -might never happen, but now I hope the opposite. Last night, after you -went in, Aunt Netty took us to the café, and we all sat there: Mr. -Rudd, Mabel, a Frenchman whose name I don't know, and M. Kranitski. -The Frenchman was talking about China, and said he had stayed with a -French priest there. The priest had asked him why he didn't go to Mass. -The Frenchman said he had no faith. The priest had said it was quite -simple, he had only to pray to the Sainte Vierge for faith, <i>Mon enfant, -c'est bien simple: il faut demander la foi à la Sainte Vierge.</i> He -said this, imitating the priest, in a falsetto voice. They all laughed -except M. Kranitski, who said, seriously, 'Of course, you should ask the -Sainte Vierge.' When the Frenchman and M. Kranitski went away, Mr. Rudd -said that in matters of religion Russians were childish, and that M. -Kranitski has a <i>simpliste</i> mind."</p> - -<p>I said that Kranitski was obviously religious.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "but to be like that, one must be born like that."</p> - -<p>I said that curious explosions often happened to people. I had heard -people talk of divine dynamite.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but not to the people who want them to happen."</p> - -<p>I said perhaps the method of the French priest in China was the best.</p> - -<p>"Yes, if only one could do it—I can't."</p> - -<p>I said that I felt as she did about these things.</p> - -<p>"I know so many people who are just in the same state," she said. -"Perhaps it's like wishing to be musical when one isn't. But after all -one <i>does</i> change, doesn't one?"</p> - -<p>I said some people did, certainly. When one was in one frame of mind one -couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in another.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "but I suppose there's a difference between being in -one frame of mind and not wishing ever to be in another, and in being in -the same frame of mind but longing to be in another."</p> - -<p>I asked if she knew how long Kranitski was going to stay at Haréville.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it all depends."</p> - -<p>"On his health?"</p> - -<p>"I don't think so. He's quite well."</p> - -<p>"Religion must be all or nothing," I said, going back to the topic.</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course."</p> - -<p>"If I was religious I should——"</p> - -<p>She interrupted me in the middle of my sentence.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Rudd is writing a book," she said. "Aunt Netty asked him what it -was about, and he said it was going to be a private book, a book that he -would only write in his holidays for his own amusement. She asked him -whether he had begun it. He said he was only planning it, but he had -got an idea. He doesn't like Mabel Summer. He thinks she is laughing -at him. She isn't really, but she sees through him. I don't mean he -pretends to be anything he isn't, but she sees all there is to see, -and no more. He likes one to see more. Aunt Netty sees a great deal -more. I see less probably. I'm unfair to him, I know. I know I'm very -intolerant. You are so tolerant."</p> - -<p>I said I wasn't really, but kept my intolerances to myself out of -policy. It was a prudent policy for one in my position.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Rudd adores you," she said. "He says you are so acute, so sensitive -and so sensible."</p> - -<p>I said I was a good listener.</p> - -<p>"Has he told you about his book?"</p> - -<p>I said that he had told me what he had told them.</p> - -<p>"M. Kranitski has such a funny idea about it," she said.</p> - -<p>I asked what the idea was.</p> - -<p>"He thinks he is writing a book about all of us."</p> - -<p>"Who is the heroine?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Mabel—I think," she said. "She's so pretty. Mr. Rudd admires her. He -said she was like a Tanagra, and I can see she puzzles him. He's afraid -of her."</p> - -<p>"And who is the hero?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I can't imagine," she said. "I expect he has invented one."</p> - -<p>"Why is the book private?"</p> - -<p>"Because it's about real people."</p> - -<p>"Then we may all of us be in it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What made Kranitski think that?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"The way he discusses all our characters. Each person who isn't there -with all the others who are there. For instance, he discusses Princess -Kouragine with Aunt Netty, and Mabel with Princess Kouragine, and you -with all of us; and M. Kranitski says he talks about people like a -stage manager settling what actors must be cast for a particular play. -He checks what one person tells him with what the others say. I have -noticed it myself. He talked to me for hours about Mabel one day, and -after he had discussed Princess Kouragine with us, he asked Mabel what -she thought of her. That is to say, he told her what he thought, and -then asked her if she agreed. I don't think he listened to what she -said. He hardly ever listens. He talks in monologues. But there must be -someone there to listen."</p> - -<p>"You have left out one of the characters," I said.</p> - -<p>"Have I?"</p> - -<p>"The most important one."</p> - -<p>"The hero?"</p> - -<p>"And the heroine."</p> - -<p>"He's sure to invent those."</p> - -<p>"I'm not so sure, I think you have left out the most important -character."</p> - -<p>"I don't think so."</p> - -<p>"I mean yourself."</p> - -<p>"Oh no, that's nonsense; he never pays any attention to me at all. He -doesn't talk about me to Aunt Netty or to the others."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he has made up his mind."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said slowly, "that's just it. He has made up his mind. He -thinks I'm a—well, just a lay figure."</p> - -<p>I said I was certain she would not be left out if he was writing that -kind of book.</p> - -<p>She laughed happily—so happily that I imagined her looking radiant and -felt that the lamp was lit. I asked her why she was laughing.</p> - -<p>"I'm laughing," she said, "because in one sense my novel is over—with -the ordinary happy, conventional ending—the reason I wanted to talk to -you to-day was to tell you——"</p> - -<p>At that moment Mrs. Lennox joined us. Miss Brandon's voice passed quite -naturally into another key, as she said:</p> - -<p>"Here is Aunt Netty."</p> - -<p>"I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mrs. Lennox, "I've got a -headache, and we've so many letters to write. When we've done them you -can watch me doing my patience."</p> - -<p>She said these last words as if she was conferring an undeserved reward -on a truant child.</p> - - - - -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Later on in the evening, about six o'clock, as I was drinking a glass -of water in the Pavilion, someone nearly ran into me and was saved from -doing so by the intervention of a stranger who saw at once I was blind, -although the other person had not noticed it. He shepherded me away from -the danger and apologized. He said he supposed I was an Englishman, -and that he was one too. He told me his name was Canning. We talked a -little. He asked me if I was staying at the <i>Splendide</i>. I said I was. -He said he had hoped to meet some friends of his, who he had understood -were staying there too, but he could not find their names on the list -of visitors. A Mrs. Lennox, he said, and her niece, Miss Brandon. Did I -know them? I told him they were staying at the hotel; not at the hotel -proper, but at the annexe, which was a separate building. I described -to him where it was. The man's voice struck me. It was so gentle, so -courteous, with a tinge of melancholy in it. I asked him if he was -taking the waters? He said he hadn't settled. He liked watering places. -Then our brief conversation came to an end.</p> - -<p>After dinner, Rudd fetched me and I joined the group. I was introduced -to the stranger I met in the morning: Captain Canning they called him. -Mrs. Summer and Princess Kouragine were sitting with them. They all -talked a great deal, except Miss Brandon, who said little, and Captain -Canning who said nothing.</p> - -<p>The next morning Kranitski met me at the Pavilion, and we talked a great -deal. He was in high spirits and looking forward to an expedition to -the lakes which Mrs. Lennox had organized. He was going with her, Miss -Brandon and others. While we were sitting on a seat in the <i>Galeries</i> -the postman went by with the letters. There was a letter for Kranitski, -and he asked me if I minded his reading it. He read it. There was a -silence and then suddenly he laughed: a short rather mirthless chuckle. -We neither of us said anything for a moment, and I felt, I knew, -something had happened. There was a curious strain in his voice which -seemed to come from another place, as he said: "It is time for my -douche. I shall be late. I will see you this evening." He then left me. -I saw nobody for the rest of the day.</p> - -<p>The next day I saw some of the group in the morning just before -<i>déjeuner</i>. Rudd read out a short story to us from a magazine. After -luncheon Rudd came up to my room. He wished to have a talk. He had been -so busy lately.</p> - -<p>"With your book?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No. I have had no time to touch it," he said. "It's all simmering in my -mind. I daresay I shall never write it at all."</p> - -<p>I asked him who Captain Canning was. He knew all about him. He was the -young man who had once been engaged to Miss Brandon, so Mrs. Lennox had -told him. But it was quite obvious that he no longer cared for her.</p> - -<p>"Then why did he come here?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He caught fever in India and wanted to consult Doctor Sabran, the great -malaria expert here. He was not staying on. He was going away in a few -days' time. That was one reason. There was another. Donna Maria Alberti, -the beautiful Italian, had been here for a night on her way to Italy. -Canning had met her in Africa and was said to be devoted to her."</p> - -<p>I asked him why he thought Canning no longer cared for Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>"Because," he said, "if he did he would propose to her at once."</p> - -<p>"But money," I said.</p> - -<p>That was all right now. His uncle had died. He was quite well off. He -could marry if he wanted to. He had not paid the slightest attention to -Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>"And she?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He is a different person now to what he was, but she is the same. She -accepts the fact."</p> - -<p>"But does she love anyone else?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! that——"</p> - -<p>"Is 'another story'?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Quite a different story," he said gravely.</p> - -<p>Rudd then left me. He was going out with Mrs. Lennox. Not long after -he had gone, Canning himself came and talked to me. He said he was not -staying long. He had not much leave and there was a great deal he must -do in England. He had come here to see a special doctor who was supposed -to know all about malaria. But he had found this doctor was no longer -here. He had meant to have a holiday, as he liked watering-places—they -amused him—but he found he had had so much to do in England. He kept -on getting so many business letters that he would have to go away much -sooner than he intended. He was going back to South Africa at the end of -the month.</p> - -<p>"I have still got another year out there," he said. "After that I shall -take up the career of a farmer in England, unless I settle in Africa -altogether. It is a wonderful place. I have been so much away that I -hardly feel at home in England now. At least, I think I shall hardly -feel at home there. I only passed through London on my way out here."</p> - -<p>I told him that if he ever came to Italy he must stay with me at -Cadenabbia. He said he would like to come to Italy. He had several -Italian friends. One of them, Donna Maria Alberti, had been here -yesterday, but she had gone. He sat for some time with me, but he did -not talk much.</p> - -<p>After dinner I found the usual group, all but Miss Brandon who had got a -headache, and Kranitski who was playing in the Casino. Canning joined -us for a moment, but he did not stay long.</p> - -<p>The next day I saw nothing of any of the group. There were races going -on not far off, and I had gathered that Mrs. Lennox was going to these.</p> - -<p>It was two or three days after this that Kranitski came up to my room at -ten o'clock in the morning, and asked whether he could see me. He said -he wanted to say "Good-bye," as he was going away.</p> - -<p>"My plans have been changed," he said. "I am going to London, and then -probably to South Africa at the end of the month. I have been making the -acquaintance of that nice Englishman, Canning. I am going with him."</p> - -<p>"Just for the sea voyage?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No; I shall stay there for a long time. I am <i>Europamüde</i>, if you know -what that means—tired of Europe."</p> - -<p>"And of Russia?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Most of all of Russia," he said.</p> - -<p>"I want to tell you one thing," he went on. "After our meeting the other -day I have been thinking you might think wrong. You are what we call in -Russia very <i>chutki</i>, with a very keen scent in impressions. I want -you not to misjudge. You may be thinking the obstacle has come back. It -hasn't. I am free as air, as empty air. That is what I have been wanting -to tell you. If you are understanding, well and good. If you are not -understanding, I can tell you no more. I have enjoyed our acquaintance. -We have not been knowing each other much, yet I know you very well now. -I want to thank you and go."</p> - -<p>I asked him if he would like letters. I said I wrote letters on a -typewriter.</p> - -<p>He said he would. I told him he could write to me if he didn't mind -letters being read out. My sister generally read my letters to me. She -stayed with me whenever she could at Cadenabbia. But now she was busy.</p> - -<p>He said he would write. He didn't mind who read his letters. I told him -I lived all the year in Italy, and very seldom saw anyone, so that I -should have little news to send him. "Tell me what you are thinking," he -said. "That is all the news I want."</p> - -<p>I asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He said, "Yes, -send me any books that Mr. Rudd writes. They would interest me."</p> - -<p>I promised him I would do this. Then he said "Good-bye." He went away by -the seven o'clock train.</p> - -<p>That evening I saw no one. The next morning I learnt that Canning had -gone too.</p> - -<p>Rudd came up to my rooms to see me, but I told Henry I was not well and -he did not let him come in.</p> - -<p>The next morning I talked to Princess Kouragine at the door of the -hotel. She was just leaving. I asked after Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>"They have gone," said the Princess. "They went last night to Paris. -They are going to Munich and then to Bayreuth. Jean asked me to say -'Good-bye' to you. She said she hopes you will come here next year."</p> - -<p>"Has Rudd gone with them?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He will meet them at Bayreuth later. He does not love Mozart. And there -is a Mozart festival at Munich."</p> - -<p>I asked after Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>"The same as before," said the Princess. "The lamp was lit for a moment, -but they put it out. It is a pity. The man behaved well."</p> - -<p>At that moment we were interrupted. I wanted to ask her a great deal -more. But the motor-bus drove up to the door. She said "Good-bye" to me. -She was going to Paris. She would spend the winter at Rome.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon I saw Mrs. Summer, but only for a moment. She told me -Miss Brandon had sent me a lot of messages, and I wanted to ask her -what had happened and how things stood, but she had an engagement. We -arranged to meet and have a long talk the next morning.</p> - -<p>But when the next morning came, I got a message from her, saying she had -been obliged to go to London at once to meet her husband.</p> - -<p>A little later in the day, I received a letter by post from my unmarried -sister, saying she would meet me in Paris and we could both go back to -Italy together. So I decided to do this. I saw Rudd once before I left. -He dined with me on my last night. He said that his holiday was shortly -coming to an end. He would spend three days at Bayreuth and then he -would go back to work.</p> - -<p>"On the Sleeping Beauty?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No, not on that." He doubted whether he would ever touch that again. -The idea of it had been only a holiday amusement at first. "But now," he -said, "the idea has grown. If I do it, it will have to be a real book, -even if only a short one, a <i>nouvelle.</i> The idea is a fascinating one. -The Sleeping Beauty awake and changed in an alien world. Perhaps I may -do it some day. If I do, I will send it to you. In any case I was right -about Miss Brandon. She would be a better heroine for a fairy tale than -for a modern story. She is too emotionless, too calm for a modern novel."</p> - -<p>"I have got another idea," he went on, "I am thinking of writing a story -about a woman who looked as delicate as a flower, and who crushed those -who came into contact with her and destroyed those who loved her. The -idea is only a shadow as yet. But it may come to something. In any case -I must do some regular work at once. I have had a long enough holiday. -I have been wasting my time. I have enjoyed it, it has done me good, -and conversations are never wasted, as they are the breeding ground of -ideas. Sometimes the ideas do not flower for years. But the seed is sown -in talk. I am grateful to you too, and I hope I shall meet you here -again next year. I can't invent anything unless I am in sympathetic -surroundings."</p> - -<p>The next day I left Haréville and met my sister in Paris. We travelled -to Cadenabbia together.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>OVERLOOKED</h3> - -<h3><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II">PART II</a></h3> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h3>FROM THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY.</h3> - - -<h3>I</h3> - - -<p>Two years after I had written these few chapters, I was sent once more -to Haréville. Again I went early in the season. There was nobody left -of the old group I had known during my first visit. Mrs. Lennox and her -niece were not there, and they were not expected. They had spent some -months at Haréville the preceding year.</p> - -<p>I had spent the intervening time in Italy. I had heard once or twice -from Mrs. Summer, and sometimes from Kranitski. He had gone to South -Africa with Canning and had stayed there He liked the country. Miss -Brandon was not yet married. Princess Kouragine I had not seen again. -Rudd I had neither heard from nor of. Apparently he had published one -book since he had been to Haréville and several short stories in -magazines. The book was called <i>The Silver Sandal</i>, and had nothing to -do with any of his experiences here or with any of the fancies which -they had called up. It was, on the contrary, a semi-historical romance -of a fantastic nature.</p> - -<p>During the first days of my stay here I made no acquaintances, and I was -already counting on a dreary three weeks of unrelieved dullness when my -doctor here introduced me to Sabran, the malaria specialist, who had -been away during my first cure.</p> - -<p>Dr. Sabran, besides being a specialist with a reverberating reputation -and a widely travelled man of great experience and European culture, had -a different side to his nature which was not even suspected by many of -his patients.</p> - -<p>Under the pseudonym of Gaspard Lautrec he had written some charming -stories and some interesting studies in art and literature. Historical -questions interested him; and still more, the quainter facts of human -nature, psychological puzzles, mysterious episodes, unvisited by-ways, -and baffling and unsolved problems in history, romance and everyday -life. He was a voracious reader, and there was little that had escaped -his notice in the contemporary literature of Europe.</p> - -<p>I found him an extraordinarily interesting companion, and he was kind -enough, busy as I knew him to be, either to come and see me daily, or -to invite me to his house. I often dined with him, and we would remain -talking in his sitting-room till late in the night, while he would tell -me of some of the remarkable things that had come under his notice or -sometimes weave startling and paradoxical theories about nature and man.</p> - -<p>I asked him one day if he knew Rudd's work. He said he admired it, -but it had always struck him as strange that a writer could be as -intelligent as Rudd and yet, at the same time, so obviously <i>à côté</i> -with regard to some of the more important springs and factors of human -nature.</p> - -<p>I asked him what made him think that.</p> - -<p>"All his books," he said, "any of them. I have just been reading his -last book in the Tauchnitz edition, a book of stories, not short -stories: <i>nouvelles</i>. It is called <i>Unfinished Dramas</i>. I will lend it -you if you like."</p> - -<p>We talked of other things, and I took the book away with me when I went -away. The next day I received a letter from Rudd, sending me a privately -printed story (one of 500 signed copies) called <i>Overlooked</i>, which, he -said, completed the series of his "Unfinished Dramas," but which he had -not published for reasons which I would understand.</p> - -<p>Henry read out Rudd's new book to me. There were three stories in the -book. They did not interest me greatly, and I made Henry hurry through -them; but the privately printed story <i>Overlooked</i> was none other than -the story he had thought of writing when we were at Haréville together.</p> - -<p>He had written the story more or less as he had said he had intended -to. All the characters of our old group were in it. Miss Brandon was -the centre, and Kranitski appeared, not as a Swede but as a Russian. I -myself flitted across the scene for a moment.</p> - -<p>The facts which he related were as far as I knew actually those which -had occurred to that group of people during their stay at Haréville two -years ago, but the deductions he drew from them, the causes he gave as -explaining them, seemed to me at least wide of the mark.</p> - -<p>His conception of such of his characters as I knew at all well, and -his interpretation of their motives were, in the cases in which I had -the power of checking them by my own experience, I considered quite -fantastically wrong.</p> - -<p>When I had finished reading the book, I sent it to Sabran, and with it -the MS. I had written two years ago, and I begged the doctor to read -what I had written and to let me know when he had done so, so that we -might discuss both the documents and their relation one to the other and -to the reality.</p> - -<p>(<i>Note</i>.—Here, in the bound copy of Anthony Kay's Papers, follows the -story called <i>Overlooked,</i> by James Rudd.)</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h4>OVERLOOKED</h4> - -<h4>By JAMES RUDD.</h4> - - -<h4>1</h4> - -<p>It was the after-luncheon hour at Saint-Yves-les-Bains. The Pavilion, -with its large tepid glass dome and polished brass fountains, where the -salutary, and somewhat steely, waters flowed unceasingly, the Pompeian -pillared "Galeries" were deserted; so were the trim park with its -kiosk, where a scanty orchestra played rag-time in the morning and in -the evenings; the florid Casino, which denoted the third of the three -styles of architecture that distinguished the appendages of the Hôtel de -La Source, where a dignified, shabby, white Louis-Philippe nucleus was -still to be detected half-concealed and altogether overwhelmed by the -elegant improvements and dainty enlargements of the Second Empire and -the over-ripe <i>Art Nouveau</i> excrescences of a later period.</p> - -<p>Kathleen Farrel had the park to herself. She was reading the <i>Morning -Post</i>, which her aunt, Mrs. Knolles, took in for the literary articles, -and which you would find on her table side by side with newspapers and -journals of a widely different and sometimes, indeed, of a startling and -flamboyant character; for Mrs. Knolles was catholic in her ideas and -daring in her tastes.</p> - -<p>Kathleen Farrel was reading listlessly without interest. She had lived -so much abroad that English news had little attraction for her, and she -was no longer young enough to regret missing any of the receptions, -race-meetings, garden-parties, and other social events which she was -idly skimming the record of. For it was now the height of the London -season, but Mrs. Knolles had let the London house in Hill Street. She -always let it every summer, and in the winter as well, whenever she -could find a tenant.</p> - -<p>A paragraph had caught Kathleen's eye and had arrested her attention. -It began thus: "The death has occurred at Monks-well Hall of Sir James -Stukely."</p> - -<p>Sir James Stukely was Lancelot Stukely's uncle. Lancelot would inherit -the baronetcy and a comfortable income. He had left the army some years -ago. He was at present abroad, performing some kind of secretarial -duties to the Governor of Malta. He would give up that job, which was -neither lucrative nor interesting, he would come home, and then——</p> - -<p>At any rate, he had not altogether forgotten her. His monthly letters -proved that. They had been unfailingly regular. Only—well, for the -last year they had been undefinably different. Ever since that visit -to Cairo. She had heard stories of an attachment, a handsome Italian -lady, who looked like a Renaissance picture and who was said to be -unscrupulous. But she really knew nothing, and Lancelot had always -been so reserved, so reticent; his letters had always been so bald, -almost formal, ever since their brief engagement six years before had -been broken off. Ever since that memorable night in Ireland when she -confessed to her father, who was more than usually violent and had drunk -an extra glass of old Madeira, that she had refused to marry Lancelot. -At first she had asked him not to write, and he had dutifully accepted -the restriction. But later, when her father died, he had written to her -and she had answered his letter. Since then he had written once a month -without fail from India, where his regiment had been quartered, and -then from Malta. But never had there been a single allusion to the past -or to the future. The tone of them would be: "Dear Miss Farrel, We are -having very good sport." Or "Dear Miss Farrel, We went to the opera last -night. It was too classical for me." And they had always ended: "Yours -sincerely, Lancelot Stukely."</p> - -<p>And yet she could not believe he was really different. Was she -different? "Am I perhaps different?" she thought. She dismissed the -idea. What had happened to make her different? Nothing. For the last -five years, ever since her father had died, she had lived the same -life. The winter at her aunt's villa at Bordighera, sometimes a week or -two at Florence, the summer at Saint-Yves-les-Bains, where they lived -in the hotel, on special terms, as Mrs. Knolles was such a constant -client. Never a new note, always the same gang of people round them; -the fashionable cosmopolitan world of continental watering-places, the -English and foreign colonies of the Riviera and North Italy. She had -never met anyone who had roused her interest, and the only persons whose -attention she had seemed to attract were, in her Aunt Elsie's words, -"frankly impossible."</p> - -<p>She would be thirty next year. She already felt infinitely older. "But -perhaps," she thought, "he will come back the same as he was before. He -will propose and I will accept him this time." Why had she refused him? -Their financial situation—her poverty and his own very small income -had had nothing to do with it, because Lancelot had said he was willing -to wait for years, and everyone knew he had expectations. She could not -have left her father, but then her father died a year after she refused -Lancelot.</p> - -<p>No, the reason had been that she thought she did not love him. She -had liked Lancelot, but she hoped for something more and something -different. A fairy prince who would wake her to a different life. As -soon as he had gone away, and still more when his series of formal -letters began, she realized that she had made a mistake, and she had -never ceased to repent her action. The fact was, she said to herself, -I was too young to make such a decision. I did not know my own mind. -If only he had come back when father died. If only he had been a little -more insistent. He had accepted everything without a murmur. And yet now -she felt certain he had been faithful and was faithful still, whatever -anyone might say to the contrary.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I am altered," she thought. "Perhaps he won't even recognize -me." And yet she knew she did not believe this. For although her Aunt -Elsie used to be seriously anxious about her niece's looks—fearing -anaemia, so much so that they sometimes visited dreary places on the -sea-coasts of England and France—she knew her looks had not altered -sensibly. People still stared at her when she entered a room, for -although there was nothing classical nor brilliant about her features -and her appearance, hers was a face you could not fail to observe -and which it was difficult to forget. It was a face that appealed to -artists. They would have liked to try and paint that clear white, -delicate skin, and those extraordinarily haunting round eyes which -looked violet in some lights and a deep sea-blue in others, and to try -and render the romantic childish glamour of her person, that wistful, -fairy-tale-like expression. It was extraordinary that with such an -appearance she should have been the inspirer of no romance, but so it -was. Painters had admired her; one or two adventurers had proposed to -her; but with the exception of Lancelot Stukely no one had fallen in -love with her. Perhaps she had frightened people. She could not make -conversation. She did not care for books. She knew nothing of art, and -the people her aunt saw—most of whom were foreigners—talked glibly and -sometimes wittily of all these things.</p> - -<p>Kathleen had been born for a country life, and she was condemned to live -in cities and in watering-places. She was insular; though she had lived -a great deal in Ireland, she was not Irish, and she had been cast for a -continental part. She was matter-of-fact, and her appearance promised -the opposite. She was in a sense the victim of her looks, which were so -misleading.</p> - -<p>But perhaps the solution, the real solution of the absence of romance, -or even of suitors, was to be found in her unconquerable listlessness -and apathy. She was, as it were, only half-alive.</p> - -<p>Once, when she was a little girl, she had gone to pick flowers in the -great dark wood near her home, where the trees had huge fantastic -trunks, and gnarled boles, and where in the spring-time the blue-bells -stretched beneath them like an unbroken blue sea. After she had been -picking blue-bells for nearly an hour, she had felt sleepy. She lay down -under the trunk of a tree. A gipsy passed her and asked to tell her -fortune. She had waved her away, as she had no sympathy with gipsies. -The gipsy had said that she would give her a piece of good advice -unasked, and that was, not to go to sleep in the forest on the Eve of -St. John, for if she did she would never wake. She paid no attention -to this, and she dozed off to sleep and slept for about half-an-hour. -She was an obstinate child, and not at all superstitious. When she -got home, she asked the housekeeper when was the Eve of St. John. -It happened to fall on that very day. She said to herself that this -proved what nonsense the gipsies talked, as she had slept, woken up, -come back to the house, and had high tea in the schoolroom as usual. -She never gave the incident another thought; but the housekeeper, who -was superstitious, told one of the maids that Miss Kathleen had been -<i>overlooked</i> by the fairy-folk and would never be quite the same again. -When she was asked for further explanations, she would not give any. But -to all outward appearances Kathleen was the same, and nobody noticed any -difference in her, nor did she feel that she had suffered any change.</p> - -<p>As long as she had lived with her father in Ireland, she had been fairly -lively. She had enjoyed out-door life. The house, a ramshackle, Georgian -grey building, was near the sea, and her father who had been a sailor -used sometimes to take her out sailing. She had ridden and sometimes -hunted. All this she had enjoyed. It was only after she dismissed -Lancelot, who had known her ever since she was sixteen, that the mist -of apathy had descended on her. After her father's death, this mist had -increased in thickness, and when her continental life with her aunt had -began, she had altogether lost any particle of <i>joie de vivre</i> she had -ever had. Nor did she seem to notice it or to regret the past. She never -complained. She accepted her aunt's plans and decisions, and never made -any objection, never even a suggestion or a comment.</p> - -<p>Her aunt was truly fond of her, and she tried to devise treats to please -her, and tried to awaken her interest in things. One year she had -taken Kathleen to Bayreuth, hoping to rouse her interest in music, but -Kathleen had found the music tedious and noisy, although she listened to -it without complaining, and when her aunt suggested going there another -year, she agreed to the suggestion with alacrity. The only thing which -ever roused her interest was horse-racing. Sometimes they went to the -races near Saint-Yves, and then Kathleen would become a different girl. -She would be, as long as the racing lasted, alive for the time being, -and sink back into her dreamless apathy as soon as they were over.</p> - -<p>At the same time, whenever she thought of Lancelot Stukely she felt a -pang of regret, and after reading this paragraph in the <i>Morning Post</i>, -she hoped, more than ever she had hoped before, that he would come back, -and come back unchanged and faithful, and that she would be the same for -him as she had been before, and that she would once more be able to -make his slow honest eyes light up and smoulder with love, admiration -and passion.</p> - -<p>"This time I will not make the same mistake," she said to herself. "If -he gives me the chance——"</p> - - - -<h4>2</h4> - - -<p>Her reverie was interrupted by the approach of an hotel acquaintance. It -was Anikin, the Russian, who had in the last month become an accepted -and established factor in their small group of hotel acquaintances. -Kathleen had met him first some years ago at Rome, but it was only at -Saint-Yves that she had come to know him.</p> - -<p>As he took off his hat in a hesitating manner, as if afraid of -interrupting her thoughts, she registered the fact that she knew him, -not only better than anyone else at the hotel, but better almost than -anyone anywhere.</p> - -<p>"Would you like a game?" he asked. He meant a game which was provided in -the park for the distraction of the patients. It consisted in throwing -a small ring, attached to a post by a string, on to hooks which were -fixed on an upright sloping board. The hooks had numbers underneath -them, which varied from one to 5,000.</p> - -<p>"Not just at present," she said, "I am waiting for Aunt Elsie. I must -see what she is going to do, but later on I should love a game."</p> - -<p>He smiled and went on. He understood that she wanted to be left alone. -He had that swift, unerring comprehension of the small and superficial -shades of the mind, the minor feelings, social values, and human -relations that so often distinguishes his countrymen.</p> - -<p>He might, indeed, have stepped out of a Russian novel, with his -untidy hair, his short-sighted, kindly eyes, his colourless skin, and -nondescript clothes. Kathleen had never reflected before whether she -liked him or disliked him. She had accepted him as part of the place, -and she had not noticed the easiness of relations with him. It came upon -her now with a slight shock that these relations were almost peculiar -from their ease and naturalness. It was as if she had known him for -years, whereas she had not known him for more than a month. All this -flashed through her mind, which then went back to the paragraph in the -<i>Morning Post</i>, when her aunt rustled up to her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles had the supreme elegance of being smart without looking -conventional, as if she led rather than followed the fashion. There was -always something personal and individual about her Parisian hats, her -jewels, and her cloaks; and there was something rich, daring and exotic -about her sumptuous sombre hair, with its sudden gold-copper glints and -her soft brown eyes. There was nothing apathetic about her. She was -filled to the brim with life, with interest, with energy. She cast a -glance at the <i>Morning Post</i>, and said rather impatiently:</p> - -<p>"My dear child, what are you reading? That newspaper is ten days old. -Don't you see it is dated the first?"</p> - -<p>"So it is," said Kathleen apologetically. But that moment a thought -flashed through her: "Then, surely, Lancelot must be on his way home, if -he is not back already."</p> - -<p>"I've brought you your letters," said her aunt. "Here they are."</p> - -<p>Kathleen reached for them more eagerly than usual. She expected to see, -she hoped, at least, to see, Lancelot's rather childish hand-writing, -but both the letters were bills.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Arkright and Anikin are dining with us," said her aunt, "and Count -Tilsit."</p> - -<p>Kathleen said nothing.</p> - -<p>"You don't mind?" said her aunt.</p> - -<p>"Of course not."</p> - -<p>"I thought you liked Count Tilsit."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>Kathleen felt that she had, against her intention, expressed -disappointment, or rather that she had not expressed the necessary -blend of surprise and pleasure. But as Arkright and Anikin dined with -them frequently, and as she had forgotten who Count Tilsit was, this -was difficult for her. Arkright was an English author, who was a friend -of her aunt's, and had sufficient penetration to realize that Mrs. -Knolles was something more than a woman of the world; to appreciate her -fundamental goodness as well as her obvious cleverness, and to divine -that Kathleen's exterior might be in some ways deceptive.</p> - -<p>"You remember him in Florence?" said Mrs. Knolles, reverting to Count -Tilsit.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, the Norwegian."</p> - -<p>"A Swede, darling, not a Norwegian."</p> - -<p>"I thought it was the same thing," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"I have got a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>Kathleen made an effort to prepare her face. She was determined that it -should reveal nothing. She knew quite well what was coming.</p> - -<p>"Lancelot Stukely is in London," her aunt went on. "He came back just in -time to see his uncle before he died. His uncle has left him everything."</p> - -<p>"Was Sir James ill a long time?" Kathleen asked.</p> - -<p>"I believe he was," said Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Oh, then I suppose he won't go back to Malta," said Kathleen, with -perfectly assumed indifference.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," said Mrs. Knolles. "He inherits the place, the title, -everything. He will be very well off. Would you like to drive to Bavigny -this afternoon? Princess Oulchikov can take us in her motor if you would -like to go. Arkright is coming."</p> - -<p>"I will if you want me to," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>This was one of the remarks that Kathleen often made, which annoyed -her aunt, and perhaps justly. Mrs. Knolles was always trying to devise -something that would amuse or distract her niece, but whenever she -suggested anything to her or arranged any expedition or special treat -which she thought might amuse, all the response she met with was a -phrase that implied resignation.</p> - -<p>"I don't want you to come if you would rather not," she said with -beautifully concealed impatience.</p> - -<p>"Well, to-day I <i>would</i> rather not," said Kathleen, greatly to her -aunt's surprise. It was the first time she had ever made such an answer.</p> - -<p>"Aren't you feeling well, darling?" she asked gently.</p> - -<p>"Quite well, Aunt Elsie, I promise," Kathleen said smiling, "but I said -I would sit and talk to Mr. Asham this afternoon."</p> - -<p>Mr. Asham was a blind man who had been ordered to take the waters at -Saint-Yves. Kathleen had made friends with him.</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Knolles, with a sigh. "I must go. The motor will -be there. Don't forget we've got people dining with us to-night, and -don't wear your grey. It's too shabby." One of Miss Farrel's practices, -which irritated her aunt, was to wear her shabbiest clothes on an -occasion that called for dress, and to take pains, as it were, not to do -herself justice.</p> - -<p>Her aunt left her.</p> - -<p>Kathleen had made no arrangement with Asham. She had invented the excuse -on the spur of the moment, but she knew he would be in the park in the -afternoon. She wanted to think. She wanted to be alone. If Lancelot had -been in England when Sir James died, then he must have started home at -least a fortnight ago, as the news that she had read was ten days old. -She had not heard from him for over a month. This meant that his uncle -had been ill, he had returned to London, and had experienced a change of -fortune without writing her one word.</p> - -<p>"All the same," she thought, "it proves nothing."</p> - -<p>At that moment a friendly voice called to her.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing all by yourself, Kathleen?"</p> - -<p>It was her friend, Mrs. Roseleigh. Kathleen had known Eva Roseleigh -all her life, although her friend was ten years older than herself and -was married. She was staying at Saint-Yves by herself. Her husband was -engrossed in other occupations and complications besides those of his -business in the city, and of a different nature. Mrs. Roseleigh was -one of those women whom her friends talked of with pity, saying "Poor -Eva!" But "Poor Eva" had a large income, a comfortable house in Upper -Brook Street. She was slight, and elegant; as graceful as a Tanagra -figure, fair, delicate-looking, appealing and plaintive to look at, with -sympathetic grey eyes. Her husband was a successful man of business, and -some people said that the neglect he showed his wife and the publicity -of his infidelities was not to be wondered at, considering the contempt -with which she treated him. It was more a case of "Poor Charlie," they -said, than "Poor Eva."</p> - -<p>Kathleen would not have agreed with these opinions. She was never tired -of saying that Eva was "wonderful." She was certainly a good friend to -Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"Sir James Stukely is plead," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"I saw that in the newspaper some time ago. I thought you knew," said -Mrs. Roseleigh.</p> - -<p>"It was stupid of me not to know. I read the newspapers so seldom and so -badly."</p> - -<p>"That means Lancelot will come home."</p> - -<p>"He has come home."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you know then?"</p> - -<p>"Know what?"</p> - -<p>"That he is coming here?"</p> - -<p>Kathleen blushed crimson. "Coming here! How do you know?"</p> - -<p>"I saw his name," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "on the board in the hall of the -hotel, and I asked if he had arrived. They told me they were expecting -him to-night."</p> - -<p>At that moment a tall dark lady, elegant as a figure carved by Jean -Goujon, and splendid as a Titian, no longer young, but still more than -beautiful, walked past them, talking rather vehemently in Italian to a -young man, also an Italian.</p> - -<p>"Who is that?" asked Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "is Donna Laura Bartolini. She is still -very beautiful, isn't she? The man with her is a diplomat."</p> - -<p>"I think," said Kathleen, "she is very striking-looking. But what -extraordinary clothes."</p> - -<p>"They are specially designed for her."</p> - -<p>"Do you know her?"</p> - -<p>"A little. She is not at all what she seems to be. She is, at heart, -matter-of-fact, and domestic, but she dresses like a Bacchante. She has -still many devoted adorers."</p> - -<p>"Here?"</p> - -<p>"Everywhere. But she worships her husband."</p> - -<p>"Is he here?"</p> - -<p>"No, but I think he is coming."</p> - -<p>"I remember hearing about her a long time ago. I think she was at Cairo -once."</p> - -<p>"Very likely, Her husband is an archaeologist, a <i>savant</i>."</p> - -<p>Was that the woman, thought Kathleen, to whom Lancelot was supposed to -have been devoted? If so, it wasn't true. She was sure it wasn't true. -Lancelot would never have been attracted by that type of woman, and -yet——</p> - -<p>"Aunt Elsie has asked a Swede to dinner. Count Tilsit. Do you know him?"</p> - -<p>"I was introduced to him yesterday. He admired you."</p> - -<p>"Do you like him?"</p> - -<p>"I hardly know him. I think he is nice-looking and has good manners and -looks like an Englishman."</p> - -<p>But Kathleen was no longer listening. She was thinking of Lancelot, of -his sudden arrival. What could it mean? Did he know they were here? -The last time he had written was a month ago from London. Had she said -they were coming here? She thought she had. Perhaps she had not. In any -case that would hardly make any difference, as he knew they went abroad -every year, knew they went to Saint-Yves most years, and if he didn't -know, would surely hear it in London. Yes, he must know. Then it meant -either that—or perhaps it meant something quite different. Perhaps -the doctor had sent him to Saint-Yves. He had suffered from attacks of -Malta fever several times. Saint-Yves was good for malaria. There was a -well-known malaria specialist on the medical staff. He might be coming -to consult him. What did she want to be the truth? What did she feel? -She scarcely knew herself. She felt exhilarated, as if life had suddenly -become different, more interesting and strangely irridescent. What -would Lancelot be like? Would he be the same? Or would he be someone -quite different? She couldn't talk about it, not even to Eva, although -Eva had known all about it, and Mrs. Roseleigh with her acute intuition -guessed that, and guessed what Kathleen was thinking about, and said -nothing that fringed the topic; but what disconcerted Kathleen and gave -her a slight quiver of alarm was that she thought she discerned in Eva's -voice and manner the faintest note of pity; she experienced an almost -imperceptible chill in the temperature; an inkling, the ghost of a -warning, as if Eva were thinking. "You mustn't be disappointed if——" -Well, she wouldn't be disappointed <i>if</i>. At least nobody should divine -her disappointment: not even Eva.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Roseleigh guessed that her friend wanted to be alone and left her -on some quickly invented pretext. As soon as she was alone Kathleen rose -from her seat and went for a walk by herself beyond the park and through -the village. Then she came back and played a game with Anikin at the -ring board, and at five o'clock she had a talk with Asham to quiet her -conscience. She stayed out late, until, in fact, the motor-bus, which -met the evening express, arrived from the station at seven o'clock. -She watched its arrival from a distance, from the galleries, while she -simulated interest in the shop windows. But as the motor-bus was emptied -of its passengers, she caught no sight of Lancelot. When the omnibus had -gone, and the new arrivals left the scene, she walked into the hall of -the hotel, and asked the porter whether many new visitors had arrived.</p> - -<p>"Two English gentlemen," he said, "Lord Frumpiest and Sir Lancelot -Stukely." She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and even her Aunt -Elsie was satisfied with her appearance that night. She had put on her -sea-green tea-gown: a present from Eva, made in Paris.</p> - -<p>"I wish you always dressed like that," said Mrs. Knolles, as they walked -into the Casino dining-room. "You can't think what a difference it -makes. It's so foolish not to make the best of oneself when it needs so -very little trouble." But Mrs. Knolles had the untaught and unlearnable -gift of looking her best at any season, at any hour. It was, indeed, no -trouble to her; but all the trouble in the world could not help others -to achieve the effects which seemed to come to her by accident.</p> - - - -<h4>3</h4> - - -<p>As they walked into the large hotel dining-room, Kathleen was conscious -that everyone was looking at her, except Lancelot, if he was there, and -she felt he <i>was</i> there. Arkright and Count Tilsit were waiting for them -at their table and stood up as they walked in. They were followed almost -immediately by Princess Oulchikov, whose French origin and education -were made manifest by her mauve chiffon shawl, her buckled shoes, and -the tortoise-shell comb in her glossy black hair. Nothing could have -been more unpretentious than her clothes, and nothing more common to -hundreds of her kind, than her single row of pearls and her little -platinum wrist-watch, but the manner in which she wore these things was -French, as clearly and unmistakably French and not Russian, Italian, -or English, as an article signed Jules Lemaître or the ribbons of a -chocolate Easter Egg from the <i>Passage des Panoramas</i>. She looked like a -Winterhalter portrait of a lady who had been a great beauty in the days -of the Second Empire.</p> - -<p>Her married life with Prince Oulchikov, once a brilliant and reckless -cavalry officer, and not long ago deceased, after many vicissitudes -of fortune, ending by prosperity, since he had died too soon after -inheriting a third fortune to squander it, as he had managed to squander -two former inheritances, and her at one time prolonged sojourns in the -country of her adoption had left no trace on her appearance. As to -their effect on her soul and mind, that was another and an altogether -different question.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles, whose harmonious draperies of black and yellow seemed to -call for the brush of a daring painter, sat at the further end of the -table next to the window, on her left at the end of the table Arkright, -whom you would never have taken for an author, since his motto was what -a Frenchman once said to a young painter who affected long hair and -eccentric clothes: "<i>Ne savez-vous pas qu'il faut s'habiller comme tout -le monde et peindre comme personne?</i>" On his other side sat Princess -Oulchikov; next to her at the end of the table, Kathleen, and then Count -Tilsit (fair, blue-eyed, and shy) on Mrs. Knolles's right.</p> - -<p>Kathleen, being at the end of the table, could not see any of the tables -behind her, but in front of her was a gilded mirror, and no sooner -had they sat down to dinner than she was aware, in this glass, of the -reflection of Lancelot Stukely's back, who was sitting at a table with -a party of people just opposite to them on the other side of the room. -There was nothing more remarkable about Lancelot Stukely's front view -than about his back view, and that, in spite of a certain military -squareness of shoulder, had a slight stoop. He was small and seemed made -to grace the front windows of a club in St. James's Street; everything -about him was correct, and his face had the honest refinement of a -well-bred dog that has been admirably trained and only barks at the -right kind of stranger.</p> - -<p>But the sudden sight of Lancelot transformed Kathleen. It was as if -someone had lit a lamp behind her alabaster mask, and in the effort -to conceal any embarrassment, or preoccupation, she flushed and became -unusually lively and talked to Anikin with a gaiety and an uninterrupted -ease, that seemed not to belong to her usual self.</p> - -<p>And yet, while she talked, she found time every now and then to study -the reflections of the mirror in front of them, and these told her that -Lancelot was sitting next to Donna Laura Bartolini. The young man she -had seen talking to Donna Laura was there also. There were others whom -she did not know.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles was busily engaged in thawing the stiff coating of ice -of Count Tilsit's shyness, and very soon she succeeded in putting him -completely at his ease; and Arkright was trying to interest Princess -Oulchikov in Japanese art. But the Princess had lived too long in Russia -not to catch the Slav microbe of indifference, and she was a woman -who only lived by half-hours. This half-hour was one of her moment -of eclipse, and she paid little attention to what Arkright said. He, -however, was habituated to her ways and went on talking.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles was surprised and pleased at her niece's behaviour. Never -had she seen her so lively, so gay.</p> - -<p>"Miss Farrel is looking extraordinarily well to-night," Arkright said, -in an undertone, to the Princess.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Princess Oulchikov, "she is at last taking waters from -the right <i>source.</i>" She often made cryptic remarks of this kind, and -Arkright was puzzled, for Kathleen never took the waters, but he knew -the Princess well enough not to ask her to explain. Princess Oulchikov -made no further comment. Her mind had already relapsed into the land of -listless limbo which it loved to haunt.</p> - -<p>Presently the conversation became general. They discussed the races, the -troupe at the Casino Theatre, the latest arrivals.</p> - -<p>"Lancelot Stukely is here," said Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Kathleen, with great calm, "dining with Donna Laura -Bartolini."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Laura's arrived," said Mrs. Knolles. "I am glad. That is good news. -What fun we shall all have together. Yes. There she is, looking lovely. -Don't you think she's lovely?" she said to Arkright and the Princess.</p> - -<p>Arkright admired Donna Laura unreservedly. Princess Oulchikov said she -would no doubt think the same if she hadn't known her thirty years ago, -and then "those clothes," she said, "don't suit her, they make her look -like an <i>art nouveau</i> poster." Anikin said he did not admire her at all, -and as for the clothes, she was the last person who should dare those -kind of clothes; her beauty was conventional, she was made for less -fantastic fashions. He looked at Kathleen. He was thinking that her type -of beauty could have supported any costume, however extravagant; in fact -he longed to see her draped in shimmering silver and faded gold, with -strange stones in her hair. Count Tilsit, who was younger than anyone -present, said he found her young.</p> - -<p>"She is older than you think," said Princess Oulchikov. "I remember her -coming out in Rome in 1879."</p> - -<p>"Do you think she is over fifty?" said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"I do not think it, I am sure," said the Princess.</p> - -<p>"Her figure is wonderful," said Mrs Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Was she very beautiful then?" asked Anikin.</p> - -<p>"The most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said the Princess. "People -stood on chairs to look at her one night at the French Embassy. It is -cruel to see her dressed as she is now."</p> - -<p>Count Tilsit opened his clear, round, blue eyes, and stared first at -the Princess and then at Donna Laura. It was inconceivable to his young -Scandinavian mind that this radiant and dazzling creature, dressed up -like the Queen in a Russian ballet, could be over fifty.</p> - -<p>"To me, she has always looked exactly the same," said Arkright. "In -fact, I admire her more now than I did when I first knew her fifteen -years ago."</p> - -<p>"That is because you look at her with the eyes of the past," said the -Princess, "but not of a long enough past, as I do. When you first saw -her you were young, but when I first saw her <i>she</i> was young. That makes -all the difference."</p> - -<p>"I think she is very beautiful now," said Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"And so do I," said Kathleen. "I could understand anyone being in love -with her."</p> - -<p>"That there will always be people in love with her," said the Princess, -"and young people. She has charm as well as beauty, and how rare that -is!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anikin, pensively, "how rare that is."</p> - -<p>Kathleen looked at the mirror as if she was appraising Donna Laura's -beauty, but in reality it was to see whether Lancelot was talking to -her. As far as she could see he seemed to be rather silent. General -conversation, with a lot of Italian intermixed with it, was going up -from the table like fireworks. Kathleen turned to Count Tilsit and made -conversation to him, while Anikin and the Princess began to talk in a -passionately argumentative manner of all the beauties they had known. -The Princess had come to life once more. Mrs. Knolles, having done her -duty, relapsed into a comfortable conversation with Arkright. They -understood each other without effort.</p> - -<p>The Italian party finished their dinner first, and went out on to the -terrace, and as they walked out of the room the extraordinary dignity -of Donna Laura's carriage struck the whole room. Whatever anyone might -think of her looks now, there was no doubt that her presence still -carried with it the authority that only great beauty, however much it -may be lessened by time, confers.</p> - -<p>"<i>Elle est encore très belle</i>," said Princess Oulchikov, voicing the -thoughts of the whole party.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles suggested going out. Shawls were fetched and coffee was -served just outside the hotel on a stone terrace.</p> - -<p>Soon after they had sat down, Lancelot Stukely walked up to them. He was -not much changed, Kathleen thought. A little grey about the temples, -a little bit thinner, and slightly more tanned—his face had been -burnt in the tropics—but the slow, honest eyes were the same. He said -how-do-you-do to Mrs. Knolles and to herself, and was presented to the -others.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knolles asked him to sit down.</p> - -<p>"I must go back presently," he said, "but may I stay a minute?"</p> - -<p>He sat down next to Kathleen.</p> - -<p>They talked a little with pauses in between their remarks. She did not -ask him how long he was going to stay, but he explained his arrival. He -had come to consult the malaria specialist.</p> - -<p>"We have all been discussing Donna Laura Bartolini," said Mrs. Knolles. -"You were dining with her?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "she is an old friend of mine. I met her first at Cairo."</p> - -<p>"Is she going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, "she is only passing through on her way to Italy. She -leaves for Ravenna to-morrow morning."</p> - -<p>"She is looking beautiful," said Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful, isn't she?"</p> - -<p>Then he got up.</p> - -<p>"I hope we shall meet again to-morrow," he said to Kathleen and to Mrs. -Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Are you staying on?" asked Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," he said. "I only wanted to see the doctor. I have got to go -back to England at once. I have got so much business to do."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Mrs. Knolles. "We will see you to-morrow. Will you -come to the lakes with us?"</p> - -<p>Lancelot hesitated and then said that he, alas, would be busy all day -to-morrow. He had an appointment with the doctor—he had so little time.</p> - -<p>He was slightly confused in his explanations. He then said good-night, -and went back to his party. They were sitting at a table under the trees.</p> - -<p>Kathleen felt relieved, unaccountably relieved, that he had gone, and -she experienced a strange exhilaration. It was as if a curtain had been -lifted up and she suddenly saw a different and a new world. She had -the feeling of seeing clearly for the first time for many years. She -saw quite plainly that as far as Lancelot was concerned, the past was -completely forgotten. She meant nothing to him at all. He was the same -Lancelot, but he belonged to a different world. There were gulfs and -gulfs between them now. He had come here to see Donna Laura for a few -hours. He had not minded doing this, although he knew that he would meet -Kathleen. He had told her himself that he knew he would meet her. He -had mentioned the rarity of his letters lately. He had been so busy, and -then all that business ... his uncle's death.</p> - -<p>The situation was quite simple and quite clear. But the strange thing -was that, instead of feeling her life was over, as she had expected to -feel, she felt it was, on the contrary, for the first time beginning.</p> - -<p>"I have been waiting for years," she thought to herself, "for this fairy -Prince, and now I see that he was not the fairy Prince, after all. But -this does not mean I may not meet the fairy Prince, the <i>real</i> one," and -her eyes glistened.</p> - -<p>She had never felt more alive, more ready for adventure. Anikin -suggested that they should all walk in the garden. It was still -daylight. They got up. The Princess, Arkright, Mrs. Knolles, and Count -Tilsit walked down the steps first, and passed on down an avenue.</p> - -<p>Kathleen delayed until the others walked on some way, and then she said -to Anikin, who was waiting for her:</p> - -<p>"Let us stay and talk here. It is quieter. We can go for a walk -presently."</p> - - - -<h4>4</h4> - - -<p>They did not stay long on the terrace. As soon as they saw which -direction the rest of the party had taken they took another. They walked -through the hotel gates across the street as far as a gate over which -<i>Bellevue</i> was written. They had never been there before. It was an -annexe of the hotel, a kind of detached park. They climbed up the hill -and passed two deserted and unused lawn-tennis courts and a dusty track -once used for skittles, and emerged from a screen of thick trees on to a -little plateau. Behind them was a row of trees and a green corn-field, -beneath them a steep slope of grass. They could see the red roofs of the -village, the roofs of the hotels, the grey spire of the village church, -the park, the green plain and, in the distance rising out of the green -corn, a large flat-topped hill. The long summer daylight was at last -fading away. The sky was lustrous and the air was quite still.</p> - -<p>The fields and the trees had that peculiar deep green they take on in -the twilight, as if they had been dyed by the tints of the evening. -Anikin said it reminded him of Russia.</p> - -<p>Kathleen had wrapped a thin white shawl round her, and in the dimness -of the hour she looked as white as a ghost, but in the pallor of her -face her eyes shone like black diamonds. Anikin had never seen her look -like that. And then it came to him that this was the moment of moments. -Perhaps the moon had risen. The cloudless sky seemed all of a sudden to -be silvered with a new light. There was a dry smell of sun-baked roads -and of summer in the air, and no sound at all.</p> - -<p>They had sat down on the bench and Kathleen was looking straight in -front of her out into the west, where the last remains of the sunset had -faded some time ago.</p> - -<p>This Anikin felt was the sacred minute; the moment of fate; the -imperishable instant which Faust had asked for even at the price of his -soul, but which mortal love had always denied him. In a whisper he asked -Kathleen to be his wife. She got up from the seat and said very slowly:</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will marry you."</p> - -<p>The words seemed to be spoken for her by something in her that was not -herself, and yet she was willing that they should be spoken. She seemed -to want all this to happen, and yet she felt that it was being done for -her, not of her own accord, but by someone else. Her eyes shone like -stars. But as he touched her hand, she still felt that she was being -moved by some alien spirit separate from herself and that it was not she -herself that was giving herself to him. She was obeying some exterior -and foreign control which came neither from him nor from her—some -mysterious outside influence. She seemed to be looking on at herself as -she was whirled over the edge of a planet, but she was not making the -effort, nor was it Anikin's words, nor his look, nor his touch, that -were moving her. He had taken her in his arms, and as he kissed her they -heard footsteps on the path coming towards them. The spell was broken, -and they gently moved apart one from the other. It was he who said -quietly:</p> - -<p>"We had better go home."</p> - -<p>Some French people appeared through the trees round the corner. A -middle-aged man in a nankin jacket, his wife, his two little girls. -They were acquaintances of Anikin and of Kathleen. It was the man who -kept a haberdasher's shop in the <i>Galeries</i>. Brief mutual salutations -passed and a few civilities were bandied, and then Kathleen and Anikin -walked slowly down the hill in silence. It had grown darker and a little -chilly. There was no more magic in the sky. It was as if someone had -somewhere turned off the light on which all the illusion of the scene -had depended. They walked back into the park. The band was playing an -undulating tango. Mrs. Knolles and the others were sitting on chairs -under the trees. Anikin and Kathleen joined them and sat down. Neither -of them spoke much during the rest of the evening. Presently Mrs. -Roseleigh joined them. She looked at Kathleen closely and there was a -slight shade of wonder in her expression.</p> - -<p>The next day Mrs. Knolles had organized an expedition to the lakes. -Kathleen, Anikin, Arkright, Princess Oulchikov and Count Tilsit were -all of the party. When they reached the first lake, they separated into -groups, Anikin and Kathleen, Count Tilsit and Mrs. Roseleigh, while -Arkright went with the Princess and Mrs. Knolles.</p> - -<p>Ever since the moment of magic at Bellevue, Kathleen had been like a -person in a trance. She did not know whether she was happy or unhappy. -She only felt she was being irresistibly impelled along a certain -course. It is certain that her strange state of mind affected Anikin. It -began to affect him from the moment he had held her in his arms on the -hill and that the spell had so abruptly been broken. He had thought this -had been due to the sudden interruption and the untimely intervention -of the prosaic realities of life. But was this the explanation? Was it -the arrival of the haberdasher on the scene that had broken the spell? -Or was it something else? Something far more subtle and mysterious, -something far more serious and deep?</p> - -<p>Curiously enough Anikin had passed through, on that memorable evening, -emotions closely akin to those which Kathleen had experienced. He said -to himself: "This is the Fairy Princess I have been seeking all my -life." But the morning after his moment of passion on the hill he began -to wonder whether he had dreamed this.</p> - -<p>And now that he was walking beside her along the broad road, under the -trees of the dark forest, through which, every now and then, they caught -a glimpse of the blue lake, he reflected that she was like what she had -been <i>before</i> the decisive evening, only if anything still more aloof. -He began to feel that she was eluding him and that he was pursuing a -shadow. Just as he was thinking this ever so vaguely and tentatively, -they came to a turn in the road. They were at a cross-roads and they did -not know which road to take. They paused a moment, and from a path on -the side of the road the other members of the party emerged.</p> - -<p>There was a brief consultation, and they were all mixed up once more. -When they separated, Anikin found himself with Mrs. Roseleigh. Mrs. -Knolles had sent Kathleen on with Count Tilsit.</p> - -<p>Anikin was annoyed, but his manners were too good to allow him to show -it. They walked on, and as soon as they began to talk Anikin forgot his -annoyance. They talked of one thing and another and time rushed past -them. This was the first time during Anikin's acquaintance with Mrs. -Roseleigh that he had ever had a real conversation with her. He all at -once became aware that they had been talking for a long time and talking -intimately. His conscience pricked him; but, so far from wanting to -stop, he wanted to go on; and instead of their intimacy being accidental -it became on his part intentional. That is to say, he allowed himself to -listen to all that was not said, and he sent out himself silent wordless -messages which he felt were received instantly on an invisible aerial.</p> - -<p>For the moment he put all thoughts of what had happened away from him, -and gave himself up to the enchantment of understanding and being -understood so easily, so lightly. He put up his feet and coasted down -the long hill of a newly discovered intimacy.</p> - -<p>Presently there was a further meeting and amalgamation of the group as -they reached a famous view, and the party was reshuffled. This time -Anikin was left to Kathleen. Was it actually disappointment he was -feeling? Surely not; and yet he could not reach her. She was further off -than ever and in their talk there were long silences, during which he -began to reflect and to analyse with the fatal facility of his race for -what is their national moral sport.</p> - -<p>He reflected that except during those brief moments on the hill he had -never seen Kathleen alive. He had known her well before, and their -friendship had always had an element of easy sympathy about it, but -she had never given him a glimpse of what was happening behind her -beautiful mask, and no unspoken messages had passed between them. But -just now during that last walk with Mrs. Roseleigh, he recognized only -too clearly that notes of a different and a far deeper intimacy had -every now and then been struck accidently and without his being aware -of it at first, and then later consciously, and the response had been -instantaneous and unerring.</p> - -<p>And something began to whisper inside him: "What if she is not the -Fairy Princess after all, not your Fairy Princess?" And then there came -another more insidious whisper which said: "Your Fairy Princess would -have been quite different, she would have been like Mrs. Roseleigh, and -now that can never be."</p> - -<p>The expedition, after some coffee at a wayside hotel, came to an end -and they drove home in two motor cars.</p> - -<p>Once more he was thrown together with Mrs. Roseleigh, and once more -the soul of each of them seemed to be fitted with an invisible aerial -between which soundless messages, which needed neither visible channel -nor hidden wire, passed uninterruptedly.</p> - -<p>Anikin came back from that expedition a different man. All that night -he did not sleep. He kept on repeating to himself: "It was a mistake. -I do not love her. I can never love her. It was an illusion: the spell -and intoxication of a moment." And then before his eyes the picture of -Mrs. Roseleigh stood out in startling detail, her melancholy, laughing, -mocking eyes, her quick nervous laugh, her swift flashes of intuition. -How she understood the shade of the shadow of what he meant!</p> - -<p>And that mocking face seemed to say to him: "You have made a mistake -and you know it. You were spellbound for a moment by a face. It is a -ravishing face, but the soul behind it is not your soul. You do not -understand one another. You never will understand one another. There is -an unpassable gulf between you. Do not make the mistake of sacrificing -your happiness and hers as well to any silly and hollow phrases of -honour. Do not follow the code of convention, follow the voice of your -heart, your instincts that cannot go wrong. Tell her before it is too -late. And she, she does not love you. She never will love you. She was -spellbound, too, for the moment. But you have only to look at her now -to see that the spell is broken and it will never come back, at least -you will never bring it back. She is English, English to the core, -although she looks like the illustration to some strange fairy-tale, and -you are a Slav. You cannot do without Russian comfort, the comfort of -the mind, and she cannot do without English solidity. She will marry a -squire or, perhaps, who knows, a man of business; but someone solid and -rooted to the English soil and nested in the English conventions. What -can you give her? Not even talent. Not even the disorder and excitement -of a Bohemian life; only a restless voyage on the surface of life, -and a thousand social and intellectual problems, only the capacity of -understanding all that does not interest her."</p> - -<p>That is what the conjured-up face of Mrs. Roseleigh seemed to say to him.</p> - -<p>It was not, he said to himself, that he was in love or that he ever -would be in love with Mrs. Roseleigh. It was only that she had, by her -quick sympathy, revealed his own feelings to himself. She had by her -presence and her conversation given him the true perspective of things -and let him see them in their true light, and in that perspective and in -that light he saw clearly that he had made a mistake. He had mistaken -a moment of intoxication for the authentic voice of passion. He had -pursued a shadow. He had tried to bring to life a statue, and he had -failed.</p> - -<p>Then he thought that he was perhaps after all mistaken, that the next -morning he would find that everything was as it had been before; but -he did not sleep, and in the clear light of morning he realized quite -clearly that he did not love Kathleen.</p> - -<p>What was he to do? He was engaged to be married. Break it off? Tell her -at once? It sounded so easy. It was in reality—it would be to him at -any rate—so intensely difficult. He hated sharp situations.</p> - -<p>He felt that his action had been irrevocable: that there was no way out -of it. The chain around him was as thin as a spider's web. But would -he have the necessary determination to make the effort of will to snap -it? Nothing would be easier. She would probably understand. She would -perhaps help him, and yet he felt he would never be able to make the -slight gesture which would be enough to free him for ever from that -delicate web of gossamer.</p> - - - -<h4>5</h4> - - -<p>When Anikin got up after his restless and sleepless night he walked out -into the park. The visitors were drinking the waters in the Pavilion -and taking monotonous walks between each glass. Asham was sitting in -a chair under the trees. His servant was reading out the <i>Times</i> to -him. Anikin smiled rather bitterly to himself as he reflected how many -little dramas, comedies and tragedies might be played in the immediate -neighbourhood of that man without his being aware even of the smallest -hint or suggestion of them. He sat down beside him. The servant left -off reading and withdrew.</p> - -<p>"Don't let me interrupt you," said Anikin, but after a few moments -he left Asham. He found he was unable to talk and went back to the -hotel, where he drank his coffee and for a time he sat looking at the -newspapers in the reading room of the Casino. Then he went back to the -park. One thought possessed him, and one only. How was he to do it? -Should he say it, or write? And what should he say or write? He caught -sight of Arkright who was in the park by himself. He strolled up to him -and they talked of yesterday's expedition. Arkright said there were -some lakes further off than those they had visited, which were still -more worth seeing. They were thinking of going there next week—perhaps -Anikin would come too.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid not," said Anikin. "My plans are changed. I may have to go -away."</p> - -<p>"To Russia?" asked Arkright.</p> - -<p>"No, to Africa, perhaps," said Anikin.</p> - -<p>"It must be delightful," said Arkright, "to be like that, to be able to -come and go when one wants to, just as one feels inclined, to start at -a moment's notice for Rome or Moscow and to leave the day after one has -arrived if one wishes to—to have no obligations, no ties, and to be at -home everywhere all over Europe."</p> - -<p>Arkright thought of his rather bare flat in Artillery Mansions, the -years of toil before a newspaper, let alone a publisher, would look at -any of his manuscripts, and then the painful, slow journey up the stairs -of recognition and the meagre substantial rewards that his so-called -reputation, his "place" in contemporary literature, had brought him; he -thought of all the places he had not seen and which he would give worlds -to see—Rome, Venice, Russia, the East, Spain, Seville; he thought of -what all that would mean to him, of the unbounded wealth which was there -waiting for him like ore in quarries in which he would never be allowed -to dig; he reflected that he had worked for ten years before ever being -able to go abroad at all, and that his furthest and fullest adventure -had been a fortnight spent one Easter at a fireless Pension in Florence. -Whereas here was this rich and idle Russian who, if he pleased, could -roam throughout Europe from one end to the other, who could take an -apartment in Rome or a palace in Venice, for whom all the immense spaces -of Russia were too small, and who could talk of suddenly going to -Africa, as he, Arkright, could scarcely talk of going to Brighton.</p> - -<p>"Life is very complicated sometimes," said Anikin. "Just when one -thinks things are settled and simple and easy, and that one has turned -over a new leaf of life, like a new clean sheet of blotting-paper, one -suddenly sees it is not a clean sheet; blots from the old pages come -oozing through—one can't get rid of the old sheets and the old blots. -All one's life is written in indelible ink—that strong violet ink which -nothing rubs out and which runs in the wet but never fades. The past is -like a creditor who is always turning up with some old bill that one -has forgotten. Perhaps the bill was paid, or one thought it was paid, -but it wasn't paid—wasn't fully paid, and there the interest has gone -on accumulating for years. And so, just as one thinks one is free, one -finds oneself more caught than ever and obliged to cancel all one's new -speculations because of the old debts, the old ties. That is what you -call the wages of sin, I think. It isn't always necessarily what you -would call a sin, but is the wages of the past and that is just as bad, -just as strong at any rate. They have to be paid in full, those wages, -one day or other, sooner or later."</p> - -<p>Arkright had not been an observer of human nature and a careful student -of minute psychological shades and impressions for twenty years for -nothing. He had had his eyes wide open during the last weeks, and Mrs. -Knolles had furnished him with the preliminary and fundamental data of -her niece's case. He felt quite certain that something had taken place -between Anikin and Kathleen. He felt the peculiar, the unmistakeable -relation. And now that the Russian had served him up this neat discourse -on the past he knew full well that he was not being told the truth. -Anikin was suddenly going away. A week ago he had been perfectly happy -and obviously in an intimate relation to Miss Farrel. Now he was -suddenly leaving, possibly to Africa. What had happened? What was the -cause of this sudden change of plan? He wanted to get out of whatever -situation he found himself bound by. But he also wanted to find for -others, at any rate, and possibly for himself as well, some excuse -for getting out of it. And here the fundamental cunning and ingenious -subtlety of his race was helping him. He was concocting a romance which -might have been true, but which was, as a matter of fact, untrue. He was -adding "the little more." He was inventing a former entanglement as an -obstacle to his present engagements which he wanted to cancel.</p> - -<p>Arkright knew that there had been a former entanglement in Anikin's -life, but what Anikin did not know was that Arkright also knew that this -entanglement was over.</p> - -<p>"It is very awkward," said Arkright, "when the past and the present -conflict."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anikin, "and very awkward when one is between two duties."</p> - -<p>I think I have got him there, thought Arkright. "A French writer," -he said aloud, "has said, '<i>de deux devoirs, il faut choisir le plus -désagréable</i>; that in chosing the disagreeable course you were likely to -be right."</p> - -<p>Anikin remained pensive.</p> - -<p>"What I find still more complicated," he said, "is when there is a -right reason for doing a thing, but one can't use it because the right -reason is not the real reason; there is another one as well."</p> - -<p>"For doing a duty," said Arkright. "Is that what you mean?"</p> - -<p>"There are circumstances," said Anikin, "in which one could point to -duty as a motive, but in which the duty happens to be the same as one's -inclinations, and if one took a certain course it would not be because -of the duty but because of the inclinations. So one can't any more talk -or think of duty."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Arkright, a little impatiently, "we can cancel the word -duty altogether. It is simply a case of choosing between duty and -inclination."</p> - -<p>"No," said Anikin, "it is sometimes a case of choosing between a -pleasure which is not contrary to duty (<i>et qui pourrait même avoir -l'excuse du devoir</i>)" he lapsed into French, which was his habit when -he found it difficult to express himself in English, "and an obligation -which is contrary both to duty and inclination."</p> - -<p>"What is the difference between an obligation and a duty?" asked -Arkright. He wished to pin the elusive Slav down to something definite.</p> - -<p>"Isn't there in life often a conflict between them?" asked Anikin. "In -practical life, I mean. You know Tennyson's lines:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"His honour rooted in dishonour stood</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And faith unfaithful made him falsely true."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Now I understand," thought Arkright, "he is going to pretend that he is -in the position of Lancelot to Elaine, and plead a prior loyalty to a -Guinevere that no longer counts."</p> - -<p>"I think," he said, "in that case one cannot help remaining 'falsely -true.'" That is, he thought, what he wants me to say.</p> - -<p>"One cannot, that is to say, disregard the past," said Anikin.</p> - -<p>"No, one can't," said Arkright, as if he had entirely accepted the -Russian's complicated fiction.</p> - -<p>He wanted, at the same time, to give him a hint that he was not quite so -easily deceived as all that.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it a curious thought," he said, "how often people invoke the -engagements of a past which they have comfortably disregarded up to -that moment when they no longer wish to face an obligation in the -present, like a man who in order to avoid meeting a new debt suddenly -points to an old debt as something sacred, which up till that moment he -had completely disregarded, and indeed, forgotten?"</p> - -<p>Anikin laughed.</p> - -<p>"Why are you laughing?" asked Arkright.</p> - -<p>"I am laughing at your intuition," said Anikin. "You novelists are -terrible people."</p> - -<p>"He knows I have seen through him," thought Arkright, "and he doesn't -mind. He wanted me to see through him the whole time. He wants me to -know that he knows I know, and he doesn't mind. I think that all this -elaborate romance was perhaps only meant for me. He will choose some -simpler means of breaking off his engagement with Miss Farrel than by -pleading a past obligation. He is far subtler and deeper than I thought, -subtler and deeper in his simplicity. I should not be surprised if he -were to give her no explanation whatsoever."</p> - -<p>Arkright was in a sense right. What Anikin had said to Arkright was -meant for him and not for Miss Farrel. It was not a rehearsal of a -possible explanation for her, but it was the testing of a possible -justification of himself to himself. He had not thought out what he was -going to say before he began to talk to Arkright. He had begun with -fact and had involuntarily embroidered the fact with fiction. It was -<i>Wahrheit und Dichtung</i> and the <i>Dichtung</i> had got the better of the -<i>Wahrheit</i>. His passion for make-belief and self-analysis had carried -him away, and he had said things which might easily have been true and -had hinted at difficulties which might have been his, but which, in -reality, were purely imaginary. When he saw that Arkright had divined -the truth, he laughed at the novelist's acuteness, and had let him see -frankly that he realized he had been found out and that he did not mind.</p> - -<p>It was cynical, if you called that cynicism. Anikin would not have -called it something else: the absence of cement, which a Russian writer -had said was the cardinal feature of the Russian character. He did -not mean to say or do anything to Kathleen that could possibly seem -slighting. He was far too gentle and far too easy-going, far too weak, -if you will, to dream of doing anything of the kind. With her, infinite -delicacy would be needed. He did not know whether he could break off -his engagement at all, so great was his horror of ruptures, of cutting -Gordian-knots. This knot, in any case, could not be cut. It must be -patiently unravelled if it was to be untied at all.</p> - -<p>"I think," said Arkright, "that all these cases are simple to reason -about, but difficult to act on." Anikin was once more amazed at the -novelist's perception. He laughed again, the same puzzling, quizzical -<i>Slav</i> laugh.</p> - -<p>"You Russians," said Arkright, "find all these complicated questions of -conflicting duties, divided conscience and clashing obligations, much -easier than we do."</p> - -<p>"Why?" asked Anikin.</p> - -<p>"Because you have a simple directness in dealing with subtle questions -of this kind which is so complete and so transparent that it strikes us -Westerners as being sometimes almost cynical."</p> - -<p>"Cynical?" said Anikin. "I assure you I was not being cynical."</p> - -<p>He said this smiling so naturally and frankly that for a moment Arkright -was puzzled. And Anikin had been quite honest in saying this. He could -not have felt less cynical about the whole matter; at the same time -he had not been able to help taking momentary enjoyment in Arkright's -acute diagnosis of the case when it was put to him, and at his swift -deciphering of the hieroglyphics and his skilful diagnosis, and he had -not been able to help conveying the impression that he was taking a -light-hearted view of the matter, when, in reality, he was perplexed -and distressed beyond measure; for he still had no idea of what he was -to do, and the threads of gossamer seemed to bind him more tightly than -ever.</p> - - - -<h4>6</h4> - - -<p>Anikin strolled away from Arkright, and as he walked towards the -Pavilion he met Mrs. Roseleigh. She saw at a glance that he had a -confidence to unload, and she determined to take the situation in hand, -to say what she wanted to say to him before he would have time to say -anything to her. After he had heard what she had to say he would no -longer want to make any more confidences, and if he did, she would know -how to deal with them. They strolled along the <i>Galeries</i> till they -reached a shady seat where they sat down.</p> - -<p>"You are out early," he said, "I particularly wanted——"</p> - -<p>"I particularly wanted to see you this morning," she said. "I wanted to -talk to you about Lancelot Stukely. You know his story?"</p> - -<p>"Some of it," said Anikin.</p> - -<p>"He is going away."</p> - -<p>"Because of Donna Laura?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's not that."</p> - -<p>"I thought he was devoted to her."</p> - -<p>"He likes her. He thinks she's a very good sort. So she is, but she's a -lot of other things too."</p> - -<p>"He doesn't know that?"</p> - -<p>"No, he doesn't know that."</p> - -<p>"You know how he wanted to marry Kathleen Farrel?" she said, after a -moment's pause.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anikin, "I heard a little about it."</p> - -<p>"It was impossible before."</p> - -<p>"Because of money?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but now it is possible. He's been left money," she explained. -"He's quite well off, he could marry at once."</p> - -<p>"But if he doesn't want to?"</p> - -<p>"He does want to, that is just it."</p> - -<p>"Then why not? Because Miss Farrel does not like him?"</p> - -<p>"Kathleen <i>does</i> like him <i>really</i>; at least she would like him -really—only—"</p> - -<p>"There has been a misunderstanding," said Mrs. Roseleigh. She put an -anxious note into her voice, slightly lowering it, and pressing down as -it were the soft pedal of sympathy and confidential intimacy.</p> - -<p>"They have both misunderstood, you see; and one misunderstanding has -reacted on the other. Perhaps you don't know the whole story?"</p> - -<p>"Do tell it me," he said. Once more he had the sensation of coasting or -free-wheeling down a pleasant hill of perfect companionship.</p> - -<p>"Many years ago," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "she was engaged to Lancelot -Stukely. She wouldn't marry him because she thought she couldn't leave -her father. She couldn't have left him then. He depended on her for -everything. But he died, and Lancelot, who was away, didn't come back -and didn't write. He didn't dare, poor man! It was very silly of him. -He thought he was too poor to offer her to share his poverty, but she -wouldn't have minded. Anyhow he waited and time passed, and then the -other day his uncle died and left him money, and he came back at once, -and came here at once, to see her, not to see Donna Laura. That was just -an accident, Donna Laura being here, but when he came here he thought -Kathleen no longer cared, so he decided to go away without saying -anything.</p> - -<p>"Kathleen had been longing for him to come back, had been expecting him -to come back for years. She had been waiting for years. She was not -normal from excitement, and then she had a shock and disappointment. She -was not, you see, herself. She was susceptible to all influences. She -was magnetic for the moment, ready for an electric disturbance; she was -like a watch that is taken near a dynamo on board ship, it makes it go -wrong. And now she realizes that she is going wrong and that she won't -go right till she is demagnetized."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Anikin, "she realizes."</p> - -<p>"You see," said Mrs. Roseleigh gently, "it wasn't anyone's fault. It -just happened."</p> - -<p>"And how will she be demagnetized?" asked Anikin.</p> - -<p>"Ah, that is just it," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "We must all try and help -her. We must all try to show her that we want to help. To show her that -we understand."</p> - -<p>Anikin wondered whether Mrs. Roseleigh was speaking on a full knowledge -of the case, or whether she knew something and had guessed the rest.</p> - -<p>"I suppose," he said, "you have always known what has happened to Miss -Farrel?"</p> - -<p>"I know everything that has happened to Kathleen," she said. "You see, I -have known her for years. She's my best friend. And now I can judge just -as well from what she doesn't say, as from what she says. She always -tells me enough for it not to be necessary to tell me any more. If it -was necessary, if I had any doubt, I could, and should always ask."</p> - -<p>"Then you think," said Anikin, "that she will marry Stukely?"</p> - -<p>"In time, yes; but not at once."</p> - -<p>Anikin remembered Stukely's conduct and was puzzled.</p> - -<p>"I am sure," he said, "that since he has been here he has made no -effort."</p> - -<p>"Of course he didn't," she said, "He saw that it was useless. He knew at -once."</p> - -<p>"Is he that kind of man, that knows at once?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he's that kind of man. He saw directly; directly he saw her, and -he didn't say a word. He just settled to go."</p> - -<p>Anikin felt this was difficult to believe; all the more difficult -because he wanted to believe it. Was Mrs. Roseleigh making it easy, too -easy?</p> - -<p>"But he's going back to Africa," he said.</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"He told Mr. Asham, and he told me."</p> - -<p>"He will go to London first. Kathleen will not stay here much longer -either. I am going soon to London, too, and I shall see Lancelot Stukely -there before he goes away, and do my best. And if you see him——"</p> - -<p>"Before he goes?"</p> - -<p>"Before he goes," she went on, "if you see him, perhaps you could help -too, not by saying anything, of course, but sometimes one can help——"</p> - -<p>"I have a dread," said Anikin, "of some explanations."</p> - -<p>"That is just what she doesn't want—explanations, neither he nor -she," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "Kathleen wants us to understand without -explanations. She is praying we may understand without her having to -explain to us, or without our having to explain to her. She wants to be -spared all that. She has already been through such a lot. She is ashamed -at appearing so contradictory. She knows I understand, but she doubts -whether any one else ever could, and she does not know where to turn, -nor what to do."</p> - -<p>"And when you go to London," he asked, "will you make it all right?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," she said.</p> - -<p>"Are you quite sure you can make it all right? I mean with Stukely, of -course," he said.</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Mrs. Roseleigh, but she knew perfectly well that he -really meant all right with Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"And you think he will marry her, and that she will marry him?" he -asked one last time.</p> - -<p>"I am quite sure of it," she said, "not at once, of course, but in time. -We must give them time."</p> - -<p>"Very well," he said. He did not feel quite sure that it was all right.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Roseleigh divined his uncertainty and his doubts.</p> - -<p>"You see," she said, "what happened was very complicated. She knows that -ever since Lancelot arrived, she was never really herself——"</p> - -<p>"She knows?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"She only wants to get back to her normal self."</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "I believe you know best. I will do what you tell me. -I was thinking of going to London myself," he added. "Do you think that -would be a good plan? I might see Stukely. I might even travel with him."</p> - -<p>"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "would be an excellent plan."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Roseleigh's explanation, the explanation she had just served out -to Anikin, was, as far as she was concerned, a curious blend of fact -and fiction; of honesty and disingenuousness. She was convinced that -both Kathleen and Anikin had made a mistake, and that the sooner the -mistake was rectified the better for both of them. She thought if it -was rectified, there was every chance of Stukely marrying Kathleen, but -she had no reason to suppose that her explanation of his conduct was -the true one. She thought Stukely had forgotten all about Kathleen, but -there was no reason that he should not be brought back into the old -groove. A little management would do it. He would have to marry now. He -would want to marry; and it would be the natural, normal thing for him -to marry Kathleen, if he could be persuaded that she had never cared -for anyone else; and Mrs. Roseleigh felt quite ready to undertake the -explanation. She was quite disinterested with regard to Kathleen and -quite disinterested towards Stukely. Was she quite disinterested towards -Anikin?</p> - -<p>She would not have admitted to her dearest friend, not even to herself, -that she was not; but as a matter of fact she had consciously or -unconsciously annexed Anikin. He was made to be charmed by her. She was -not in the least in love with him, and she did not think he was in -love with her; she was not a dynamo deranging a watch; she was a magnet -attracting a piece of steel; but she had not done it on purpose. She had -done it because she couldn't help it. Her conscience was quite clear, -because she was convinced she was helping Kathleen, Stukely and Anikin -out of a difficult and an impossible situation; but at the same time -(and this is what she would not have admitted) she was pleasing herself.</p> - -<p>Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival first of Kathleen -herself, then of Arkright.</p> - -<p>Kathleen had in her hands the copy of a weekly review.</p> - -<p>After mutual salutations had passed, Kathleen and Arkright sat down near -Mrs. Roseleigh and Anikin.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Elsie," said Kathleen to Arkright, "asked me to give you back -this. She is not coming down yet, she is very busy." She handed Arkright -the review.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Arkright. "Did the article on Nietzsche interest her?"</p> - -<p>"Very much, I think," said Kathleen, "but I liked the story best. The -story about the brass ring."</p> - -<p>"A sentimental story, wasn't it?" said Arkright.</p> - -<p>"What was it about?" asked Anikin.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Arkright will tell it you better than I can," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid I don't remember it well enough," said Arkright.</p> - -<p>He remembered the story sufficiently well, although being of no literary -importance, it had small interest for him; but he saw that Miss Farrel -had some reason for wanting it told, and for telling it herself, so he -pressed her to indicate the subject.</p> - -<p>"Well," she said, "it's about a man who had been all sorts of things: a -soldier, a king, and a <i>savant</i>, and who wants to go into a monastery, -and says he had done with all that the world can give, and as he says -this to the abbot, a brass ring, which he wears round his neck, falls on -to the floor of the cell. The ring had been given him by a queen whom -he had loved, a long time ago, at a distance and without telling her or -anyone, and who had been dead for years. The abbot tells him to throw it -away and he can't. He gives up the idea of entering the monastery and -goes away to wander through the world. I think he was right not to throw -away the ring, don't you?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Do you think one ought never to throw away the brass ring?" said -Anikin, with the incomparable Slav facility for "catching on," who -instantly adopted the phrase as a symbol of the past.</p> - -<p>"Never," said Kathleen.</p> - -<p>"Whatever it entails?" Anikin asked.</p> - -<p>"Whatever it entails," she answered.</p> - -<p>"Have you never thrown away your brass ring?" asked Anikin, smiling.</p> - -<p>"I haven't got one to throw away," she said.</p> - -<p>"Then I will send you one from London, I am going there in a day or -two," he said.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Roseleigh was right," he said to himself, "no explanations are -necessary."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Roseleigh looked at him with approval. Kathleen Farrel seemed -relieved too, as though a weight too heavy for her to bear had been -lifted from her, as though after having forced herself to keep awake in -an alien world and an unfamiliar sunlight, she was now allowed to go -back once more to the region of dreamless limbo.</p> - -<p>"Yes,", she said, "please send me one from London," as if there were -nothing surprising or unexpected about his departure.</p> - -<p>In truth she was relieved. The episode at <i>Bellevue</i> was as far away -from her now as the dreams and adventure of her childhood. She felt no -regret. She asked for no explanation. Anikin's words gave her no pang; -nothing but a joyless relief; but it was with the slightest tinge of -melancholy that she realized that she must be different from other -people, and she would not have had things otherwise.</p> - -<p>As Arkright looked at her dark hair, her haunting eyes and her listless -face, he thought of the Sleeping Beauty in the wood; and wondered -whether a Fairy Prince would one day awaken her to life. He did not know -her full story; he did not know that she was a mortal who had trespassed -in Fairyland and was now paying the penalty.</p> - -<p>The enchanted thickets were closing round her, and the forest was taking -its revenge on the intruder who had once rashly dared to violate its -secrecy.</p> - -<p>He did not know that Kathleen Farrel had in more senses than one been -overlooked.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY—Part II</h3> - - -<h3>II</h3> - - -<p>Dr. Sabran read the papers I sent him the very same night he received -them, and the following evening he asked me to dinner, and after dinner -we sat on the verandah of his terrace and discussed the story.</p> - -<p>"I recognized Haréville," said Dr. Sabran, "of course, although -his Saint-Yves-les-Bains might just as well have been any other -watering-place in the world. I do not know his heroine, nor her aunt, -even by sight, because I only arrived at Haréville two years ago after -they had left, and last year I was absent. Princess Kouragine I have met -in Paris. She and yourself therefore are the only two characters in the -book whom I know."</p> - -<p>"He bored Princess Kouragine," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Sabran, "that is why he has to invent a Slav microbe to -explain her indifference. But Mrs. Lennox flattered him?"</p> - -<p>"Very thoroughly," I said.</p> - -<p>"Well, the first thing I want to know is," said Sabran, "what happened? -What happened then? but first of all, what happened afterwards?"</p> - -<p>I said I knew little. All I knew was that Miss Brandon was still -unmarried; that Canning went back to Africa, stayed out his time, and -had then come back to England last year; and that I had heard from -Kranitski once or twice from Africa, but for the last ten months I had -heard nothing, either from or of him.</p> - -<p>"But," I said, "before I say anything, I want you to tell me what you -think happened and why it happened."</p> - -<p>"Well," said the doctor, "to begin with, I understand, both from your -story as well as from his, that Kranitski and Miss Brandon were engaged -to be married and that the engagement was broken off. But I also -understood from your MS. that the man Canning was for nothing in the -rupture of the engagement. It happened before he arrived. It was due, -in my opinion, to something which happened to Kranitski.</p> - -<p>"Now, what do we know about Kranitski as related by you? First of all, -that he was for a long time attached to a Russian lady who was married, -and who would not divorce because of her children.</p> - -<p>"Then, from what he told you, we know that although a believing Catholic -he said he had been outside the Church for seven years. That meant, -obviously, that he had not been <i>pratiquant</i>. That is exactly what would -have happened if he had been living with a married woman and meant to -go on doing so. Then when he arrives at Haréville, he tells you that -the obstacle to his practising his religion no longer exists. Kranitski -makes the acquaintance of Miss Brandon, or rather renews his old -acquaintance with her, and becomes intimate with her. Princess Kouragine -finds she is becoming a different being. You go away for a month, and -when you come back she almost tells you she is engaged—it is the same -as if she told you. The very next day Kranitski meets you, about to -spend a day at the lakes with Miss Brandon and evidently not sad—on -the contrary. He received a letter in your presence. You are aware -after he has read this letter of a sudden change in him.</p> - -<p>"Then a few days later he comes to see you and announces a change of -plans, and says he is going to Africa. He also gives you to understand -that the obstacle has not come back into his life. What obstacle? It can -only be one thing, the obstacle he told you of, which was preventing him -from practising his religion.</p> - -<p>"Now, what do we learn from the novel?</p> - -<p>"We learn from the novel that the day after that expedition to the -lakes, Rudd describes the Russian having a conversation with the -novelist (himself) in which he tells the novelist, firstly, that he is -going away, probably to Africa. So far we know that he was telling the -truth. Then he says that just as he found himself, as he thought, free, -an old debt or tie or obligation rises up from the past which has to -be paid or regarded or met. Rudd, in the person of Arkright, thinks he -is inventing. They talk of conflicts and divided duties and the choice -between two duties. The Russian is made to say that the most difficult -complication is when duty and pleasure are both on one side and an -obligation is on the other side, and one has to choose between them. -The novelist gives no explanation of this, he treats it merely as a -gratuitous piece of embroidery—a fantasy.</p> - -<p>"Now, I believe the Russian said what Rudd makes him say, because if he -didn't it doesn't seem to me like the kind of fantasy the novelist would -have invented had he been inventing. If he had been inventing, I think -he would have found something else."</p> - -<p>"All the same," I interrupted, "we don't know whether he said that."</p> - -<p>"We don't know whether he said anything at all," said Sabran.</p> - -<p>"I know they had a conversation," I said, "because I was in the park all -that morning and someone told me they were talking to each other. On the -other hand, he may have invented the whole thing, as Rudd says that the -novelist in his story knew about the Russian's former entanglement, and -lays stress on the fact that the Russian did not know that he knew. So -it may have been on that little basis of fact that all this fancy-work -was built."</p> - -<p>"I think," said Sabran, "that the conversation did take place. And I -think that it happened so. I think he spoke about the past and said that -thing about the blotting paper. There is a poem of Pushkin's about the -impossibility of wiping out the past."</p> - -<p>"And I think," I said, "that the Russian laughed, and said, 'You -novelists are terrible people.' Only he was laughing at the novelist's -density and not applauding his intuition."</p> - -<p>"Well, then," said Sabran, "let us postulate that the Russian did say -what he was reported to have said to the novelist, and let us conclude -that what he said was true."</p> - -<p>"In that case, the Russian said he was in the position of choosing -between a pleasure, that is to say, something he wanted to do which was -not contrary to his duty——"</p> - -<p>"For which duty might even be pleaded as an excuse," said Sabran, -quoting the very words said to have been used by the Russian.</p> - -<p>"And an obligation which was contrary both to duty and to inclination. -That is to say, there is something he wants to do. He could say it was -his duty to do it. And there is something he doesn't want to do, and he -can say it is contrary to his duty. And yet he feels he has got to do -it. It is an obligation, something which binds him."</p> - -<p>"It is the old liaison," said Sabran.</p> - -<p>"In that case," I said, "why did he go to Africa?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, why did he go to Africa? And stay there at any rate such a long -time. Did he talk of coming back?"</p> - -<p>"No, he said nothing about coming back. He said he liked the country and -the life, but he said little about either. He wrote chiefly about books -and abstract ideas."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Sabran, "there is something else in his life which we -know nothing about. There is another reason why I do not think that -the old liaison is the obligation. He took the trouble to come and see -you before he went away and to tell you that the obstacle which had -prevented his practising his religion had not reappeared in his life. It -is probable that he was speaking the truth. And he knew he was going to -Africa. So it must be something else."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," I said, "it was something to do with Canning. What are your -theories about Canning, the other man?"</p> - -<p>"What are yours?" he said. "I heard nothing about him."</p> - -<p>I said I thought that all Mrs. Summer had told me about Canning was -true. Rudd, I explained to Sabran, disliked Mrs. Summer, and had drawn -a portrait of her as a swooping gentle harpy, which I knew to be quite -false. "Although," I said, "I think the things he makes her say about -Canning are quite true. I think he reports her thoughts correctly but -attributes to her the wrong motives for saying them. I don't believe she -ever talked to him about Canning; but he knew her ideas on the subject, -through Mrs. Lennox. I believe that Canning arrived at Haréville on -purpose to see Miss Brandon. I know that the Italian lady had played -no part in his life and that it was just a chance that they met at -Haréville. I believe he arrived full of hope, and that when he saw Miss -Brandon he realized the situation as soon as he had spoken to her. This -is what Rudd makes Mrs. Summer say, and I believe that is what happened. -In Rudd's version of Mrs. Summer she is lying. Rudd had already a -preconceived notion that Miss Brandon's first love was to forget her. -He had made up his mind about that long before the young man came upon -the scene, before he knew he was coming on the scene, and when he did, -he distorted the facts to suit his fiction."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Sabran, "his ideas about Miss Brandon. All that idea -of her being the 'Princess without dreams,' without passion, being -muffled and half-awake—'overlooked,' as he says, which I suppose means -<i>ensorcelée.</i>"</p> - -<p>I told him I thought that was not only fiction but perfectly baseless -fiction. I reminded him of what Princess Kouragine had said about Miss -Brandon.</p> - -<p>"I must think it over," said Sabran. "For the present I do not see any -completely satisfactory solution. I am convinced of one thing only, and -that is that the novelist drew false deductions from facts which were -perhaps sometimes correctly observed."</p> - -<p>I said I agreed with him. Rudd's deductions were wrong; his facts were -probably right in some cases; Sabran's deductions were right, I thought, -as far as they went; but we either had not enough facts or not enough -intuition to arrive at a solution of the problem.</p> - -<p>As I was saying this, Sabran interrupted me and said:</p> - -<p>"If we only knew what was in the letter that the Russian received when -he was with you we should have the key of the enigma. It was from the -moment that he received that letter that he was different, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>I said this was so, and what happened afterwards proved that it was not -my imagination.</p> - -<p>"What in the world can have been in that letter?" said Sabran.</p> - -<p>I said I did not think we should ever know that.</p> - -<p>"Probably not," he said, musingly. "And that incident about the story of -the Brass Ring. Do you think that happened? Did they say all that?"</p> - -<p>I was able to tell him exactly what had happened with regard to that -incident.</p> - -<p>"I was sitting in the garden. It was, I think, the morning after they -had all been to the lakes, and about the middle of the day, after the -band had stopped playing, shortly before <i>déjeuner</i>, that Rudd, Miss -Brandon, Kranitski and Mrs. Summer all came and talked to me before I -went into the hotel.</p> - -<p>"Miss Brandon gave the copy of the <i>Saturday Review</i>, or whatever the -newspaper was, back to Rudd, and mentioned the story of the 'Brass -Ring,' and they discussed it, and I asked what it was about. Rudd was -asked to read it aloud to us, and he did. Miss Brandon and Kranitski -made no comments; and Rudd asked Kranitski if he thought the man had -done right to throw away his ring, and Kranitski said: 'A chain is no -stronger than its weakest link.'</p> - -<p>"Rudd said: 'Perhaps the brass ring was the strongest link.'</p> - -<p>"Kranitski and Miss Brandon said nothing, and Mrs. Summer said she was -glad the man had not thrown the ring away. Then Rudd asked Miss Brandon -whether she had ever thrown away her brass ring.</p> - -<p>"Miss Brandon said she hadn't got one, and changed the subject. Then -they all left me. That was all that happened."</p> - -<p>"I understand," said Sabran; "that is interesting, and it helps us to -understand the methods of the novelist. But we are still no nearer -a solution. I must think it over. <i>Que diable y avait-il dans cette -lettre?</i>"</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY—PART II</h3> - - -<h3>III</h3> - - -<p>The more I thought over the whole story the more puzzling it seemed to -me. The puzzle was increased rather than simplified by a letter which I -received from Kranitski from Africa, in which he expressed no intention -of coming back, but said he was living by himself, quite contented in -his solitude.</p> - -<p>I told Sabran of this letter and the Doctor said we were without one -important <i>donnée,</i> some probably quite simple fact which would be the -clue of the whole situation: the contents of the letter Kranitski had -received when he was with me—</p> - -<p>"What we want," he said, "is a moral Sherlock Holmes, to deduce what was -in that letter——"</p> - -<p>It was after I had been at Haréville about ten days, that Sabran asked -me whether I would like to make the acquaintance of a Countess Yaskov. -She was staying at Haréville and was taking the waters. He had only -lately made her acquaintance himself, but she was dining with him and -he wanted to ask a few people to meet her. I asked him what she was -like. He said she was not exactly pretty, but gentle and attractive. He -said: "<i>Elle n'est pas vraiment jolie, mais elle a une jolie taille, de -beaux yeux, et des perles.</i>"</p> - -<p>She had been divorced from her husband for years and lived generally at -Rome, so he had been told.</p> - -<p>I went to Sabran's dinner. There were several people there. I had -never met Countess Yaskov before. She seemed to be a very pleasant and -agreeable lady. I sat next to her. She was an accomplished musician, and -she played the pianoforte after dinner with a ravishing touch. She was -certainly gentle, intelligent, and natural. We were talking of Italy, -when she astonished me by saying she had not been there for some time. -Later on she astonished me still more by talking of her husband in the -most natural way in the world. But I had heard cases of Russians being -divorced and yet continuing to be good friends. I longed to ask her if -she knew Kranitski, but I could not bring his name across my lips. I -asked her if she knew Princess Kouragine. She said, "Which one?" And -when I explained or tried to describe the one I knew, there turned out -to be about a dozen Princess Kouragines scattered all over Europe; some -of them Russian and some of them not, so we did not get any further, and -Countess Yaskov was vagueness itself.</p> - -<p>We talked of every conceivable subject. As she was going away she asked -Sabran if he could lend her a book. He lent her Rudd's <i>Unfinished -Dramas</i>, and asked me if he might lend her <i>Overlooked</i>. I said -certainly, but I explained that it was more or less a private book about -real people.</p> - -<p>Two or three days later I met her in the park. She asked me if I had -read Rudd's story. I told her it had been read to me.</p> - -<p>"But it is meant to happen here, isn't it?" she said. "And aren't you -one of the characters?"</p> - -<p>I said this was, I believed, the case.</p> - -<p>"Then you were here when all that happened?" she said. "Did it happen -like that, or was it all an invention?"</p> - -<p>I said I thought there was some basis of fact in the story, and a great -deal of fancy, but I really didn't know. I did not wish to let her know -at once how much I knew.</p> - -<p>"Novelists," I said, "invent a great deal on a very slender basis, -especially James Rudd."</p> - -<p>"You know him?" she said. "He was here with you, of course?"</p> - -<p>I told her I had made his acquaintance here, but that I had never seen -him before or since.</p> - -<p>"What sort of man is he?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I gave her a colourless, but favourable portrait of Rudd.</p> - -<p>"And the young lady?" she said, "Miss—I've forgotten her name."</p> - -<p>"The heroine?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, the heroine who is 'overlooked.' Do you think she was -'overlooked'?"</p> - -<p>"In what sense?"</p> - -<p>"In the fairy-tale sense."</p> - -<p>I said I thought that was all fancy-work.</p> - -<p>"I wonder," she said, "if she married the young man."</p> - -<p>"Which one?"</p> - -<p>"The Englishman."</p> - -<p>I said I had not heard of her being married.</p> - -<p>"And was there a Russian here, too?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," I said, "his name was Kranitski."</p> - -<p>"That sounds like a Polish name."</p> - -<p>I said he was a Russian.</p> - -<p>"You knew him, too?"</p> - -<p>"Just a little."</p> - -<p>"It is an interesting story," she said, "but I think Rudd makes all the -characters more complicated than they probably were. Does Mr. Rudd know -Russia?"</p> - -<p>I said I believed not at all.</p> - -<p>"I thought not," she said.</p> - -<p>I said that Kranitski seemed to me a far simpler character than Rudd's -Anikin.</p> - -<p>"Did Dr. Sabran know all those people?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I said Dr. Sabran had not been here while it was going on.</p> - -<p>"It would be very annoying for that poor girl to find herself in a -book," she said, "if he published it."</p> - -<p>I said that Rudd would probably never publish it—although he would -probably deny that he had made portraits, and to some extent with -reason, as his Kathleen Farrel was quite unlike Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>"Oh, her name was Miss Brandon," Countess Yaskov said, pensively. "If -she comes here this year you must introduce me to her. I think I should -like her."</p> - -<p>"Everyone said she was beautiful," I said.</p> - -<p>"One sees that from the novel. I suppose James Rudd invented a character -which he thought suited her face."</p> - -<p>I said that that was exactly what had happened. Rudd had started with -a theory about Miss Brandon, that she was such and such person, and he -distorted the facts till they fitted with his theory. At least, that was -what I imagined to have been the case.</p> - -<p>I asked Countess Yaskov what she thought of the psychology of Rudd's -Russian. I said she ought to be a good judge. She laughed and said:</p> - -<p>"Yes, I ought to be a good judge. I think he is rather severe on the -Slavs, don't you? He makes that poor Anikin so very complicated, and so -very sly and fickle as well."</p> - -<p>I said I thought the excuses which Rudd credited the Russian with making -to himself for breaking off the engagement with the heroine of the book, -were absurd.</p> - -<p>"Do you think the Russian said those things or that the novelist -invented them?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I said I thought he had said what he was reported to have said.</p> - -<p>"If he said that, he was not lying," she said.</p> - -<p>I agreed, and I also thought he <i>had</i> said all that; but that Rudd's -explanation of his words was wrong. If that was true he must have broken -off his engagement.</p> - -<p>"There is nothing very improbable in that, is there?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," I said. And yet I thought that Kranitski had finished with -whatever there was in the past that might have been an obstacle to his -present.</p> - -<p>"Did he tell you that?" she asked.</p> - -<p>As she said that, although the tone of her voice was quite natural, -almost too natural, there was a peculiar intonation in the way she -said the word "he," in that word and that word only, which gave me the -curious sensation of a veil being lifted. I felt I was looking through -a hole in the clouds. I felt certain that Countess Yaskov had known -Kranitski.</p> - -<p>"He never told me one word that had anything to do with what Rudd tells -in his novel," I said.</p> - -<p>I felt that my voice was no longer natural as I said this. There was a -strain in it. There was a pause. I do not know why I now felt certain -that Countess Yaskov possessed the key of the mystery. I suddenly -felt she was the woman whom Kranitski had known and loved for seven -years, so much so, that I could say nothing further. I also felt that -she knew that I knew. We talked of other things. In the course of the -conversation I asked her if she thought of staying a long time at -Haréville.</p> - -<p>"It depends on my husband," she said. "I don't know yet whether he is -coming here to fetch me, or whether he wants me to meet him. At any rate -I shall go back to Russia for my boys' holidays. I have two sons at -school."</p> - -<p>The next time I saw Sabran I asked him what he had meant by telling me -that Countess Yaskov was divorced from her husband. I told him what she -had said to me about her husband and her sons. He did not seem greatly -surprised; but he stuck to his point that she was divorced.</p> - -<p>The next time I saw Countess Yaskov, she told me she had told a friend -of hers about Rudd's story. Her friend had instantly recognized the -character of Anikin.</p> - -<p>"My friend tells me," she said, "that the novelist is quite false as -far as that character is concerned, false and not fair. She said what -happened was this: The man whom Rudd describes as Anikin had been in -love for many years with a married woman. She was in love with him, -too, but she did not want to divorce her husband, for various reasons. -So they separated. They separated after having known each other a long -time. Then the woman changed her mind and she settled she would divorce, -and she let Anikin know. She wrote to him and said she was willing, at -last, to divorce. My friend says it was complicated by other things as -well. She did not tell me the whole story, but the man went to Africa -and the woman did not divorce. What Anikin was supposed to have said to -the novelist was true. He told the truth, and the novelist thought he -was saying false things. That is what you thought, too. But all has been -for the best in the end, because do you know what there is in to-day's -<i>Daily Mail</i>?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I said no one had read me the newspaper as yet.</p> - -<p>"The marriage is announced," she said, "of Miss Brandon to a man called -Sir Somebody Canning."</p> - -<p>"That," said I, "is the Englishman in the book."</p> - -<p>"So Mr. Rudd was wrong altogether," she said, and she laughed.</p> - -<p>That is all that passed between us on this occasion, and I think this -is a literal and complete transcription of our conversation. Countess -Yaskov told me her story, the narrative of her friend, with perfect -naturalness and with a quiet ease. She talked as if she were relating -<i>facts</i> that had no particular personal interest for her. There was not -a tremor in her voice, not an intonation, either of satisfaction or -pain, nothing but the quiet impersonal interest one feels for people in -a book. She might have been discussing Anna Karenina, or a character of -Stendhal. She was neutral and impartial, an interested but completely -disinterested spectator.</p> - -<p>The tone of her voice was subtly different from what it had been -the other day towards the end of our conversation. For during that -conversation, admirably natural as she had been, and although her voice -only betrayed her in the intonation of one syllable. I feel now, -looking back on it, that she was not sure of herself, that she knew she -was walking the whole time on the edge of a precipice.</p> - -<p>This time I felt she was quite sure of herself; sure of her part. She -was word-perfect and serenely confident.</p> - -<p>Of course, what she said startled me. First of all, the <i>soi-disant</i> -explanation of her friend. Had she told a friend about the story? I -thought not. Indeed, I feel now quite certain that the friend was an -invention, quite certain that she knew I had recognized her as the -missing factor in the drama, and that she had wished me not to have a -false impression of Kranitski. But at the time, while she was talking -she seemed so natural that for the moment I believed, or almost -believed, in the friend. But when she told me of Miss Brandon's marriage -she furnished me with the explanation of her perfect acting, if it was -acting. I thought it was the possession of this piece of news which -enabled her to tell me that story so calmly and so dispassionately.</p> - -<p>Of course I may still be quite wrong. I may be seeing too much. Perhaps -she had nothing to do with Kranitski, and perhaps she did tell a -friend. She has friends here.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless I felt certain during our first conversation, at the moment -I felt I was looking through the clouds, that she had been aware of -it; aware that I had not been able to go on talking of the story as -naturally as I had done before. Her explanation, what her friend was -supposed to have said, fitted in exactly with my suppositions, and -with what I already knew. Sabran had been right. The clue to the whole -thing was the letter. The letter that Kranitski had received when he -was talking to me and which had made so sudden a change in him was the -letter from her, from Countess Yaskov, saying she was ready to divorce -and to marry him. He received this letter just after he was engaged to -be married to Miss Brandon. It put him in a terrible situation. This -situation fitted exactly with what Rudd made him say to the novelist in -the story: his obligation to the past conflicted with his inclination, -namely, his desire to marry Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>Of course I might be quite wrong. It might all be my imagination. The -next day I got a belated letter, from Miss Brandon, forwarded from -Cadenabbia, telling me of her engagement. She said they were to be -married at once, quite quietly. She knew it was no use asking me, but if -I had been in London, etc. She made no other comments.</p> - -<p>That evening I dined with Sabran. I told him the news about Miss -Brandon, and I told him what Countess Yaskov had told me her friend had -told her about the story.</p> - -<p>"Half the problem is solved," he said. "The story of Countess -Yaskov's friend explains the words which Rudd lends to the Russian. -His inclination, which was to marry Miss Brandon, coincides with the -religious duty of a <i>croyant</i>, which is not to marry a <i>divorcée</i>, and -not to put himself once more outside the pale of the Church, but it -clashes with his obligation, which is to be faithful to his friend of -seven years. His inclination coincides with his duty, but his duty is -in conflict with his obligation. What does he do? He goes away. Does he -explain? Who knows? He was, indeed, in a <i>fichu</i> situation. And now Miss -Brandon marries the young man. Either she had loved him all the time, or -else, feeling her romance was over, she was marrying to be married. In -any case, her novel, so far from being ended, is only just beginning. -And the Russian? Was it a real <i>amour</i> or a <i>coup-de-tête</i>? Time will -show. For himself he thought it was only a <i>coup-de-tête</i>: he will go -back to his first love, but she will never divorce."</p> - -<p>I asked him again whether he was sure that Countess Yaskov was divorced -from her husband. He was quite positive. He knew it <i>de source -certaine</i>. She had been divorced years ago, and she lived at Rome. I was -puzzled. In that case, why did she try and deceive me, and at the same -time if she wanted to deceive me why did she tell me so much? Why did -she give me the key of the problem? I said nothing of that to Sabran. I -saw it was no use.</p> - -<p>A few days later, Countess Yaskov left Haréville. She told me she was -going to join her husband. I did not remain long at Haréville after -that. A few days before I left, Princess Kouragine arrived. I told her -about Miss Brandon's marriage. She said she was not surprised. Canning -deserved to marry her for having waited so long. "But," she said, "he -will never light that lamp."</p> - -<p>I asked her if she was sorry for Kranitski. She said:</p> - -<p>"<i>Very</i>, but it could not be otherwise."</p> - -<p>That is all she said. When I told her that I had made the acquaintance -of Countess Yaskov, she said:</p> - -<p>"Which one?"</p> - -<p>I said it was the one who lived in Rome and who was separated from her -husband.</p> - -<p>The next day she said to me: "You were mistaken about Countess Yaskov. -The Countess Yaskov who was here is Countess <i>Irina</i> Yaskov. She is not -divorced, and she lives in Russia now. The one you mean is Countess -Helene Yaskov. She lives at Rome. They are not relations even. You -confused the two, because they both at different times lived at Rome." I -now saw why I had been put off the scent for a moment by Sabran. I asked -her if she knew my Countess Yaskov. She said she had met her, but did -not know her well.</p> - -<p>"She is a quiet woman," she said. "<i>On dit qu'elle est charmante</i>."</p> - -<p>Just about this time I received a long letter from Rudd. He said he -must publish <i>Overlooked.</i> He had been told he ought to publish it by -everybody. He might, he said, just as well publish it, since printing -five hundred copies and circulating them privately was in reality -courting the maximum of publicity: the maximum in quality if not in -quantity. By doing this, one made sure that the only people it might -matter reading the book, read it. He did not care who saw it, in the -provinces, in Australia, or in America. The people who mattered, and the -only people who mattered, were friends, acquaintances and the London -literary world, and now they had all seen it. Besides which, his series -of unfinished dramas would be incomplete without it; and he did not -think it was <i>fair</i> on his publisher to leave out <i>Overlooked</i>. "Besides -which," he said, "it is not as if the characters in the books were -portraits. You know better than anyone that this is not so." He ended -up, after making it excruciatingly clear that he had irrevocably and -finally made up his mind to publish, by asking my advice; that is to -say, he wanted me to say that I agreed with him. I wrote to him and said -that I quite understood why he had settled to publish the story, and I -referred to Miss Brandon's marriage at the end of my letter. Before I -heard from him again, I was called away from Haréville, and I had to -leave in a hurry. It was lucky I did so, because I got away only just in -time, either to avoid being compelled to remain at Haréville for a far -longer time than I should have wished to do, or from having to take part -in a desperate struggle for escape. The date of my departure was July -27th, 1914.</p> - -<p>The morning I left I said good-bye to Princess Kouragine, and I reminded -her that when I had said good-bye to her two years ago she had said to -me, talking of Miss Brandon: "The <i>man</i> behaved well." I asked her which -man she had meant. She said:</p> - -<p>"I meant the other one."</p> - -<p>"Which do you call the other one?" I asked.</p> - -<p>She said she meant by the other one:</p> - -<p>"<i>Le grand amoureux</i>."</p> - -<p>I said I didn't know which of the two was the "<i>grand amoureux</i>."</p> - -<p>"Oh, if you don't know that you know nothing," she said.</p> - -<p>At that moment I had to go. The motor-bus was starting.</p> - -<p>I feel that Princess Kouragine was right and that, after all, perhaps I -know nothing.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - -***** This file should be named 42703-h.htm or 42703-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/0/42703/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/42703.txt b/old/42703.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c1d850d..0000000 --- a/old/42703.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4693 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Overlooked - -Author: Maurice Baring - -Release Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #42703] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By - -MAURICE BARING - -London: William Heinemann - -1922 - - - - -To - -M.A.T - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - -PART I - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me that -I must go to Hareville and stay there a month or, still better, two -months, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possible -pastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred from -that pastime. - -He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?" - -I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said that -a famous editor, of the _Figaro_, I think, had once said that every -man had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted for -newspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on my -typewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understand -by authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing a -book. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thought -no more about this till after I had been at Hareville a week. - -When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I made -acquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time was -taken up in idle conversation. - -After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintance -of James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed, -rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderly -ladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or country -gentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation, -which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government. - -James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. He -was passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem in -the least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted I -had read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind could -hardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read to -me. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I was -calling attention to the absence of his books in the series which have -been transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfied -that I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me, -but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him take -for granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken for -granted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar, -and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), to -be a non-smoker--I am, in fact, sure of that--a practical teetotaler, -not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather than -on experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of all -the arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but still -passionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of any -interest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating. -He had been sent to Hareville by Kennaway, which gave us a link. -Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if he -possibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longing -to write, but could think of no subject. - -I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people at -Hareville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that they -could form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea, -and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who is -not, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, _nee_ Robert, who -married a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a lady -of so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom and experience, that I felt her -acquaintance must do any novelist good. I also introduced him to Mrs. -Lennox, who is here with her niece, Miss Jean Brandon. Mrs. Lennox, -I knew, would enjoy meeting a celebrity; she sacrificed an evening's -gambling for the sake of his society, and the next day, she asked him -to luncheon. In the evening he told me that Miss Brandon would be a -suitable heroine for his novel. - -I asked him if he had begun it. He said he was planning it, but as it -was a holiday novel, and as he had been forbidden to work, he was not -going to make it a real book. He was going to write this novel for -his own enjoyment, and not for the public. He would never publish it. -He would be very grateful, all the same, if I allowed him to discuss -it with me, as he could not write a story without discussing it with -someone. - -I said I would willingly discuss the story with him, and I have -determined to keep a record of our conversations, and indeed of -everything that affects this matter, in case he one day publishes the -novel, or publishes what the novel may turn into; for I feel that it -will not remain unpublished, even though it turns into something quite -different. I shall thus have all the fun of seeing a novel planned -without the trouble of writing one myself. - -"Of course you have the advantage of knowing these people quite well," -he said. I told him that he was mistaken. I had never met any of them, -except Princess Kouragine, before. And it was years since I had seen her. - -"The first problem is," he said, "Why is Miss Brandon not married? She -must be getting on for thirty, if she is not thirty yet, and it is -strange that a person with her looks----" - -"I have often wondered what she looks like," I said, "and I have made my -picture of her. Shall I tell it you, and you can tell me whether it is -at all like the reality?" - -He was most anxious to hear my description. I said that I imagined -Miss Brandon to be as changeable in appearance as the sky. I explained -to him that I had not always been blind, that my blindness had come -comparatively late in life from a shooting accident, in which I lost one -eye--the sight of the other I lost gradually afterwards. I had imagined -her as the lady who walked in the garden in Shelley's _Sensitive Plant_ -(I could not remember all the quotation): - - - "A sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean." - - -Still, and rather mysterious, elusive and rare. He said I was right -about the variability, but that he saw her differently. It was true -she was pale, delicate, and extremely refined, but her eyes were the -interesting thing about her. She was like a sapphire. She looked better -in the daytime than in the evening. By candle-light she seemed to fade. -She did not remind him of Shelley at all. She was not ethereal nor -diaphanous. She was a sapphire, not a moonstone. She belonged to the -world of romance, not to the world of lyric poetry. Something had been -left out when she had been created. She was unfinished. What had been -left out? Was it her soul? Was it her heart? Was she Undine? No. Was she -Lilith? No. All the same she belonged to the fairy-tale world; to the -Hans Andersen world, or to Perrault. The Princess without ... without -what? She was the Sleeping Beauty in the wood, who had woken up and -remembered nothing, and could never recover from the long trance. She -would never be the same again. Never really awake in the world. And yet -she had brought nothing back from fairyland except her looks. - -"She reminds me," he said, "of a line of Robert Lytton's: 'All her -looks are poetry and all her thoughts are prose.' It is not that she is -prosaic, but she is muffled. You see, during that long slumber which -lasted a hundred years----" Rudd had now quite forgotten my presence and -was talking or, rather, murmuring to himself. He was composing aloud. -"During that long exile which lasted a hundred years, and passed in a -flash, she had no dreams." - -"You mean she has no heart," I said. - -"No, not that," he answered, "heart as much as you like. She is kind. -She is affectionate. But no passion, no dreams. Above all, no dreams. -That is what she is. The Princess without any dreams. Do you think that -would do as a title? No, it is not quite right. _The Sleeping Beauty in -the World?_ No. Why did Rostand use the title, _La Princesse Lointaine_? -That would have done. No, that is not quite right either. She is not far -away. She is here. She looks far away and isn't. I must think about it. -It will come." - -Then, quite abruptly, he asked me what I imagined the garden of the -hotel looked like. I said that I had never been here before and that I -had only heard descriptions of the place from my acquaintances and from -my servant, but I imagined the end of the garden, where I had often -walked, to be rather like a Russian landscape. I had never been to -Russia, but I had read Russian books, and what I imagined to be a rather -untidy piece of long grass, fringed with a few birch trees and some -firs, the whole rather baked and dry, reminded me of the descriptions in -Tourgenev's books. - -Rudd said it was not like Russia. Russia had so much more space. So much -more atmosphere. This little garden might be a piece of Scotland, might -be a piece of Denmark, but it was not Russian. - -I asked him whether he had been to Russia. Not in the flesh, he said, -but in the spirit he had lived there for years. - -Perhaps he wanted to see how much the second-hand impressions of a blind -man were worth. - -He soon reverted to the original subject of our talk. - -"Why is Miss Brandon not married?" he said. - -I said I knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. I presumed her -parents were dead. She was travelling with her aunt. They came here -every year for her aunt's rheumatism. Mrs. Lennox had a house in London. -She was a widow, not very well off, I thought. I told him I knew nothing -of London life. I have lived in Italy for the last twenty years. I very -seldom went to London, only, in fact, to see Kennaway. I told him he -must find out about Miss Brandon's early history himself. - -"She is very silent," he said. - -"Mrs. Lennox is very talkative," I told him. - -"What can I call it?" he asked, in an agony of impatience. "She has -every beauty, every grace, except that of expression." - -"_The Dumb Belle?_" The words escaped me and I immediately regretted -them. - -"No," he said, quite seriously, "she is not dumb, that is just the -point. She talks, but she cannot express herself. Or rather, she has -nothing to express. At least, I think she has nothing to express: or -what she has got to express is not what we think it is. I imagine a -story like Pygmalion and Galatea. Somebody waking her to life and then -finding her quite different from what the stone image seemed to promise, -from what it _did_ promise. At any rate I have got my subject and I am -extremely grateful. It is a wonderful subject." - -"Henry James," I ventured. - -"Ah, James," said Rudd, "yes, James, a wonderful intellect, but a -critic, not a novelist. The French could do it. What would they have -called it? _La Princesse desenchantee,_ or _La Belle revenue du Bois_? -You can't say that in English." - -"Nor in French either," I thought to myself, but I said aloud, "_Out of -the Wood_ would suggest quite a different kind of book." - -"A very different kind of book," said Rudd, quite gravely. "The kind of -book that sells by the million." - -Rudd then left me. He was enchanted with the idea of having something to -write about. I felt that a good title for his novel would be _Eurydice -Half-regained_, but I was diffident about suggesting a title to him, -besides which I felt he would not like it. Miss Brandon, he would -explain, was not like Eurydice, and if she was, she had forgotten her -experiences beyond the Styx. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I am going to divide my record into chapters just as if I were writing -a novel. The length of the chapters will be entirely determined by my -inclination at the moment of writing. When I am tired the chapter will -end. I don't know if this is what novelists do. It does not matter, as -I am not writing a novel. I know it is not what Rudd does. He told me -he planned out his novel before writing a line, and decided beforehand -on the length of each chapter, but that he often made them longer in -the first draft, and then eliminated. If you want to be terse, he said, -you must not start by trying to be terse, by leaving out. You must say -everything _first_. You can rub out afterwards. He told me he worked in -charcoal, as it were, at first. - -I shall not work in charcoal. I have no plan. - -I asked Princess Kouragine what Rudd was like. She said he had something -rather prim and dapper about him. I was quite wrong about his -appearance. He wears a black tie. Princess Kouragine said, "_Il a l'air -comme tout le monde, plutot comme un medecin de campagne._" - -I asked her if she liked him. She said she did not know. She said he was -agreeable, but she found no real pleasure in his society. - -"You see," she said, "I like the society of my equals, I hate being -with my superiors; that is why I hate being with royalties, authors -and artists. Mr. Rudd can talk of nothing except his art, and I like -Tauchnitz novels that one can read without any trouble. I hate realistic -novels, especially in English." - -I told her his novels were more often fantastic, with a certain amount -of psychology in them. - -"That is worse," she said, "I am old-fashioned. It is no use to try and -convert me. I like Trollope and Ouida." - -I offered to lend her a novel by Rudd, but she refused. - -"I would rather not have read it," she said. "It would make me -uncomfortable when I talked to him. As it is, as the idiot who has read -nothing newer than Ouida, I am quite comfortable." - -I said he was writing something now which I thought would interest her. -I told her how Rudd was making Miss Brandon the pivot of a story. - -"Ah!" she said. "He told me he was writing something for his own -pleasure. I will read _that_ book." - -I said he did not intend to publish it. - -"He will publish it," she said. "It will be very interesting. I wonder -what he will make of Jean Brandon. I know her well. I have known her -for five years. They come here every year. They stay a long time. It is -economical. She is a good girl. I like her. _Elle me plait_." - -I asked whether she was pretty. - -The Princess said she was changeable--_journaliere, "Elle a souvent -mauvaise mine."_ Not tall enough. A beautiful skin like ivory, but too -pale. Eyes. Yes, she had eyes. Most remarkable eyes. You could not tell -whether they were blue or grey. Graceful. Pretty hands. Badly dressed, -but from poverty and economy more than from _mauvais gout_. A very -_English_ beauty. "You will probably tell me she is Scotch or Irish. I -don't care. I don't mean Keapsake or Gainsborough, nor Burne-Jones, -but English all the same. But I can't describe her. She has charm and -it escapes one. She has beauty, but it doesn't fit into any of the -categories. - -"One feels there is a lamp inside her which has gone out, for the time -being, at any rate. She reminds me of some lines of Victor Hugo: - - "Et les plus sombres d'entre nous - Ont eu leur aube eblouissante." - -"I can imagine her having been quite dazzling when she was a young girl. -I can imagine her still being dazzling now if someone were to light the -lamp. It could be lit, I know. Once, two years ago, at the races here at -Bavigny, I saw her excited. She wanted a friend to win a steeplechase -and he won. She was transfigured. At that moment I thought I had seldom -seen anyone more _eblouissante_. Her face shone as though it had been -transparent." - -Of course the poor girl was unhappy, and why was she unhappy? The reason -was a simple one, she was poor, and Mrs. Lennox economized and used her -as an economy. - -"You see that the poor girl is obliged to make _de petites economies_ -in her clothes. She suffers from it I'm sure. Who wouldn't? This all -comes from your silly system of marriage in England. You let two totally -inexperienced beings with nothing to help them settle the question -on which the whole of their lives is to depend. You let a girl marry -her first love. It is too absurd. It never lasts. I do not say that -marriages in our country do not often turn out very badly. No one knows -that better than I do, Heaven knows; but I say that at least we give -the poor children a chance. We at least do not build marriages on a -foundation which we know to be unsound beforehand, or not there at all. -We do not let two people marry when we know that the circumstances -cannot help leading to disaster." - -I said I did not think there was much to choose between the two systems. -In France the young people had the chance of making a satisfactory -marriage; in our country the young people had the chance of marrying -whom they chose, of making the right choice. It was sometimes -successful. Besides, when there were real obstacles the marriages did -not as a rule come off. Mrs. Lennox had told me that Miss Brandon had -been engaged when she was nineteen to a man in the army. He was too -poor. The engagement had been broken off. The man had left the army and -gone to the colonies, and there the matter had remained. I didn't think -she would have been happier if she had been married off to a _parti_. - -"She would not have been poor," said Princess Kouragine. "And she would -have been more independent. She would have had a home." - -She said she did not attach an enormous importance to riches, but she -did attach great importance to real poverty, especially to poverty in -the class of people with whom Miss Brandon lived. She said the worst -kind of poverty was to live with people richer than yourself. It was a -continual strain, she knew it from experience. She had been through it -herself soon after she was married, after the first time her husband had -been ruined. And nobody who had not been through it knew what it meant, -the constant daily fret. - -"The little subterfuges. Having to think of every cab and every box of -cigarettes. Not that I thought of those," she said. "But it was clothes -which were the trouble. I can see that that poor Jean suffers in the -same way. And then, what a life! To spend all one's time with that Mrs. -Lennox, who is as hard as a stone and ruthlessly selfish. She does not -want Jean to marry. Jean is too useful to her." - -I said I wondered why she had not married. Surely lots of men must have -wanted to marry her. - -Princess Kouragine said that Mrs. Lennox was quite capable of preventing -it. She rarely took her out in London. She brought her to Hareville when -the London season began and they stayed here two months. It was cheaper. -In the winter they went to Florence or Nice. - -I said I wondered whether she was still faithful to the man she had been -engaged to, and what he was like. - -Princess Kouragine said she did not know him. She had never seen him, -but she had heard he was charming, _tres bien_, but he hadn't a penny. -It appeared, however, that he had a relation, possibly an uncle, who -was well off, and who would probably leave him money. But he was not an -old man and might live for years. - -I said that perhaps Miss Brandon was waiting for him. - -"Perhaps," said Princess Kouragine, "but she was only nineteen when -they were engaged, and he has been away for the last five years. People -change. She is no longer now what she was then, nor he, probably." - -She did not think this episode was a real obstacle; she was convinced -Miss Brandon did not feel bound, but she thought she had not yet met -anyone whom she felt she would like to marry. Nor was it likely for her -to do so considering the _milieu_ in which she lived, in which she was -obliged to live. - -Mrs. Lennox liked the continental, international world. The world in -which everyone spoke English and hardly anyone was English. It was not -even the best side of the continental world she liked. She did not -mean it was the shady side, not the world of adventurers and gamblers, -but the world of international "culture." All the intellectual snobs -were drawn instinctively to Mrs. Lennox. People who discovered new -musicians, new novelists, and new painters, who suddenly pronounced as a -dogma that Beethoven couldn't compose and that the old masters did not -know how to draw, and that there was a new music, a new science, and, -above all, a new religion. - -"She is always surrounded just by those one or two men and women -'_qui rendent l'Europe insupportable et qui la gobent_,' they swallow -everything in her, her views on art, her dyed hair, and her ridiculous -hats. Is it likely that Miss Brandon, the daughter of an old general, -brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, and passionately fond of -outdoor life, would find a husband among people who were discussing all -day long whether Wagner was not better as a writer than a musician? She -never complains of it, poor child, but I know quite well that she is -_ecoeuree_. She has had five years of it. Her father died five years -ago. Till he died she used to look after him and that was probably not -an easy life, either, as I believe he was a very exacting old man. Her -mother had died years before, and she had no brothers and no sisters. No -relations who were friends, and few women friends. She is alone in a -world she hates." - -I said I wondered that she had not left it. Girls often struck out a -line for themselves now and found occupations. - -Princess Kouragine said that Miss Brandon was not that sort of girl. -She was shy and apathetic as far as that kind of thing was concerned, -apathetic now about everything. She had just given in. What else could -she do? Where could she live? She had not a penny. - -"You see if a sensible marriage had been arranged for her, all this -would not have happened. She would have now had a home and children." - -I said that perhaps she was being faithful to the young man. - -Princess Kouragine said I could take it from her that she had never -loved, "_elle n'a jamais aime_" She had never had a _grande passion_. - -I asked the Princess whether she thought her capable of such a thing. -She seemed so quiet. - -"You have never seen the lamp lit," said the Princess, "but I have; only -for one moment, it is true, but I shall never forget it." - -She wondered what Rudd would make of the character. He hardly knew her. -Did he seem to understand her? - -I said I thought he spun people out of his own inner consciousness. A -face gave him an idea and he made his own character, but he thought -he was being very analytical, and that all he created was based on -observation. - -"He certainly observes nothing," said the Princess. - -She asked who would be the hero. I said we had not got as far as the -hero when he had discussed it with me. - -"And what will he call the novel?" she asked. - -Ah, that was just the question. He had discussed that at length. He -had not found a title that satisfied him. He had got so far as "_The -Princess without any Dreams_." - -"_Dieu qu'il est bete_," she said. "_Cette enfant ne fait que rever_." - -She told me I must get Rudd to discuss it with me again. - -"Perhaps he will talk to me about it, too. I will make him do so, in -fact. It will not be difficult. Then we will compare notes. It will be -most amusing. The Princess without any dreams, indeed! He might just as -well call her the Princess without any eyes!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -This afternoon I was sitting on a bench in the most secluded part of the -park when I heard someone approach, and Miss Brandon asked if she might -sit down near me and talk a little. Mrs. Lennox had gone for a motor -drive with Mr. Rudd. - -"He is our new friend," she explained. "That is to say, more Aunt -Netty's friend than mine." - -I asked her whether she liked him. - -"Yes, but he doesn't take much notice of me. He asks me questions, but -never waits for the answer. I feel he has made up his mind about me, -that I am labelled and pigeon-holed. He loves Aunt Netty." - -I asked what they talked about. - -"Books," she said. - -"His books, I suppose," I said. - -I wondered whether Mrs. Lennox had read them. I could feel Miss Brandon -guessing my inward question. - -"Aunt Netty _is_ very clever," she said. "She makes people enjoy -themselves, especially those kind of people.... Last night he dined at -our table, and so did Mabel Summer. You don't know her? You must know -her, you would like her. She is going away to-morrow, for a fortnight -to the Lakes, but she is coming back then. We nearly laughed at one -moment. It was awful. They were discussing Balzac, and Aunt Netty said -that Balzac was a snob like all--and she was just going to say like all -novelists, when she caught herself up and said: 'like Thackeray.' Mr. -Rudd said that Balzac and Thackeray had nothing in common, and Mabel, -who had caught my eye, and I, were speechless. Just for a moment I was -shaking, and Mr. Rudd looked at us. It was awful, but Mabel recovered -and said she didn't think we could realize now the kind of atmosphere -that Thackeray lived in." - -I said I didn't suppose that Rudd had noticed anything. He didn't seem -to me to notice that kind of thing. - -She agreed, but said he had moments of lucidity which were unexpected -and disconcerting. "For one second," she said, "he suspected we were -laughing at him. Aunt Netty manages him perfectly. He loves her. She -knows exactly what to say to him. He knows she is not critical. I think -he is rather suspicious. How funny clever men are!" she said, after a -pause. - -I said she really meant to say, "How stupid clever men are!" I reminded -her of the profound saying of one of Kipling's women, that the stupidest -woman could manage a clever man, but it took a very clever woman to -manage a fool. - -She said she had always found the most disconcerting element in stupid -people--or people who were thought to be stupid--was their sudden -flashes of lucidity, when they saw things quite plainly. Clever men -didn't have these flashes, but the curious thing was that Rudd did. - -I said I thought this was because, apart from his literary talent, which -was an accomplishment like conjuring or acting, quite separate from the -rest of his personality, Rudd was not a clever man. All his cleverness -went into his books. I said I thought there were two kinds of writers: -those who were better than their books, and of whom the books were only -the overflow, and those who put every drop of their being into the books -and were left with a dry and uninteresting shell. - -She said she thought she had only met that kind. - -"Aunt Netty," she said, "loves all authors and it's odd considering----" - -She stopped, but I ended her sentence: "She has never read a book in her -life." - -Miss Brandon laughed and said I was unfair. - -"Reading tires her. I don't think anyone has time to read a book after -they are eighteen. I haven't. But I feel I am a terrible wet blanket to -all Aunt Netty's friends. I can't even pretend to be enthusiastic. You -see I like the other sort of people so much better." - -I said I was afraid the other sort of people were poorly represented -here just now. - -"We have another friend," she said, "at least, I have." - -"Also a new friend?" I asked. - -"I have known him in a way a long time," she said. "He is a Russian -called Kranitski. We met him first two years ago at Florence. He was -looking after his mother, who was ill and who lived at Florence. We used -to meet him often, but I never got to know him. We never spoke to each -other. We saw him, too, in the distance once on the Riviera." - -I asked what he was like. - -"He is all lucid intervals," she said, "it is frightening. But he is -very easy to get on with. Of course I don't know him at all really. I -have only seen him twice. But one didn't have to plough through the -usual commonplaces. He began at once as if we had known each other for -years, and I felt myself doing the same thing." - -I asked what he was. - -She didn't quite know. - -I said I thought I knew the name. It reminded me of something, but I -certainly did not know him. Miss Brandon said she would introduce me to -him. I asked what he looked like. - -"Oh, an untidy, comfortable face," she said. "He is always smiling. He -is not at all international. He is like a dog. The kind of dog that -understands you in a minute. The extraordinary thing is that after the -first time we had a talk I felt as if I knew him intimately, as if I -had met him on some other planet, as if we were going on, not as if we -were beginning. I suddenly found myself telling him things I had never -told anyone. Of course, this does happen to one sometimes with perfect -strangers, at least it does to me. Don't you think it easy sometimes to -pour out confidences to a perfect stranger? But I don't expect people -give you the opportunity. They tell you things." - -I said this did happen sometimes, probably because people thought I -didn't count, and that as I couldn't see their faces they needn't tell -the truth. - -"I would find it as difficult to tell you a lie," she said, "as to tell -a lie on the telephone. You know how difficult that is. I should think -people tell you the truth as they do in the Confessional. The priest -shuts his eyes, doesn't he?" - -I said I believed this was the case. - -"This Russian is a Catholic," she said. "Isn't that rare for a Russian?" - -I said he was, perhaps, a Pole. The name sounded Polish. - -No, he had told her he was not a Pole. He was not a man who explained. -Explanations evidently bored him. He was not a soldier, but he had been -to the Manchurian War. He had lived in the Far East a great deal, and in -Italy. Very little in Russia apparently. He had come to Hareville for a -rest cure. - -"I asked him," she said, "if he had been ill, and he said something had -been cut out of his life. He had been pruned. The rest of him went on -sprouting just the same." - -I said I supposed he spoke English. - -Yes, he had had an English nurse and an English governess. He had once -been to England as a child for a few weeks to the Isle of Wight. He knew -no English people. He liked English books. - -"Byron, and Jerome K. Jerome?" I suggested. - -"No," she said, "Miss Austen." - -I asked whether he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. Yes, they had -talked a little. - -"Aunt Netty talked to him about Tolstoi. Tolstoi is one of Mr. Rudd's -stock topics." - -I said I supposed she had retailed Rudd's views on the Russian. Was he -astonished? - -"Not a bit. I could see he had heard it all before," she said. "He was -angelic. He shook his ears now and then like an Airedale terrier. Aunt -Netty doesn't want him. Mr. Rudd is enough for her and she is enjoying -herself. She always finds someone here. Last year it was a composer." - -"Does Princess Kouragine know him?" I asked. - -No, she didn't. She had never met him, but she knew of him. - -I asked what Mr. Rudd thought about Princess Kouragine. - -"Mr. Rudd and Aunt Netty discuss her for hours. He has theories about -her. He began by saying she had the Slav indifference. Then Aunt Netty -said she was French. But Mr. Rudd said it was catching. People who lived -in Ireland became Irish, and people who lived in Russia became Russian. -Then Aunt Netty said Princess Kouragine had lived in France and Italy. -Mr. Rudd said she had caught the microbe, and that she was a woman who -lived only by half-hours. He meant she was only alive for half-an-hour -at a time." - -At that moment someone walked up the path. - -"Here is Monsieur Kranitski," she said. She introduced us. - -"I have been walking to the end of the park," he said. "It is curious, -but that side of the park with the dry lawn-tennis court, those birch -trees and some straggling fir trees on the hill and the long grass, -reminds me of a Russian garden which I used to know very well." - -I said that when people had described that same spot to me I had -imagined it like the descriptions of places in Tourgenev's books. - -He said I was quite right. - -I said it was a wonderful tribute to an author's powers that he could -make the character of a landscape plain, not only to a person who had -never been in his country, but even to a blind man. - -Kranitski said that Tourgenev described gardens very well, and a -particular kind of Russian landscape. "What I call the orthodox kind. -I hear James Rudd, the writer, is staying here. He has a gift for -describing places: Italian villages, journeys in France, little canals -at Venice, the Campagna." - -"You like his books?" I asked. - -"Some of them; when they are fantastic, yes. When he is psychological I -find them annoying, but one says I am wrong." - -"He is too complicated," Miss Brandon said. "He spoils things by seeing -too much, by explaining too much." - -I asked Kranitski if he was a great novel reader. He said he liked -novels if they were very good, like Miss Austen and Henry James, or -else very, very bad ones. He could not read any novel because it was a -novel. On the other hand he could read any detective story, good, bad or -middling. - -Miss Brandon asked him if he would like to know Rudd. - -"Is he very frightful?" he asked. - -I said I did not think he was at all alarming. - -Yes, he said, he would like to make his acquaintance. He had never met -an English author. - -"You won't mind his explaining the Russian character to you?" I said. - -Kranitski said he would not mind that, and that as his mother was -Italian, and as he had lived very little in Russia and spoke Russian -badly, perhaps Mr. Rudd would not count him as a Russian. - -Miss Brandon said that would make the explanation more complicated -still. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Life begins very early in the morning here. The water-drinkers and the -bathers begin their day at half-past six. My day does not begin till -half-past seven, as I don't drink many glasses of the water. - -At seven o'clock the village bell rings for Mass. - -It was some days after the conversations I recorded in my last chapter -I woke one morning early at half-past six and got up. I asked my -servant, Henry, to lead me to the village church. I went in and sat down -at the bottom of the aisle. Early Mass had not yet begun. The church -seemed to me empty. But from a corner I heard the whispered mutter of -a confession. Presently two people walked past me, the priest and the -penitent, I surmised. Someone walked upstairs. A boy's footsteps then -clattered past me. The church bell was rung. Someone walked downstairs -and up the aisle; the priest again, I thought. Then Mass began. Towards -the end someone again walked up the aisle. I remained sitting till the -end. - -At the door, outside the church, someone greeted me. It was Kranitski. -He walked back with me to the hotel. He asked me whether I was a -Catholic. I told him that Catholic churches attracted me, but that I was -an agnostic. He seemed slightly astonished at this; astonished at the -attraction in my case, I supposed. He said something which indicated -surprise. - -I told him I could not explain it. It was certainly not the exterior -panoply and trappings of the church which attracted me, for of those I -saw nothing. Nor was it the music, for although I was not a musician, my -long blindness had made me acutely sensitive to sound, and the sounds in -churches were often, I found, painful. - -I asked him if he was a Catholic. - -"I was born a Catholic," he said, "but for years I have not been -_pratiquant_, until I came here. Not for seven years." - -"You have not been inside a church for seven years?" I said. - -"Oh yes," he said, "inside a church very often." - -I said most people lost their faith as young men. Sometimes it came back. - -"I was not like that," he said, "I never lost my faith, not for a day, -not for an hour." - -I said I didn't understand. - -"There were reasons--an obstacle," he said. "But now they are not there -any more. Now I am once more inside." - -"Inside what?" I asked. - -"The church. During those seven years I was outside." - -"But as you went to church when you liked," I said, "I do not see the -difference." - -"I cannot explain it to you," he said. "You would not understand. At -least, you would understand if you knew and I could explain, only it -would be too long. But as it was it was like knowing you couldn't have -a bath if you wanted one--like feeling always starved. You see I am -naturally believing. If I had not been, it would have been no matter. I -cannot help believing. Many times I should have liked not to believe. -Many times I was envying people who feel you go out like a candle when -you die. I am not _mystique_ or anything like that; but something at the -back of my mind is keeping on saying to me: 'You know it _is_ true,' -just as in some people there is something inside them which is keeping -on saying: 'You know it is _not_ true.' And yet I couldn't do otherwise. -That is to say, I resolved not to do otherwise. Life is complicated. -Things are so mixed up sometimes. One has to sacrifice what one most -cares for. At least, I had to. I was caring for my religion more than -I can describe, but I had to give it up. No, that is wrong, I didn't -_have to_, but I gave it up. It was all very embarrassing. But now the -obstacle is not there. I am free. It is a relief." - -"But if you never lost your faith and went on going to church, and -_could_ go to church whenever you liked, I cannot see what you had to -give up. I don't see what the obstacle prevented." - -"To explain you that I should have to tell too long a story," he said. -"I will tell you some day if you have patience to listen. Not now." - -We had got back to the park. I went into the pavilion to drink the -water. I asked Kranitski if he was going to have a glass. - -"No," he said, "I do not need any waters or any cure. I am cured -already, but I need a long rest to forget it all. You know sometimes -after illness you regret the _maladie_, and I am still a little bit -dizzy. After you have had a tooth out, in spite of the relief from pain -you mind the hole." - -He went into the hotel. - -Later in the morning I met Princess Kouragine. - -She asked me how Rudd's novel was getting on. I said I had not seen -him, and had had no talk with him about it. I told her I had made the -acquaintance of Kranitski. - -"I too," she said. "I like him. I never knew him before, but I know a -little of his history. He has been in love a very long time with someone -I knew--and still know, I won't say her name. I don't want to rake up -old scandals, but she was Russian, and she lived, a long time ago, in -Rome, and she was unhappy with her husband, whom I always liked, and -thought extremely _comme il faut_, but they were not suited." - -"Why didn't she divorce him?" I asked. - -"The children," she said; "three children, two boys and a girl, and she -adored them, so did the father, and he would never have let them go, -nor would she have left them for anyone in the world." - -"If she lived at Rome, I may have met her," I said. - -"It is quite possible," said the Princess. "My friend was a charming -person, a little vague, very gentle, very graceful, very musical, very -attractive." - -"Is the husband still alive?" I asked. - -"Yes, he is alive. They do not live at Rome any more, but in the -Caucasus, and at Paris in the winter. I saw them both in Paris this -winter." - -I asked if the Kranitski episode was still going on. - -"It is evidently over," said Princess Kouragine. - -"Why?" I asked. - -"Because he is happy. _Il n'a plus des yeux qui regardent au dela._" - -"Was he very much in love with her?" I asked. - -"Yes, very much. And she too. He will be a character for Mr. Rudd," she -went on, "I saw him talking to him yesterday, with Mrs. Lennox and Jean. -Jean likes him. She looks better these last two days." - -I said I had noticed she seemed more lively. - -"Ah, but physically she looks different. That child wants admiration and -love." - -"Love?" I said. "Won't it be rather unfortunate if she looks for love in -that quarter? He won't love again, will he? Or not so soon as this." - -"You are like the people who think one can only have measles once," she -said. "One can have it over and over again, and the worse you have it -once, the worse you may get it again. He is just in the most susceptible -state of all." - -I said they both seemed to me in the same position. They were both of -them bound by old ties. - -"That is just what will make it easier." - -I asked whether there would be any other obstacles to a marriage between -them, such as money. Princess Kouragine said that Kranitski ought to be -quite well off. - -"There was no obstacle of that kind," she said. "He is a Catholic, but I -do not suppose that will make any difference." - -"Not to Miss Brandon," I said, "nor really to her aunt: Mrs. Lennox -might, I think, look upon it as a kind of obstacle; but a little more -an obstacle than if he was a radical and a little less of one than if he -was socialist." - -She said she did not think that Mrs. Lennox would like her niece to -marry anyone. - -"But if they want to get married nothing will stop them. That girl has a -character of iron." - -"And he?" I asked. - -"He has got some character." - -"Would the other person mind--the lady at Rome?" - -"She probably will mind, but she would not prevent it. _Elle est -foncierement bonne._ Besides which she knows that it is over, there is -nothing more to be said or done. She is _philosophe_ too. A sensible -woman. She insisted on marrying her husband. She was in love with him -directly she came out, and they were married at once. He would have been -an excellent husband for almost anyone else except for her, and if she -had only waited two years she would have known this herself. As it was, -she married him, and found she had married someone else. The inevitable -happened. She is far too sensible to complain now. She knows she has -made a _gachis_ of her life, and that she only has herself to thank. -As it is, she has her children and she is devoted to them. She will not -want to make a _gachis_ of Kranitski's life as well as of her own, and -she nearly did that too. If he marries and is happy she ought to be -pleased, and she will be." - -"And what about the young man who was engaged to Miss Brandon?" I asked. - -"I do not give that story a thought," said the Princess. "They were -probably in the same situation towards each other as the Russian -couple I told you of were before they were married, only Jean had the -good fortune to do nothing in a hurry. She is probably now profoundly -grateful. How can a girl of eighteen know life? How can she even know -her own mind?" - -"It depends on the young man," I said. "We know nothing about him." - -"Yes, we know nothing about him; but that probably shows there is -nothing to know. If there were something to know we should know it by -now. It was all so long ago. They are both different people now, and -they probably know it." - -I said I would not like to speculate or even hazard a guess on such a -matter. It might be as she said, but the contrary might just as well be -true. I did not think Miss Brandon was a person who would change her -mind in a hurry. I thought she was one of the rare people who did know -her own mind. I could imagine her waiting for years if it was necessary. - -As I was saying this, Princess Kouragine said to me: - -"She is walking across the park now with Kranitski. They have sat down -on a seat near the music kiosk. They are talking hard. The lamp is being -lit--she looks ten years younger than she did last week, and she has got -on a new hat." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -During the rest of that day I saw nobody. I gathered there were races -somewhere, and Mrs. Lennox had taken a large party. Just before dinner I -got a message from Rudd asking whether he might dine at my table. - -I do not dine in the big dining-room, as I find the noise and the bustle -trying, but in a smaller room where some of the visitors have their -_petit dejeuner_. - -So we were alone and had the room to ourselves. I asked him if he had -been working. - -He said he had been making notes, plans and sketches, but he could not -get on unless he could discuss his work with someone. - -"The story is gradually taking shape," he said. "I haven't made up my -mind what the setting is to be. But I have got the kernel. My story is -what I told you it would be. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, but when -the Prince wakes her up she is no longer the same person as she was -when she went to sleep. The enchantment has numbed her. She will have -none of the Fairy Prince; she doesn't recognize him as a Fairy Prince, -and she lets him go away. As soon as he is gone she regrets what she -has done and begins to hope he will come back some day. Time passes and -he does come back, but he has forgotten her and he does not recognize -her. Someone else falls in love with her, and she thinks she loves him; -but, at the first kiss he gives her, the forest closes round her and she -falls asleep again." - -I asked him if it was going to be a fairy-tale. - -He said, No, a modern story with perhaps a mysterious lining to it. - -He imagined this kind of story. A girl brought up in romantic -surroundings. She meets a boy who falls in love with her. This, in a -way, wakens her to life, but she will not marry him; and he goes away -for years. Time passes. She leads a numbed existence. She travels, and -somewhere abroad she meets the love of her youth again. He has forgotten -her and loves someone else. Someone else wants to marry her. They are -engaged to be married. But as soon as things get as far as this the man -finds that in some inexplicable way she is different, and _he_ breaks -off the engagement, and she goes on living as she did before, apparently -the same, but in reality dead. - -"Then," I said, "she always loves the Fairy Prince of her youth." - -He said: "She thinks she loves him when it is too late, but in reality -she never loves anyone. She is only half-awake in life. She never gets -over the enchantment which numbs her for life." - -I asked what would correspond to the enchantment in real life. - -He said perhaps the romantic surroundings of her childhood. - -I said I thought he had not meant her to be a romantic character. - -"No more she is," he explained. "The romance is all from outside. -She looks romantic, but she isn't. She is like a person who has been -bewitched. She always thinks she is going to behave like an ordinary -person, but she can't. She has no dreams. She would like to marry, to -have a home, to be comfortable and free, but something prevents it. When -the young man proposes to her she feels she can never marry him. As -soon as he is gone, she regrets having done this, and imagines that if -he came back she would love him." - -"And when he does come back, does she love him?" I asked. - -"She thinks she does, but that is only because he has forgotten her. -If he hadn't forgotten her, and had asked her to marry him, she would -have said 'No' a second time. Then when the other person who is in love -with her wants to marry her, she _thinks_ she is in love with him; she -thinks _he_ is the Fairy Prince; but as soon as they are engaged, _he_ -feels that his love has gone. It has faded from the want of something -in _her_ which he discovers at the very first kiss; he breaks off the -engagement, and she is grateful at being set free, and glad to go back -to her forest." - -I asked if she is unhappy when it is over. - -He said, "Yes, she is unhappy, but she accepts it. She is not -broken-hearted because she never loved him. She realizes that she can't -love and will never love, and accepts the situation." - -I said that I saw no mysterious lining in the story as told that way. - -He said there was none; but the lining would come in the manner the -story was told. He would try and give the reader the impression that -she had come into touch with the fairy world by accident and that the -adventure had left a mark that nothing could alter. - -She had no business to have adventures in fairy land. - -She had strayed into that world by mistake. She was not native to it, -although she looked as if she were. - -I said I thought there ought to be some explanation of how and why she -got into touch with the fairy world. - -He said it was perhaps to be found in the surroundings of her childhood. -She perhaps inherited some strange spiritual, magic legacy. But whatever -it was it must come from the _outside_. Perhaps there was a haunted wood -near her home, and she was forbidden to go into it. Perhaps the legend -of the place said that anyone of her family who visited that wood before -they were fifteen years old, went to sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps -she visited the wood and fell asleep and had a dream. That dream was -the hundred years' sleep, but she forgot the dream as soon as she was -awake. - -I asked him if he thought this story fitted on to Miss Brandon's -character or to the circumstances of her life. - -He said he knew little about the circumstances of her life. Mrs. Lennox -had told him that her niece had once nearly married someone, but that it -had been an impossible marriage for many reasons, and that she did not -think her niece regretted it. That several people had wanted to marry -her abroad, but that she had never fallen in love. - -"As to her character, I am confirmed," he said, "in what I thought about -her the first time I saw her. All her looks are poetry and all her -thoughts are prose. She is practical and prosaic and unimaginative and -quite passionless. But I should not be in the least surprised if she -married a fox-hunting squire with ten thousand a year. All that does not -matter to me. I am not writing her story, but the story of her face. -What might have been her story. And not the story of what her face looks -like, but the story of what her face means. The story of her soul, which -may be very different from the story of her life. It is the story of a -numbed soul. A soul that has visited places which it had no business to -visit and had had to pay the price in consequence. - -"She reminds me of those lines of Heine: - - "Sie waren langst gestorben und wussten - es selber kaum." - - -"That is, of course, only one way of writing the story I have planned -to you. I shall not begin at the beginning at any rate. Perhaps I shall -never write the story at all. You see, I do not intend to publish it in -any case. People would say I was making a portrait. As if an artist ever -made a portrait from one definite real person. People give him ideas. -But on the other hand it is my holiday, and I do not want to have all -the labour of planning a real story, and at the same time I want an -occupation. This will keep me busy. I shall amuse myself by sketching -the story as I see it now." - -I asked who the hero would be. - -"The man who wants to marry her and whom she consents to marry will be a -foreigner," he said. - -"An Italian?" I asked. - -"No," he said, "not an Italian. Not a southerner. A northerner. Possibly -a Norwegian. A Norwegian or a Dane. That would be just the kind of -person to be attracted by this fairy-tale-looking, in reality, prosaic -being." - -"And who would the original Fairy Prince be?" I asked. - -"He would be an ordinary Englishman. Any of the young men I saw here -would do for that. The originality of his character would be in this: -that he would _look_ and be considered the type of dog-like fidelity -and unalterable constancy, and in reality he would forget all about her -directly he met someone else he loved. He would have been quite faithful -till then. Faithful for two or three years. Then he would have met -someone else: a married woman. Someone out of his reach, and he would -have been passionately devoted to her and have forgotten all about the -Fairy Princess. - -"The Norwegian would be attracted by her very apathy and seeming -coldness and aloofness. He would imagine that this would all melt -and vanish away at the first kiss. That she would come to life like -Galatea. It would be the opposite of Galatea. The first kiss would turn -her to stone once more. - -"Then being a very nice honest fellow he would be miserable. He would -not know what to do. He would be a sailor perhaps, and be called away. -That would have to be thought about." - -Then we talked of other things. I asked Rudd if he had made Kranitski's -acquaintance. He said, Yes, he had. He was quite a pleasant fellow, no -brains and very commonplace and rather reactionary in his ideas; not -politically, he meant, but intellectually. - -He had not got further than Miss Austen and he was taken in by -Chesterton. All that was very crude. But he was amiable and good-natured. - -I said Princess Kouragine liked him. - -"Ah," he said, "that is an interesting type. The French character -infected by the Slav microbe. - -"What a powerful thing the Slav microbe is; more powerful even than the -Irish microbe. Her French common sense and her Latin logic had been -stricken by that curious Russian intellectual malaria. She will never -get it out of her system." - -I asked him if he thought Kranitski had the same malaria. - -"It is less noticeable in him," Rudd said, "because he _is_ Russian; -there is no contrast to observe, no conflict. He is simply a Slav of -a rather conventional type. His Slavness would simply reveal itself -in his habits; his incessant cigarette-smoking; his good head for -cards--he was an admirable card-player--his facility for playing the -piano, and perhaps singing folk-songs--I don't know if he does, but he -well might; his good-natured laziness; his social facility; his quick -superficiality. There is nothing interesting psychologically there." - -I said that I believed his mother was Italian. - -Rudd said this was impossible. She might be Polish, but there was -evidently no southern strain in him. Although I knew for a fact that -Rudd was wrong, I could not contradict him; greatly as I wished to do so -I could not bring the words across my lips. - -I said he had made Mrs. Lennox's acquaintance. - -He said he knew that he had met him in their rooms. - -I asked whether he thought Miss Brandon liked him. - -Rudd said that Miss Brandon was the same towards everyone. Profoundly -indifferent, that is to say. He did not think, he was, in fact, quite -certain that there was not a soul at Hareville who raised a ripple of -interest on the perfectly level surface of her resigned discontent. - -Then we went out into the park and listened to the music. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The day after Rudd dined with me I was summoned by telegram to London. -My favourite sister, who is married and whom I seldom see, was seriously -ill. She wanted to see me. I started at once for London and found -matters better than I expected, but still rather serious. I stayed with -my sister nearly a month, by which time she was convalescent. Kennaway -insisted on my going back to Hareville to finish my cure. - -When I got back, I found all the members of the group to which I had -become semi-attached still there, and I made a new acquaintance: Mrs. -Summer, who had just come back from the Lakes. I know little about her. -I can only guess at her appearance. I know that she is married and that -she cannot be very young and that is all. On the other hand, I feel now -that I know a great deal about her. - -We sat after dinner in the park. She is a friend of Miss Brandon's. We -talked of her. Mrs. Summer said: - -"The air here has done her such a lot of good." - -She meant to say: "She is looking much better than she did when she -arrived," but she did not want to talk about _looks_ to me. - -I said: "She must get tired of coming here year after year." - -Mrs. Summer said that Miss Brandon hated London almost as much. - -I said: "You have known her a long time?" - -She said: "All her life. Ever since she was tiny." - -I asked what her father was like. - -"He was very selfish, violent-tempered, and rather original. When he -dined out he always took his champagne with him in a pail and in a -four-wheeler. He lived in an old house in the south of Ireland. He was -not really Irish. He had been a soldier. He played picquet with Jean -every evening. He went up to London two months every year--not in the -summer. He liked seeing the Christmas pantomime. He was devoted to -Jean, but tyrannized over her. He never let her out of his sight. - -"When he died he left nothing. The house in Ireland was sold, and -the house in London, a house in Bedford Square. I think there were -illegitimate children. In Ireland he entertained the neighbours, talked -politics, and shouted at his guests, and quarrelled with everyone." - -I presumed he was not a Radical. I was right. - -I said I supposed Miss Brandon could never escape. - -She had been engaged to be married once, but money--the want of it--made -the marriage impossible. Even if there had been money she doubted. - -"Because of the father?" I said. - -"Yes, she would never have left him. She couldn't have left him." - -"Did the father like the young man?" - -"Yes, he liked him, but regarded him as quite impossible, quite out of -the question as a husband." - -I said I supposed he would have thought anyone else equally out of the -question. - -"Of course," she said. "It was pure selfishness----" - -I asked what had happened to the young man. - -He was in the army, but left it because it was too expensive. He went -out to the Colonies--South Africa--as A.D.C. He was there now. - -"Still unmarried?" I asked. - -Mrs. Summer said he would never marry anyone else. He had never looked -at anyone else. He was supposed, at one time, to have liked an Italian -lady, but that was all nonsense. - -She felt I did not believe this. - -"You don't believe me," she said. "But I promise you it's true. He is -that kind of man--terribly faithful; faithful and constant. You see, -Jean isn't an ordinary girl. If one once loved her it would be difficult -to love anyone else. She was just the same when he knew her as she is -now." - -"Except younger." - -"She is just as beautiful now, at least she could be----" - -"If someone told her so." - -"Yes, if someone thought so. Telling wouldn't be necessary." - -"Perhaps someone will." - -Mrs. Summer said it was extremely unlikely she would ever meet anyone -abroad who would be the kind of man. - -I said I thought life was a play in which every entrance and exit was -arranged beforehand, and the momentous entrance and the _scene a faire_ -might quite as well happen at Hareville as anywhere else. - -Mrs. Summer made no comment. I thought to myself: "She knows about -Kranitski and doesn't want to discuss it." - -"The man who marries Jean would be very lucky," she said. "Jean -is--well--there is no one like her. She's more than _rare_. She's -_introuvable_." - -I said that Rudd thought she would never marry anyone. - -"Perhaps not," she said, "but if Mr. Rudd is right about her he will be -right for the wrong reasons. Sometimes the people who see everything -wrong _are_ right. It is very irritating." - -I asked her if she thought Rudd was always wrong. - -"I don't know," she said, "but he would be wrong about Jean. Wrong about -you. Wrong about me. Wrong about Princess Kouragine, and wrongest of -all about Netty Lennox. Perhaps his instincts as an artist _are_ right. -I think people's books are sometimes written by _someone else_, a kind -of planchette. All the authors I have met have been so utterly and -completely wrong about everything that stared them in the face." - -I asked whether she liked his books. - -Yes, she liked them, but she thought they were written by a familiar -spirit. She couldn't fit him into his books. - -"Then," I said, "supposing he wrote a book about Miss Brandon, however -wrong he might be about her, the book might turn out to be true." - -She didn't agree. She thought if he wrote a book about an imaginary Miss -Jones it might turn out to be right in some ways about Jean Brandon, and -in some ways about a hundred other people; but if he set out to write a -book about Jean it would be wrong. - -"You mean," I said, "he is imaginative and not observant?" - -"I mean," she said, "that he writes by instinct, as good actors act." - -She said there was a Frenchman at the hotel who had told her that he had -seen a rehearsal of a complicated play, in which a great actress was -acting. The author was there. He explained to the actress what he wanted -done. She said: "Yes, I see this, and this, and this." Everything she -said was terribly wide of the mark, the opposite of what he had meant. -He saw she hadn't understood a word he had said. Then the actress got on -to the stage and acted it exactly as if she understood everything. - -"I think," she said, "that Mr. Rudd is like that." - -I asked Mrs. Summer if she knew Kranitski. - -"Just a little," she said. "What do you think about him?" - -I said I liked him. - -"He's very quick and easy to get on with," she said. - -"Like all Russians." - -"Like all Russians, but I don't think he's quite like all Russians, at -least not the kind of Russians one meets." - -"No, more like the Russians one doesn't meet." - -"Tolstoi's Russians. Yes. It's a pity they have such a genius for -unhappiness." - -I said I thought Kranitski did not seem unhappy. - -"No, but more as if he had just recovered than if he was quite well." - -I said I thought he gave one the impression that he was capable of being -very happy. There was nothing gloomy about him. - -"All people who are unhappy are generally very happy, too," she said, -"at least they are often very...." - -"Gay?" I suggested. - -She agreed. - -I said I thought he was more than an unhappy person with high spirits, -which one saw often enough. He gave me the impression of a person -capable of _solid_ happiness, the kind of business-like happiness that -comes from a fundamental goodness. - -"Yes, he might, be like that," she said, "only one doesn't know quite -what his life has been and is." - -She meant she knew all too well that his life had not been one in which -happiness was possible. - -I agreed. - -"One knows so little about other people." - -"Nothing," I said. "Perhaps he is miserable. He ought to marry. I feel -he is very domestic." - -"I sometimes think," she said, "that the people who marry--the men I -mean--are those who want the help and support of a woman, women are so -far stronger and braver than men; and that those who don't marry are -sometimes those who are strong enough to face life without this help. Of -course, there are others who aren't either strong enough or weak enough -to need it, but they don't matter." - -I said I supposed she thought Kranitski would be strong enough to do -without marriage. - -"I think so," she said, "but then, I hardly know him." - -"Does your theory apply to women, too?" I asked. "Are there some women -who are strong enough to face life alone?" - -She said women were strong enough to do either. In either case life was -for them just as difficult. - -I asked if she thought Miss Brandon would be happier married or not -married. - -"Jean would never marry unless she married the right person, the man she -wanted to marry," she said. - -"Would the person she wanted to marry," I said, "necessarily be the -right person?" - -"He would be more right for her, whatever the drawbacks, than anyone -else." - -I said I supposed nearly everyone thought they were marrying the right -person, and yet how strangely most marriages turned out. - -"Nothing better than marriage has been invented, all the same," she -said, "and if people marry when they are old enough...." - -"To know better," I said. - -"Yes, it doesn't then turn out so very badly as a rule." - -I said that as things were at present Miss Brandon's life seemed to me -completely wasted. - -"So it is, but it might be worse. It might be a tragedy. Supposing she -married someone who became fond of someone else." - -"She would mind," I said. - -"She would mind terribly." - -I said I thought people always got what they wanted in the long run. -If she wanted a marriage of a definite kind she would probably end by -getting it. - -Mrs. Summer agreed in the main, but she thought that although one often -did get what one wanted in the long run, it often came either too late -or not quite at the moment when one wanted it, or one found when one had -got it that it was after all not quite what one had wanted. - -"Then," I said, "you think it is no use wanting anything?" - -"No use," she said, "no use whatever." - -"You are a pessimist." - -"I am old enough to have no illusions." - -"But you want other people to have illusions?" - -"I think there is such a thing as happiness in the world, and that when -you see someone who might be happy, missing the chance of it, it's a -pity. That's all." - -Then I said: - -"You want other people to want things." - -"Other people? Yes," she said. "Quite dreadfully I want it." - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox came up to us and said: - -"I have won five hundred francs, and I had the courage to leave the -Casino. I can't think what has happened to Jean. I have been looking for -her the whole evening." I left them and went into the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was the morning after the conversation I had with Mrs. Summer that I -received a message from Miss Brandon. She wanted to speak to me. Could I -be, about five o'clock, at the end of the alley? I was punctual at the -rendezvous. - -"I wanted to have a talk," she said, "to-day, if possible, because -to-morrow Aunt Netty has organized an expedition to the lakes, and the -day after we are all going to the races, so I didn't know when I should -see you again." - -"But you are not going away yet, are you?" I asked. - -No, they were not going away, they would very likely stay on till the -end of July. Then there was an idea of Switzerland; or perhaps the -Mozart festival at Munich, followed by a week at Bayreuth. Mr. Rudd -was going to Bayreuth, and had convinced Mrs. Lennox that she was a -Wagnerite. - -"I thought you couldn't be going away yet--but one never knows, here -people disappear so suddenly, and I wanted to see you so particularly -and at once. You are going to finish your cure?" - -I said my time limit was another fortnight. After that I was going back -to my villa at Cadenabbia. - -"Shall you come here next year?" - -I said it depended on my doctor. I asked her her plans. - -"I don't think I shall come back next year." - -There was a slight note of suppressed exultation in her voice. I asked -whether Mrs. Lennox was tired of Hareville. - -"Aunt Netty loves it, better than ever. Mr. Rudd has promised her to -come too." - -There was a long pause. - -"I can't bear it any longer," she said at last. - -"Hareville?" - -"Hareville and all of it--everything." - -There was another long pause. She broke it. - -"You talked to Mabel Summer yesterday?" - -I said we had had a long talk. - -"I'm sure you liked her?" - -I said I had found her delightful. - -"She's my oldest friend, although she's older than I am. Poor Mabel, -she's had a very unhappy life." - -I said one felt in her the sympathy that came from experience. - -"Oh yes, she's so brave; she's wonderful." - -I said I supposed she'd had great disappointments. - -"More than that. Tragedies. One thing after another." - -I asked whether she had any children. - -"Her two little girls both died when they were babies. But it wasn't -that. She'll tell you all about it, perhaps, some day." - -I said I doubted whether we would ever meet again. - -"Mabel always keeps up with everybody she makes friends with. She -doesn't often make new friends. She told me she had made two new friends -here. You and Kranitski." - -"She likes him?" I said. - -"She likes him very much. She's very fastidious, very hard to please, -very critical." - -I said everyone seemed to like Kranitski. - -"Aunt Netty says he's commonplace, but that's because Mr. Rudd said he -was commonplace." - -I said Rudd always had theories about people. - -"You like Mr. Rudd?" she asked. - -I said I did, and reminded her that she had told me she did. - -"If you want to know the truth," she said, "I don't. I think he's -awful." She laughed. "Isn't it funny? A week ago I would have rather -died than admit this to you, but now I don't care. Of course I know he's -a good writer and clever and subtle, and all that--but I've come to the -conclusion----" - -"To what conclusion?" - -"Well, that I don't--that I like the other sort of people better." - -"The stupid people?" - -"No." - -"The clever people?" - -"No." - -"What people?" - -"I don't know. Nice people." - -"People like----" - -"People like Mabel Summer and Princess Kouragine," she interrupted. - -"They are both very clever, I think," I said. - -"Yes, but it's not that that matters." - -I said I thought intelligence mattered a great deal. - -"When it's natural," she said. - -"Do you think people can become religious if they're not?" she asked -suddenly. - -I said that I didn't feel that I could, but it certainly did happen to -some people. - -"I'm afraid it will never happen to me," she said. "I used to hope it -might never happen, but now I hope the opposite. Last night, after you -went in, Aunt Netty took us to the cafe, and we all sat there: Mr. -Rudd, Mabel, a Frenchman whose name I don't know, and M. Kranitski. -The Frenchman was talking about China, and said he had stayed with a -French priest there. The priest had asked him why he didn't go to Mass. -The Frenchman said he had no faith. The priest had said it was quite -simple, he had only to pray to the Sainte Vierge for faith, _Mon enfant, -c'est bien simple: il faut demander la foi a la Sainte Vierge._ He -said this, imitating the priest, in a falsetto voice. They all laughed -except M. Kranitski, who said, seriously, 'Of course, you should ask the -Sainte Vierge.' When the Frenchman and M. Kranitski went away, Mr. Rudd -said that in matters of religion Russians were childish, and that M. -Kranitski has a _simpliste_ mind." - -I said that Kranitski was obviously religious. - -"Yes," she said, "but to be like that, one must be born like that." - -I said that curious explosions often happened to people. I had heard -people talk of divine dynamite. - -"Yes, but not to the people who want them to happen." - -I said perhaps the method of the French priest in China was the best. - -"Yes, if only one could do it--I can't." - -I said that I felt as she did about these things. - -"I know so many people who are just in the same state," she said. -"Perhaps it's like wishing to be musical when one isn't. But after all -one _does_ change, doesn't one?" - -I said some people did, certainly. When one was in one frame of mind one -couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in another. - -"Yes," she said, "but I suppose there's a difference between being in -one frame of mind and not wishing ever to be in another, and in being in -the same frame of mind but longing to be in another." - -I asked if she knew how long Kranitski was going to stay at Hareville. - -"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it all depends." - -"On his health?" - -"I don't think so. He's quite well." - -"Religion must be all or nothing," I said, going back to the topic. - -"Yes, of course." - -"If I was religious I should----" - -She interrupted me in the middle of my sentence. - -"Mr. Rudd is writing a book," she said. "Aunt Netty asked him what it -was about, and he said it was going to be a private book, a book that he -would only write in his holidays for his own amusement. She asked him -whether he had begun it. He said he was only planning it, but he had -got an idea. He doesn't like Mabel Summer. He thinks she is laughing -at him. She isn't really, but she sees through him. I don't mean he -pretends to be anything he isn't, but she sees all there is to see, -and no more. He likes one to see more. Aunt Netty sees a great deal -more. I see less probably. I'm unfair to him, I know. I know I'm very -intolerant. You are so tolerant." - -I said I wasn't really, but kept my intolerances to myself out of -policy. It was a prudent policy for one in my position. - -"Mr. Rudd adores you," she said. "He says you are so acute, so sensitive -and so sensible." - -I said I was a good listener. - -"Has he told you about his book?" - -I said that he had told me what he had told them. - -"M. Kranitski has such a funny idea about it," she said. - -I asked what the idea was. - -"He thinks he is writing a book about all of us." - -"Who is the heroine?" I asked. - -"Mabel--I think," she said. "She's so pretty. Mr. Rudd admires her. He -said she was like a Tanagra, and I can see she puzzles him. He's afraid -of her." - -"And who is the hero?" I asked. - -"I can't imagine," she said. "I expect he has invented one." - -"Why is the book private?" - -"Because it's about real people." - -"Then we may all of us be in it?" - -"Yes." - -"What made Kranitski think that?" I asked. - -"The way he discusses all our characters. Each person who isn't there -with all the others who are there. For instance, he discusses Princess -Kouragine with Aunt Netty, and Mabel with Princess Kouragine, and you -with all of us; and M. Kranitski says he talks about people like a -stage manager settling what actors must be cast for a particular play. -He checks what one person tells him with what the others say. I have -noticed it myself. He talked to me for hours about Mabel one day, and -after he had discussed Princess Kouragine with us, he asked Mabel what -she thought of her. That is to say, he told her what he thought, and -then asked her if she agreed. I don't think he listened to what she -said. He hardly ever listens. He talks in monologues. But there must be -someone there to listen." - -"You have left out one of the characters," I said. - -"Have I?" - -"The most important one." - -"The hero?" - -"And the heroine." - -"He's sure to invent those." - -"I'm not so sure, I think you have left out the most important -character." - -"I don't think so." - -"I mean yourself." - -"Oh no, that's nonsense; he never pays any attention to me at all. He -doesn't talk about me to Aunt Netty or to the others." - -"Perhaps he has made up his mind." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "that's just it. He has made up his mind. He -thinks I'm a--well, just a lay figure." - -I said I was certain she would not be left out if he was writing that -kind of book. - -She laughed happily--so happily that I imagined her looking radiant and -felt that the lamp was lit. I asked her why she was laughing. - -"I'm laughing," she said, "because in one sense my novel is over--with -the ordinary happy, conventional ending--the reason I wanted to talk to -you to-day was to tell you----" - -At that moment Mrs. Lennox joined us. Miss Brandon's voice passed quite -naturally into another key, as she said: - -"Here is Aunt Netty." - -"I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mrs. Lennox, "I've got a -headache, and we've so many letters to write. When we've done them you -can watch me doing my patience." - -She said these last words as if she was conferring an undeserved reward -on a truant child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Later on in the evening, about six o'clock, as I was drinking a glass -of water in the Pavilion, someone nearly ran into me and was saved from -doing so by the intervention of a stranger who saw at once I was blind, -although the other person had not noticed it. He shepherded me away from -the danger and apologized. He said he supposed I was an Englishman, -and that he was one too. He told me his name was Canning. We talked a -little. He asked me if I was staying at the _Splendide_. I said I was. -He said he had hoped to meet some friends of his, who he had understood -were staying there too, but he could not find their names on the list -of visitors. A Mrs. Lennox, he said, and her niece, Miss Brandon. Did I -know them? I told him they were staying at the hotel; not at the hotel -proper, but at the annexe, which was a separate building. I described -to him where it was. The man's voice struck me. It was so gentle, so -courteous, with a tinge of melancholy in it. I asked him if he was -taking the waters? He said he hadn't settled. He liked watering places. -Then our brief conversation came to an end. - -After dinner, Rudd fetched me and I joined the group. I was introduced -to the stranger I met in the morning: Captain Canning they called him. -Mrs. Summer and Princess Kouragine were sitting with them. They all -talked a great deal, except Miss Brandon, who said little, and Captain -Canning who said nothing. - -The next morning Kranitski met me at the Pavilion, and we talked a great -deal. He was in high spirits and looking forward to an expedition to -the lakes which Mrs. Lennox had organized. He was going with her, Miss -Brandon and others. While we were sitting on a seat in the _Galeries_ -the postman went by with the letters. There was a letter for Kranitski, -and he asked me if I minded his reading it. He read it. There was a -silence and then suddenly he laughed: a short rather mirthless chuckle. -We neither of us said anything for a moment, and I felt, I knew, -something had happened. There was a curious strain in his voice which -seemed to come from another place, as he said: "It is time for my -douche. I shall be late. I will see you this evening." He then left me. -I saw nobody for the rest of the day. - -The next day I saw some of the group in the morning just before -_dejeuner_. Rudd read out a short story to us from a magazine. After -luncheon Rudd came up to my room. He wished to have a talk. He had been -so busy lately. - -"With your book?" I asked. - -"No. I have had no time to touch it," he said. "It's all simmering in my -mind. I daresay I shall never write it at all." - -I asked him who Captain Canning was. He knew all about him. He was the -young man who had once been engaged to Miss Brandon, so Mrs. Lennox had -told him. But it was quite obvious that he no longer cared for her. - -"Then why did he come here?" I asked. - -"He caught fever in India and wanted to consult Doctor Sabran, the great -malaria expert here. He was not staying on. He was going away in a few -days' time. That was one reason. There was another. Donna Maria Alberti, -the beautiful Italian, had been here for a night on her way to Italy. -Canning had met her in Africa and was said to be devoted to her." - -I asked him why he thought Canning no longer cared for Miss Brandon. - -"Because," he said, "if he did he would propose to her at once." - -"But money," I said. - -That was all right now. His uncle had died. He was quite well off. He -could marry if he wanted to. He had not paid the slightest attention to -Miss Brandon. - -"And she?" I asked. - -"He is a different person now to what he was, but she is the same. She -accepts the fact." - -"But does she love anyone else?" - -"Oh! that----" - -"Is 'another story'?" I said. - -"Quite a different story," he said gravely. - -Rudd then left me. He was going out with Mrs. Lennox. Not long after -he had gone, Canning himself came and talked to me. He said he was not -staying long. He had not much leave and there was a great deal he must -do in England. He had come here to see a special doctor who was supposed -to know all about malaria. But he had found this doctor was no longer -here. He had meant to have a holiday, as he liked watering-places--they -amused him--but he found he had had so much to do in England. He kept -on getting so many business letters that he would have to go away much -sooner than he intended. He was going back to South Africa at the end of -the month. - -"I have still got another year out there," he said. "After that I shall -take up the career of a farmer in England, unless I settle in Africa -altogether. It is a wonderful place. I have been so much away that I -hardly feel at home in England now. At least, I think I shall hardly -feel at home there. I only passed through London on my way out here." - -I told him that if he ever came to Italy he must stay with me at -Cadenabbia. He said he would like to come to Italy. He had several -Italian friends. One of them, Donna Maria Alberti, had been here -yesterday, but she had gone. He sat for some time with me, but he did -not talk much. - -After dinner I found the usual group, all but Miss Brandon who had got a -headache, and Kranitski who was playing in the Casino. Canning joined -us for a moment, but he did not stay long. - -The next day I saw nothing of any of the group. There were races going -on not far off, and I had gathered that Mrs. Lennox was going to these. - -It was two or three days after this that Kranitski came up to my room at -ten o'clock in the morning, and asked whether he could see me. He said -he wanted to say "Good-bye," as he was going away. - -"My plans have been changed," he said. "I am going to London, and then -probably to South Africa at the end of the month. I have been making the -acquaintance of that nice Englishman, Canning. I am going with him." - -"Just for the sea voyage?" I asked. - -"No; I shall stay there for a long time. I am _Europamuede_, if you know -what that means--tired of Europe." - -"And of Russia?" I asked. - -"Most of all of Russia," he said. - -"I want to tell you one thing," he went on. "After our meeting the other -day I have been thinking you might think wrong. You are what we call in -Russia very _chutki_, with a very keen scent in impressions. I want -you not to misjudge. You may be thinking the obstacle has come back. It -hasn't. I am free as air, as empty air. That is what I have been wanting -to tell you. If you are understanding, well and good. If you are not -understanding, I can tell you no more. I have enjoyed our acquaintance. -We have not been knowing each other much, yet I know you very well now. -I want to thank you and go." - -I asked him if he would like letters. I said I wrote letters on a -typewriter. - -He said he would. I told him he could write to me if he didn't mind -letters being read out. My sister generally read my letters to me. She -stayed with me whenever she could at Cadenabbia. But now she was busy. - -He said he would write. He didn't mind who read his letters. I told him -I lived all the year in Italy, and very seldom saw anyone, so that I -should have little news to send him. "Tell me what you are thinking," he -said. "That is all the news I want." - -I asked if there was anything else I could do for him. He said, "Yes, -send me any books that Mr. Rudd writes. They would interest me." - -I promised him I would do this. Then he said "Good-bye." He went away by -the seven o'clock train. - -That evening I saw no one. The next morning I learnt that Canning had -gone too. - -Rudd came up to my rooms to see me, but I told Henry I was not well and -he did not let him come in. - -The next morning I talked to Princess Kouragine at the door of the -hotel. She was just leaving. I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"They have gone," said the Princess. "They went last night to Paris. -They are going to Munich and then to Bayreuth. Jean asked me to say -'Good-bye' to you. She said she hopes you will come here next year." - -"Has Rudd gone with them?" I asked. - -"He will meet them at Bayreuth later. He does not love Mozart. And there -is a Mozart festival at Munich." - -I asked after Miss Brandon. - -"The same as before," said the Princess. "The lamp was lit for a moment, -but they put it out. It is a pity. The man behaved well." - -At that moment we were interrupted. I wanted to ask her a great deal -more. But the motor-bus drove up to the door. She said "Good-bye" to me. -She was going to Paris. She would spend the winter at Rome. - -In the afternoon I saw Mrs. Summer, but only for a moment. She told me -Miss Brandon had sent me a lot of messages, and I wanted to ask her -what had happened and how things stood, but she had an engagement. We -arranged to meet and have a long talk the next morning. - -But when the next morning came, I got a message from her, saying she had -been obliged to go to London at once to meet her husband. - -A little later in the day, I received a letter by post from my unmarried -sister, saying she would meet me in Paris and we could both go back to -Italy together. So I decided to do this. I saw Rudd once before I left. -He dined with me on my last night. He said that his holiday was shortly -coming to an end. He would spend three days at Bayreuth and then he -would go back to work. - -"On the Sleeping Beauty?" I asked. - -"No, not on that." He doubted whether he would ever touch that again. -The idea of it had been only a holiday amusement at first. "But now," he -said, "the idea has grown. If I do it, it will have to be a real book, -even if only a short one, a _nouvelle._ The idea is a fascinating one. -The Sleeping Beauty awake and changed in an alien world. Perhaps I may -do it some day. If I do, I will send it to you. In any case I was right -about Miss Brandon. She would be a better heroine for a fairy tale than -for a modern story. She is too emotionless, too calm for a modern novel." - -"I have got another idea," he went on, "I am thinking of writing a story -about a woman who looked as delicate as a flower, and who crushed those -who came into contact with her and destroyed those who loved her. The -idea is only a shadow as yet. But it may come to something. In any case -I must do some regular work at once. I have had a long enough holiday. -I have been wasting my time. I have enjoyed it, it has done me good, -and conversations are never wasted, as they are the breeding ground of -ideas. Sometimes the ideas do not flower for years. But the seed is sown -in talk. I am grateful to you too, and I hope I shall meet you here -again next year. I can't invent anything unless I am in sympathetic -surroundings." - -The next day I left Hareville and met my sister in Paris. We travelled -to Cadenabbia together. - - - - -OVERLOOKED - - - - -PART II - - -FROM THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY. - - -I - - -Two years after I had written these few chapters, I was sent once more -to Hareville. Again I went early in the season. There was nobody left -of the old group I had known during my first visit. Mrs. Lennox and her -niece were not there, and they were not expected. They had spent some -months at Hareville the preceding year. - -I had spent the intervening time in Italy. I had heard once or twice -from Mrs. Summer, and sometimes from Kranitski. He had gone to South -Africa with Canning and had stayed there He liked the country. Miss -Brandon was not yet married. Princess Kouragine I had not seen again. -Rudd I had neither heard from nor of. Apparently he had published one -book since he had been to Hareville and several short stories in -magazines. The book was called _The Silver Sandal_, and had nothing to -do with any of his experiences here or with any of the fancies which -they had called up. It was, on the contrary, a semi-historical romance -of a fantastic nature. - -During the first days of my stay here I made no acquaintances, and I was -already counting on a dreary three weeks of unrelieved dullness when my -doctor here introduced me to Sabran, the malaria specialist, who had -been away during my first cure. - -Dr. Sabran, besides being a specialist with a reverberating reputation -and a widely travelled man of great experience and European culture, had -a different side to his nature which was not even suspected by many of -his patients. - -Under the pseudonym of Gaspard Lautrec he had written some charming -stories and some interesting studies in art and literature. Historical -questions interested him; and still more, the quainter facts of human -nature, psychological puzzles, mysterious episodes, unvisited by-ways, -and baffling and unsolved problems in history, romance and everyday -life. He was a voracious reader, and there was little that had escaped -his notice in the contemporary literature of Europe. - -I found him an extraordinarily interesting companion, and he was kind -enough, busy as I knew him to be, either to come and see me daily, or -to invite me to his house. I often dined with him, and we would remain -talking in his sitting-room till late in the night, while he would tell -me of some of the remarkable things that had come under his notice or -sometimes weave startling and paradoxical theories about nature and man. - -I asked him one day if he knew Rudd's work. He said he admired it, -but it had always struck him as strange that a writer could be as -intelligent as Rudd and yet, at the same time, so obviously _a cote_ -with regard to some of the more important springs and factors of human -nature. - -I asked him what made him think that. - -"All his books," he said, "any of them. I have just been reading his -last book in the Tauchnitz edition, a book of stories, not short -stories: _nouvelles_. It is called _Unfinished Dramas_. I will lend it -you if you like." - -We talked of other things, and I took the book away with me when I went -away. The next day I received a letter from Rudd, sending me a privately -printed story (one of 500 signed copies) called _Overlooked_, which, he -said, completed the series of his "Unfinished Dramas," but which he had -not published for reasons which I would understand. - -Henry read out Rudd's new book to me. There were three stories in the -book. They did not interest me greatly, and I made Henry hurry through -them; but the privately printed story _Overlooked_ was none other than -the story he had thought of writing when we were at Hareville together. - -He had written the story more or less as he had said he had intended -to. All the characters of our old group were in it. Miss Brandon was -the centre, and Kranitski appeared, not as a Swede but as a Russian. I -myself flitted across the scene for a moment. - -The facts which he related were as far as I knew actually those which -had occurred to that group of people during their stay at Hareville two -years ago, but the deductions he drew from them, the causes he gave as -explaining them, seemed to me at least wide of the mark. - -His conception of such of his characters as I knew at all well, and -his interpretation of their motives were, in the cases in which I had -the power of checking them by my own experience, I considered quite -fantastically wrong. - -When I had finished reading the book, I sent it to Sabran, and with it -the MS. I had written two years ago, and I begged the doctor to read -what I had written and to let me know when he had done so, so that we -might discuss both the documents and their relation one to the other and -to the reality. - -(_Note_.--Here, in the bound copy of Anthony Kay's Papers, follows the -story called _Overlooked,_ by James Rudd.) - - - - -OVERLOOKED - -By JAMES RUDD. - - -1 - -It was the after-luncheon hour at Saint-Yves-les-Bains. The Pavilion, -with its large tepid glass dome and polished brass fountains, where the -salutary, and somewhat steely, waters flowed unceasingly, the Pompeian -pillared "Galeries" were deserted; so were the trim park with its -kiosk, where a scanty orchestra played rag-time in the morning and in -the evenings; the florid Casino, which denoted the third of the three -styles of architecture that distinguished the appendages of the Hotel de -La Source, where a dignified, shabby, white Louis-Philippe nucleus was -still to be detected half-concealed and altogether overwhelmed by the -elegant improvements and dainty enlargements of the Second Empire and -the over-ripe _Art Nouveau_ excrescences of a later period. - -Kathleen Farrel had the park to herself. She was reading the _Morning -Post_, which her aunt, Mrs. Knolles, took in for the literary articles, -and which you would find on her table side by side with newspapers and -journals of a widely different and sometimes, indeed, of a startling and -flamboyant character; for Mrs. Knolles was catholic in her ideas and -daring in her tastes. - -Kathleen Farrel was reading listlessly without interest. She had lived -so much abroad that English news had little attraction for her, and she -was no longer young enough to regret missing any of the receptions, -race-meetings, garden-parties, and other social events which she was -idly skimming the record of. For it was now the height of the London -season, but Mrs. Knolles had let the London house in Hill Street. She -always let it every summer, and in the winter as well, whenever she -could find a tenant. - -A paragraph had caught Kathleen's eye and had arrested her attention. -It began thus: "The death has occurred at Monks-well Hall of Sir James -Stukely." - -Sir James Stukely was Lancelot Stukely's uncle. Lancelot would inherit -the baronetcy and a comfortable income. He had left the army some years -ago. He was at present abroad, performing some kind of secretarial -duties to the Governor of Malta. He would give up that job, which was -neither lucrative nor interesting, he would come home, and then---- - -At any rate, he had not altogether forgotten her. His monthly letters -proved that. They had been unfailingly regular. Only--well, for the -last year they had been undefinably different. Ever since that visit -to Cairo. She had heard stories of an attachment, a handsome Italian -lady, who looked like a Renaissance picture and who was said to be -unscrupulous. But she really knew nothing, and Lancelot had always -been so reserved, so reticent; his letters had always been so bald, -almost formal, ever since their brief engagement six years before had -been broken off. Ever since that memorable night in Ireland when she -confessed to her father, who was more than usually violent and had drunk -an extra glass of old Madeira, that she had refused to marry Lancelot. -At first she had asked him not to write, and he had dutifully accepted -the restriction. But later, when her father died, he had written to her -and she had answered his letter. Since then he had written once a month -without fail from India, where his regiment had been quartered, and -then from Malta. But never had there been a single allusion to the past -or to the future. The tone of them would be: "Dear Miss Farrel, We are -having very good sport." Or "Dear Miss Farrel, We went to the opera last -night. It was too classical for me." And they had always ended: "Yours -sincerely, Lancelot Stukely." - -And yet she could not believe he was really different. Was she -different? "Am I perhaps different?" she thought. She dismissed the -idea. What had happened to make her different? Nothing. For the last -five years, ever since her father had died, she had lived the same -life. The winter at her aunt's villa at Bordighera, sometimes a week or -two at Florence, the summer at Saint-Yves-les-Bains, where they lived -in the hotel, on special terms, as Mrs. Knolles was such a constant -client. Never a new note, always the same gang of people round them; -the fashionable cosmopolitan world of continental watering-places, the -English and foreign colonies of the Riviera and North Italy. She had -never met anyone who had roused her interest, and the only persons whose -attention she had seemed to attract were, in her Aunt Elsie's words, -"frankly impossible." - -She would be thirty next year. She already felt infinitely older. "But -perhaps," she thought, "he will come back the same as he was before. He -will propose and I will accept him this time." Why had she refused him? -Their financial situation--her poverty and his own very small income -had had nothing to do with it, because Lancelot had said he was willing -to wait for years, and everyone knew he had expectations. She could not -have left her father, but then her father died a year after she refused -Lancelot. - -No, the reason had been that she thought she did not love him. She -had liked Lancelot, but she hoped for something more and something -different. A fairy prince who would wake her to a different life. As -soon as he had gone away, and still more when his series of formal -letters began, she realized that she had made a mistake, and she had -never ceased to repent her action. The fact was, she said to herself, -I was too young to make such a decision. I did not know my own mind. -If only he had come back when father died. If only he had been a little -more insistent. He had accepted everything without a murmur. And yet now -she felt certain he had been faithful and was faithful still, whatever -anyone might say to the contrary. - -"Perhaps I am altered," she thought. "Perhaps he won't even recognize -me." And yet she knew she did not believe this. For although her Aunt -Elsie used to be seriously anxious about her niece's looks--fearing -anaemia, so much so that they sometimes visited dreary places on the -sea-coasts of England and France--she knew her looks had not altered -sensibly. People still stared at her when she entered a room, for -although there was nothing classical nor brilliant about her features -and her appearance, hers was a face you could not fail to observe -and which it was difficult to forget. It was a face that appealed to -artists. They would have liked to try and paint that clear white, -delicate skin, and those extraordinarily haunting round eyes which -looked violet in some lights and a deep sea-blue in others, and to try -and render the romantic childish glamour of her person, that wistful, -fairy-tale-like expression. It was extraordinary that with such an -appearance she should have been the inspirer of no romance, but so it -was. Painters had admired her; one or two adventurers had proposed to -her; but with the exception of Lancelot Stukely no one had fallen in -love with her. Perhaps she had frightened people. She could not make -conversation. She did not care for books. She knew nothing of art, and -the people her aunt saw--most of whom were foreigners--talked glibly and -sometimes wittily of all these things. - -Kathleen had been born for a country life, and she was condemned to live -in cities and in watering-places. She was insular; though she had lived -a great deal in Ireland, she was not Irish, and she had been cast for a -continental part. She was matter-of-fact, and her appearance promised -the opposite. She was in a sense the victim of her looks, which were so -misleading. - -But perhaps the solution, the real solution of the absence of romance, -or even of suitors, was to be found in her unconquerable listlessness -and apathy. She was, as it were, only half-alive. - -Once, when she was a little girl, she had gone to pick flowers in the -great dark wood near her home, where the trees had huge fantastic -trunks, and gnarled boles, and where in the spring-time the blue-bells -stretched beneath them like an unbroken blue sea. After she had been -picking blue-bells for nearly an hour, she had felt sleepy. She lay down -under the trunk of a tree. A gipsy passed her and asked to tell her -fortune. She had waved her away, as she had no sympathy with gipsies. -The gipsy had said that she would give her a piece of good advice -unasked, and that was, not to go to sleep in the forest on the Eve of -St. John, for if she did she would never wake. She paid no attention -to this, and she dozed off to sleep and slept for about half-an-hour. -She was an obstinate child, and not at all superstitious. When she -got home, she asked the housekeeper when was the Eve of St. John. -It happened to fall on that very day. She said to herself that this -proved what nonsense the gipsies talked, as she had slept, woken up, -come back to the house, and had high tea in the schoolroom as usual. -She never gave the incident another thought; but the housekeeper, who -was superstitious, told one of the maids that Miss Kathleen had been -_overlooked_ by the fairy-folk and would never be quite the same again. -When she was asked for further explanations, she would not give any. But -to all outward appearances Kathleen was the same, and nobody noticed any -difference in her, nor did she feel that she had suffered any change. - -As long as she had lived with her father in Ireland, she had been fairly -lively. She had enjoyed out-door life. The house, a ramshackle, Georgian -grey building, was near the sea, and her father who had been a sailor -used sometimes to take her out sailing. She had ridden and sometimes -hunted. All this she had enjoyed. It was only after she dismissed -Lancelot, who had known her ever since she was sixteen, that the mist -of apathy had descended on her. After her father's death, this mist had -increased in thickness, and when her continental life with her aunt had -began, she had altogether lost any particle of _joie de vivre_ she had -ever had. Nor did she seem to notice it or to regret the past. She never -complained. She accepted her aunt's plans and decisions, and never made -any objection, never even a suggestion or a comment. - -Her aunt was truly fond of her, and she tried to devise treats to please -her, and tried to awaken her interest in things. One year she had -taken Kathleen to Bayreuth, hoping to rouse her interest in music, but -Kathleen had found the music tedious and noisy, although she listened to -it without complaining, and when her aunt suggested going there another -year, she agreed to the suggestion with alacrity. The only thing which -ever roused her interest was horse-racing. Sometimes they went to the -races near Saint-Yves, and then Kathleen would become a different girl. -She would be, as long as the racing lasted, alive for the time being, -and sink back into her dreamless apathy as soon as they were over. - -At the same time, whenever she thought of Lancelot Stukely she felt a -pang of regret, and after reading this paragraph in the _Morning Post_, -she hoped, more than ever she had hoped before, that he would come back, -and come back unchanged and faithful, and that she would be the same for -him as she had been before, and that she would once more be able to -make his slow honest eyes light up and smoulder with love, admiration -and passion. - -"This time I will not make the same mistake," she said to herself. "If -he gives me the chance----" - - - -2 - - -Her reverie was interrupted by the approach of an hotel acquaintance. It -was Anikin, the Russian, who had in the last month become an accepted -and established factor in their small group of hotel acquaintances. -Kathleen had met him first some years ago at Rome, but it was only at -Saint-Yves that she had come to know him. - -As he took off his hat in a hesitating manner, as if afraid of -interrupting her thoughts, she registered the fact that she knew him, -not only better than anyone else at the hotel, but better almost than -anyone anywhere. - -"Would you like a game?" he asked. He meant a game which was provided in -the park for the distraction of the patients. It consisted in throwing -a small ring, attached to a post by a string, on to hooks which were -fixed on an upright sloping board. The hooks had numbers underneath -them, which varied from one to 5,000. - -"Not just at present," she said, "I am waiting for Aunt Elsie. I must -see what she is going to do, but later on I should love a game." - -He smiled and went on. He understood that she wanted to be left alone. -He had that swift, unerring comprehension of the small and superficial -shades of the mind, the minor feelings, social values, and human -relations that so often distinguishes his countrymen. - -He might, indeed, have stepped out of a Russian novel, with his -untidy hair, his short-sighted, kindly eyes, his colourless skin, and -nondescript clothes. Kathleen had never reflected before whether she -liked him or disliked him. She had accepted him as part of the place, -and she had not noticed the easiness of relations with him. It came upon -her now with a slight shock that these relations were almost peculiar -from their ease and naturalness. It was as if she had known him for -years, whereas she had not known him for more than a month. All this -flashed through her mind, which then went back to the paragraph in the -_Morning Post_, when her aunt rustled up to her. - -Mrs. Knolles had the supreme elegance of being smart without looking -conventional, as if she led rather than followed the fashion. There was -always something personal and individual about her Parisian hats, her -jewels, and her cloaks; and there was something rich, daring and exotic -about her sumptuous sombre hair, with its sudden gold-copper glints and -her soft brown eyes. There was nothing apathetic about her. She was -filled to the brim with life, with interest, with energy. She cast a -glance at the _Morning Post_, and said rather impatiently: - -"My dear child, what are you reading? That newspaper is ten days old. -Don't you see it is dated the first?" - -"So it is," said Kathleen apologetically. But that moment a thought -flashed through her: "Then, surely, Lancelot must be on his way home, if -he is not back already." - -"I've brought you your letters," said her aunt. "Here they are." - -Kathleen reached for them more eagerly than usual. She expected to see, -she hoped, at least, to see, Lancelot's rather childish hand-writing, -but both the letters were bills. - -"Mr. Arkright and Anikin are dining with us," said her aunt, "and Count -Tilsit." - -Kathleen said nothing. - -"You don't mind?" said her aunt. - -"Of course not." - -"I thought you liked Count Tilsit." - -"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen. - -Kathleen felt that she had, against her intention, expressed -disappointment, or rather that she had not expressed the necessary -blend of surprise and pleasure. But as Arkright and Anikin dined with -them frequently, and as she had forgotten who Count Tilsit was, this -was difficult for her. Arkright was an English author, who was a friend -of her aunt's, and had sufficient penetration to realize that Mrs. -Knolles was something more than a woman of the world; to appreciate her -fundamental goodness as well as her obvious cleverness, and to divine -that Kathleen's exterior might be in some ways deceptive. - -"You remember him in Florence?" said Mrs. Knolles, reverting to Count -Tilsit. - -"Oh, yes, the Norwegian." - -"A Swede, darling, not a Norwegian." - -"I thought it was the same thing," said Kathleen. - -"I have got a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Knolles. - -Kathleen made an effort to prepare her face. She was determined that it -should reveal nothing. She knew quite well what was coming. - -"Lancelot Stukely is in London," her aunt went on. "He came back just in -time to see his uncle before he died. His uncle has left him everything." - -"Was Sir James ill a long time?" Kathleen asked. - -"I believe he was," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, then I suppose he won't go back to Malta," said Kathleen, with -perfectly assumed indifference. - -"Of course not," said Mrs. Knolles. "He inherits the place, the title, -everything. He will be very well off. Would you like to drive to Bavigny -this afternoon? Princess Oulchikov can take us in her motor if you would -like to go. Arkright is coming." - -"I will if you want me to," said Kathleen. - -This was one of the remarks that Kathleen often made, which annoyed -her aunt, and perhaps justly. Mrs. Knolles was always trying to devise -something that would amuse or distract her niece, but whenever she -suggested anything to her or arranged any expedition or special treat -which she thought might amuse, all the response she met with was a -phrase that implied resignation. - -"I don't want you to come if you would rather not," she said with -beautifully concealed impatience. - -"Well, to-day I _would_ rather not," said Kathleen, greatly to her -aunt's surprise. It was the first time she had ever made such an answer. - -"Aren't you feeling well, darling?" she asked gently. - -"Quite well, Aunt Elsie, I promise," Kathleen said smiling, "but I said -I would sit and talk to Mr. Asham this afternoon." - -Mr. Asham was a blind man who had been ordered to take the waters at -Saint-Yves. Kathleen had made friends with him. - -"Very well," said Mrs. Knolles, with a sigh. "I must go. The motor will -be there. Don't forget we've got people dining with us to-night, and -don't wear your grey. It's too shabby." One of Miss Farrel's practices, -which irritated her aunt, was to wear her shabbiest clothes on an -occasion that called for dress, and to take pains, as it were, not to do -herself justice. - -Her aunt left her. - -Kathleen had made no arrangement with Asham. She had invented the excuse -on the spur of the moment, but she knew he would be in the park in the -afternoon. She wanted to think. She wanted to be alone. If Lancelot had -been in England when Sir James died, then he must have started home at -least a fortnight ago, as the news that she had read was ten days old. -She had not heard from him for over a month. This meant that his uncle -had been ill, he had returned to London, and had experienced a change of -fortune without writing her one word. - -"All the same," she thought, "it proves nothing." - -At that moment a friendly voice called to her. - -"What are you doing all by yourself, Kathleen?" - -It was her friend, Mrs. Roseleigh. Kathleen had known Eva Roseleigh -all her life, although her friend was ten years older than herself and -was married. She was staying at Saint-Yves by herself. Her husband was -engrossed in other occupations and complications besides those of his -business in the city, and of a different nature. Mrs. Roseleigh was -one of those women whom her friends talked of with pity, saying "Poor -Eva!" But "Poor Eva" had a large income, a comfortable house in Upper -Brook Street. She was slight, and elegant; as graceful as a Tanagra -figure, fair, delicate-looking, appealing and plaintive to look at, with -sympathetic grey eyes. Her husband was a successful man of business, and -some people said that the neglect he showed his wife and the publicity -of his infidelities was not to be wondered at, considering the contempt -with which she treated him. It was more a case of "Poor Charlie," they -said, than "Poor Eva." - -Kathleen would not have agreed with these opinions. She was never tired -of saying that Eva was "wonderful." She was certainly a good friend to -Kathleen. - -"Sir James Stukely is plead," said Kathleen. - -"I saw that in the newspaper some time ago. I thought you knew," said -Mrs. Roseleigh. - -"It was stupid of me not to know. I read the newspapers so seldom and so -badly." - -"That means Lancelot will come home." - -"He has come home." - -"Oh, you know then?" - -"Know what?" - -"That he is coming here?" - -Kathleen blushed crimson. "Coming here! How do you know?" - -"I saw his name," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "on the board in the hall of the -hotel, and I asked if he had arrived. They told me they were expecting -him to-night." - -At that moment a tall dark lady, elegant as a figure carved by Jean -Goujon, and splendid as a Titian, no longer young, but still more than -beautiful, walked past them, talking rather vehemently in Italian to a -young man, also an Italian. - -"Who is that?" asked Kathleen. - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "is Donna Laura Bartolini. She is still -very beautiful, isn't she? The man with her is a diplomat." - -"I think," said Kathleen, "she is very striking-looking. But what -extraordinary clothes." - -"They are specially designed for her." - -"Do you know her?" - -"A little. She is not at all what she seems to be. She is, at heart, -matter-of-fact, and domestic, but she dresses like a Bacchante. She has -still many devoted adorers." - -"Here?" - -"Everywhere. But she worships her husband." - -"Is he here?" - -"No, but I think he is coming." - -"I remember hearing about her a long time ago. I think she was at Cairo -once." - -"Very likely, Her husband is an archaeologist, a _savant_." - -Was that the woman, thought Kathleen, to whom Lancelot was supposed to -have been devoted? If so, it wasn't true. She was sure it wasn't true. -Lancelot would never have been attracted by that type of woman, and -yet---- - -"Aunt Elsie has asked a Swede to dinner. Count Tilsit. Do you know him?" - -"I was introduced to him yesterday. He admired you." - -"Do you like him?" - -"I hardly know him. I think he is nice-looking and has good manners and -looks like an Englishman." - -But Kathleen was no longer listening. She was thinking of Lancelot, of -his sudden arrival. What could it mean? Did he know they were here? -The last time he had written was a month ago from London. Had she said -they were coming here? She thought she had. Perhaps she had not. In any -case that would hardly make any difference, as he knew they went abroad -every year, knew they went to Saint-Yves most years, and if he didn't -know, would surely hear it in London. Yes, he must know. Then it meant -either that--or perhaps it meant something quite different. Perhaps -the doctor had sent him to Saint-Yves. He had suffered from attacks of -Malta fever several times. Saint-Yves was good for malaria. There was a -well-known malaria specialist on the medical staff. He might be coming -to consult him. What did she want to be the truth? What did she feel? -She scarcely knew herself. She felt exhilarated, as if life had suddenly -become different, more interesting and strangely irridescent. What -would Lancelot be like? Would he be the same? Or would he be someone -quite different? She couldn't talk about it, not even to Eva, although -Eva had known all about it, and Mrs. Roseleigh with her acute intuition -guessed that, and guessed what Kathleen was thinking about, and said -nothing that fringed the topic; but what disconcerted Kathleen and gave -her a slight quiver of alarm was that she thought she discerned in Eva's -voice and manner the faintest note of pity; she experienced an almost -imperceptible chill in the temperature; an inkling, the ghost of a -warning, as if Eva were thinking. "You mustn't be disappointed if----" -Well, she wouldn't be disappointed _if_. At least nobody should divine -her disappointment: not even Eva. - -Mrs. Roseleigh guessed that her friend wanted to be alone and left her -on some quickly invented pretext. As soon as she was alone Kathleen rose -from her seat and went for a walk by herself beyond the park and through -the village. Then she came back and played a game with Anikin at the -ring board, and at five o'clock she had a talk with Asham to quiet her -conscience. She stayed out late, until, in fact, the motor-bus, which -met the evening express, arrived from the station at seven o'clock. -She watched its arrival from a distance, from the galleries, while she -simulated interest in the shop windows. But as the motor-bus was emptied -of its passengers, she caught no sight of Lancelot. When the omnibus had -gone, and the new arrivals left the scene, she walked into the hall of -the hotel, and asked the porter whether many new visitors had arrived. - -"Two English gentlemen," he said, "Lord Frumpiest and Sir Lancelot -Stukely." She ran upstairs to dress for dinner, and even her Aunt -Elsie was satisfied with her appearance that night. She had put on her -sea-green tea-gown: a present from Eva, made in Paris. - -"I wish you always dressed like that," said Mrs. Knolles, as they walked -into the Casino dining-room. "You can't think what a difference it -makes. It's so foolish not to make the best of oneself when it needs so -very little trouble." But Mrs. Knolles had the untaught and unlearnable -gift of looking her best at any season, at any hour. It was, indeed, no -trouble to her; but all the trouble in the world could not help others -to achieve the effects which seemed to come to her by accident. - - - -3 - - -As they walked into the large hotel dining-room, Kathleen was conscious -that everyone was looking at her, except Lancelot, if he was there, and -she felt he _was_ there. Arkright and Count Tilsit were waiting for them -at their table and stood up as they walked in. They were followed almost -immediately by Princess Oulchikov, whose French origin and education -were made manifest by her mauve chiffon shawl, her buckled shoes, and -the tortoise-shell comb in her glossy black hair. Nothing could have -been more unpretentious than her clothes, and nothing more common to -hundreds of her kind, than her single row of pearls and her little -platinum wrist-watch, but the manner in which she wore these things was -French, as clearly and unmistakably French and not Russian, Italian, -or English, as an article signed Jules Lemaitre or the ribbons of a -chocolate Easter Egg from the _Passage des Panoramas_. She looked like a -Winterhalter portrait of a lady who had been a great beauty in the days -of the Second Empire. - -Her married life with Prince Oulchikov, once a brilliant and reckless -cavalry officer, and not long ago deceased, after many vicissitudes -of fortune, ending by prosperity, since he had died too soon after -inheriting a third fortune to squander it, as he had managed to squander -two former inheritances, and her at one time prolonged sojourns in the -country of her adoption had left no trace on her appearance. As to -their effect on her soul and mind, that was another and an altogether -different question. - -Mrs. Knolles, whose harmonious draperies of black and yellow seemed to -call for the brush of a daring painter, sat at the further end of the -table next to the window, on her left at the end of the table Arkright, -whom you would never have taken for an author, since his motto was what -a Frenchman once said to a young painter who affected long hair and -eccentric clothes: "_Ne savez-vous pas qu'il faut s'habiller comme tout -le monde et peindre comme personne?_" On his other side sat Princess -Oulchikov; next to her at the end of the table, Kathleen, and then Count -Tilsit (fair, blue-eyed, and shy) on Mrs. Knolles's right. - -Kathleen, being at the end of the table, could not see any of the tables -behind her, but in front of her was a gilded mirror, and no sooner -had they sat down to dinner than she was aware, in this glass, of the -reflection of Lancelot Stukely's back, who was sitting at a table with -a party of people just opposite to them on the other side of the room. -There was nothing more remarkable about Lancelot Stukely's front view -than about his back view, and that, in spite of a certain military -squareness of shoulder, had a slight stoop. He was small and seemed made -to grace the front windows of a club in St. James's Street; everything -about him was correct, and his face had the honest refinement of a -well-bred dog that has been admirably trained and only barks at the -right kind of stranger. - -But the sudden sight of Lancelot transformed Kathleen. It was as if -someone had lit a lamp behind her alabaster mask, and in the effort -to conceal any embarrassment, or preoccupation, she flushed and became -unusually lively and talked to Anikin with a gaiety and an uninterrupted -ease, that seemed not to belong to her usual self. - -And yet, while she talked, she found time every now and then to study -the reflections of the mirror in front of them, and these told her that -Lancelot was sitting next to Donna Laura Bartolini. The young man she -had seen talking to Donna Laura was there also. There were others whom -she did not know. - -Mrs. Knolles was busily engaged in thawing the stiff coating of ice -of Count Tilsit's shyness, and very soon she succeeded in putting him -completely at his ease; and Arkright was trying to interest Princess -Oulchikov in Japanese art. But the Princess had lived too long in Russia -not to catch the Slav microbe of indifference, and she was a woman -who only lived by half-hours. This half-hour was one of her moment -of eclipse, and she paid little attention to what Arkright said. He, -however, was habituated to her ways and went on talking. - -Mrs. Knolles was surprised and pleased at her niece's behaviour. Never -had she seen her so lively, so gay. - -"Miss Farrel is looking extraordinarily well to-night," Arkright said, -in an undertone, to the Princess. - -"Yes," said Princess Oulchikov, "she is at last taking waters from -the right _source._" She often made cryptic remarks of this kind, and -Arkright was puzzled, for Kathleen never took the waters, but he knew -the Princess well enough not to ask her to explain. Princess Oulchikov -made no further comment. Her mind had already relapsed into the land of -listless limbo which it loved to haunt. - -Presently the conversation became general. They discussed the races, the -troupe at the Casino Theatre, the latest arrivals. - -"Lancelot Stukely is here," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," said Kathleen, with great calm, "dining with Donna Laura -Bartolini." - -"Oh, Laura's arrived," said Mrs. Knolles. "I am glad. That is good news. -What fun we shall all have together. Yes. There she is, looking lovely. -Don't you think she's lovely?" she said to Arkright and the Princess. - -Arkright admired Donna Laura unreservedly. Princess Oulchikov said she -would no doubt think the same if she hadn't known her thirty years ago, -and then "those clothes," she said, "don't suit her, they make her look -like an _art nouveau_ poster." Anikin said he did not admire her at all, -and as for the clothes, she was the last person who should dare those -kind of clothes; her beauty was conventional, she was made for less -fantastic fashions. He looked at Kathleen. He was thinking that her type -of beauty could have supported any costume, however extravagant; in fact -he longed to see her draped in shimmering silver and faded gold, with -strange stones in her hair. Count Tilsit, who was younger than anyone -present, said he found her young. - -"She is older than you think," said Princess Oulchikov. "I remember her -coming out in Rome in 1879." - -"Do you think she is over fifty?" said Kathleen. - -"I do not think it, I am sure," said the Princess. - -"Her figure is wonderful," said Mrs Knolles. - -"Was she very beautiful then?" asked Anikin. - -"The most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said the Princess. "People -stood on chairs to look at her one night at the French Embassy. It is -cruel to see her dressed as she is now." - -Count Tilsit opened his clear, round, blue eyes, and stared first at -the Princess and then at Donna Laura. It was inconceivable to his young -Scandinavian mind that this radiant and dazzling creature, dressed up -like the Queen in a Russian ballet, could be over fifty. - -"To me, she has always looked exactly the same," said Arkright. "In -fact, I admire her more now than I did when I first knew her fifteen -years ago." - -"That is because you look at her with the eyes of the past," said the -Princess, "but not of a long enough past, as I do. When you first saw -her you were young, but when I first saw her _she_ was young. That makes -all the difference." - -"I think she is very beautiful now," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"And so do I," said Kathleen. "I could understand anyone being in love -with her." - -"That there will always be people in love with her," said the Princess, -"and young people. She has charm as well as beauty, and how rare that -is!" - -"Yes," said Anikin, pensively, "how rare that is." - -Kathleen looked at the mirror as if she was appraising Donna Laura's -beauty, but in reality it was to see whether Lancelot was talking to -her. As far as she could see he seemed to be rather silent. General -conversation, with a lot of Italian intermixed with it, was going up -from the table like fireworks. Kathleen turned to Count Tilsit and made -conversation to him, while Anikin and the Princess began to talk in a -passionately argumentative manner of all the beauties they had known. -The Princess had come to life once more. Mrs. Knolles, having done her -duty, relapsed into a comfortable conversation with Arkright. They -understood each other without effort. - -The Italian party finished their dinner first, and went out on to the -terrace, and as they walked out of the room the extraordinary dignity -of Donna Laura's carriage struck the whole room. Whatever anyone might -think of her looks now, there was no doubt that her presence still -carried with it the authority that only great beauty, however much it -may be lessened by time, confers. - -"_Elle est encore tres belle_," said Princess Oulchikov, voicing the -thoughts of the whole party. - -Mrs. Knolles suggested going out. Shawls were fetched and coffee was -served just outside the hotel on a stone terrace. - -Soon after they had sat down, Lancelot Stukely walked up to them. He was -not much changed, Kathleen thought. A little grey about the temples, -a little bit thinner, and slightly more tanned--his face had been -burnt in the tropics--but the slow, honest eyes were the same. He said -how-do-you-do to Mrs. Knolles and to herself, and was presented to the -others. - -Mrs. Knolles asked him to sit down. - -"I must go back presently," he said, "but may I stay a minute?" - -He sat down next to Kathleen. - -They talked a little with pauses in between their remarks. She did not -ask him how long he was going to stay, but he explained his arrival. He -had come to consult the malaria specialist. - -"We have all been discussing Donna Laura Bartolini," said Mrs. Knolles. -"You were dining with her?" - -"Yes," he said, "she is an old friend of mine. I met her first at Cairo." - -"Is she going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"No," he said, "she is only passing through on her way to Italy. She -leaves for Ravenna to-morrow morning." - -"She is looking beautiful," said Mrs. Knolles. - -"Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful, isn't she?" - -Then he got up. - -"I hope we shall meet again to-morrow," he said to Kathleen and to Mrs. -Knolles. - -"Are you staying on?" asked Mrs. Knolles. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I only wanted to see the doctor. I have got to go -back to England at once. I have got so much business to do." - -"Of course," said Mrs. Knolles. "We will see you to-morrow. Will you -come to the lakes with us?" - -Lancelot hesitated and then said that he, alas, would be busy all day -to-morrow. He had an appointment with the doctor--he had so little time. - -He was slightly confused in his explanations. He then said good-night, -and went back to his party. They were sitting at a table under the trees. - -Kathleen felt relieved, unaccountably relieved, that he had gone, and -she experienced a strange exhilaration. It was as if a curtain had been -lifted up and she suddenly saw a different and a new world. She had -the feeling of seeing clearly for the first time for many years. She -saw quite plainly that as far as Lancelot was concerned, the past was -completely forgotten. She meant nothing to him at all. He was the same -Lancelot, but he belonged to a different world. There were gulfs and -gulfs between them now. He had come here to see Donna Laura for a few -hours. He had not minded doing this, although he knew that he would meet -Kathleen. He had told her himself that he knew he would meet her. He -had mentioned the rarity of his letters lately. He had been so busy, and -then all that business ... his uncle's death. - -The situation was quite simple and quite clear. But the strange thing -was that, instead of feeling her life was over, as she had expected to -feel, she felt it was, on the contrary, for the first time beginning. - -"I have been waiting for years," she thought to herself, "for this fairy -Prince, and now I see that he was not the fairy Prince, after all. But -this does not mean I may not meet the fairy Prince, the _real_ one," and -her eyes glistened. - -She had never felt more alive, more ready for adventure. Anikin -suggested that they should all walk in the garden. It was still -daylight. They got up. The Princess, Arkright, Mrs. Knolles, and Count -Tilsit walked down the steps first, and passed on down an avenue. - -Kathleen delayed until the others walked on some way, and then she said -to Anikin, who was waiting for her: - -"Let us stay and talk here. It is quieter. We can go for a walk -presently." - - - -4 - - -They did not stay long on the terrace. As soon as they saw which -direction the rest of the party had taken they took another. They walked -through the hotel gates across the street as far as a gate over which -_Bellevue_ was written. They had never been there before. It was an -annexe of the hotel, a kind of detached park. They climbed up the hill -and passed two deserted and unused lawn-tennis courts and a dusty track -once used for skittles, and emerged from a screen of thick trees on to a -little plateau. Behind them was a row of trees and a green corn-field, -beneath them a steep slope of grass. They could see the red roofs of the -village, the roofs of the hotels, the grey spire of the village church, -the park, the green plain and, in the distance rising out of the green -corn, a large flat-topped hill. The long summer daylight was at last -fading away. The sky was lustrous and the air was quite still. - -The fields and the trees had that peculiar deep green they take on in -the twilight, as if they had been dyed by the tints of the evening. -Anikin said it reminded him of Russia. - -Kathleen had wrapped a thin white shawl round her, and in the dimness -of the hour she looked as white as a ghost, but in the pallor of her -face her eyes shone like black diamonds. Anikin had never seen her look -like that. And then it came to him that this was the moment of moments. -Perhaps the moon had risen. The cloudless sky seemed all of a sudden to -be silvered with a new light. There was a dry smell of sun-baked roads -and of summer in the air, and no sound at all. - -They had sat down on the bench and Kathleen was looking straight in -front of her out into the west, where the last remains of the sunset had -faded some time ago. - -This Anikin felt was the sacred minute; the moment of fate; the -imperishable instant which Faust had asked for even at the price of his -soul, but which mortal love had always denied him. In a whisper he asked -Kathleen to be his wife. She got up from the seat and said very slowly: - -"Yes, I will marry you." - -The words seemed to be spoken for her by something in her that was not -herself, and yet she was willing that they should be spoken. She seemed -to want all this to happen, and yet she felt that it was being done for -her, not of her own accord, but by someone else. Her eyes shone like -stars. But as he touched her hand, she still felt that she was being -moved by some alien spirit separate from herself and that it was not she -herself that was giving herself to him. She was obeying some exterior -and foreign control which came neither from him nor from her--some -mysterious outside influence. She seemed to be looking on at herself as -she was whirled over the edge of a planet, but she was not making the -effort, nor was it Anikin's words, nor his look, nor his touch, that -were moving her. He had taken her in his arms, and as he kissed her they -heard footsteps on the path coming towards them. The spell was broken, -and they gently moved apart one from the other. It was he who said -quietly: - -"We had better go home." - -Some French people appeared through the trees round the corner. A -middle-aged man in a nankin jacket, his wife, his two little girls. -They were acquaintances of Anikin and of Kathleen. It was the man who -kept a haberdasher's shop in the _Galeries_. Brief mutual salutations -passed and a few civilities were bandied, and then Kathleen and Anikin -walked slowly down the hill in silence. It had grown darker and a little -chilly. There was no more magic in the sky. It was as if someone had -somewhere turned off the light on which all the illusion of the scene -had depended. They walked back into the park. The band was playing an -undulating tango. Mrs. Knolles and the others were sitting on chairs -under the trees. Anikin and Kathleen joined them and sat down. Neither -of them spoke much during the rest of the evening. Presently Mrs. -Roseleigh joined them. She looked at Kathleen closely and there was a -slight shade of wonder in her expression. - -The next day Mrs. Knolles had organized an expedition to the lakes. -Kathleen, Anikin, Arkright, Princess Oulchikov and Count Tilsit were -all of the party. When they reached the first lake, they separated into -groups, Anikin and Kathleen, Count Tilsit and Mrs. Roseleigh, while -Arkright went with the Princess and Mrs. Knolles. - -Ever since the moment of magic at Bellevue, Kathleen had been like a -person in a trance. She did not know whether she was happy or unhappy. -She only felt she was being irresistibly impelled along a certain -course. It is certain that her strange state of mind affected Anikin. It -began to affect him from the moment he had held her in his arms on the -hill and that the spell had so abruptly been broken. He had thought this -had been due to the sudden interruption and the untimely intervention -of the prosaic realities of life. But was this the explanation? Was it -the arrival of the haberdasher on the scene that had broken the spell? -Or was it something else? Something far more subtle and mysterious, -something far more serious and deep? - -Curiously enough Anikin had passed through, on that memorable evening, -emotions closely akin to those which Kathleen had experienced. He said -to himself: "This is the Fairy Princess I have been seeking all my -life." But the morning after his moment of passion on the hill he began -to wonder whether he had dreamed this. - -And now that he was walking beside her along the broad road, under the -trees of the dark forest, through which, every now and then, they caught -a glimpse of the blue lake, he reflected that she was like what she had -been _before_ the decisive evening, only if anything still more aloof. -He began to feel that she was eluding him and that he was pursuing a -shadow. Just as he was thinking this ever so vaguely and tentatively, -they came to a turn in the road. They were at a cross-roads and they did -not know which road to take. They paused a moment, and from a path on -the side of the road the other members of the party emerged. - -There was a brief consultation, and they were all mixed up once more. -When they separated, Anikin found himself with Mrs. Roseleigh. Mrs. -Knolles had sent Kathleen on with Count Tilsit. - -Anikin was annoyed, but his manners were too good to allow him to show -it. They walked on, and as soon as they began to talk Anikin forgot his -annoyance. They talked of one thing and another and time rushed past -them. This was the first time during Anikin's acquaintance with Mrs. -Roseleigh that he had ever had a real conversation with her. He all at -once became aware that they had been talking for a long time and talking -intimately. His conscience pricked him; but, so far from wanting to -stop, he wanted to go on; and instead of their intimacy being accidental -it became on his part intentional. That is to say, he allowed himself to -listen to all that was not said, and he sent out himself silent wordless -messages which he felt were received instantly on an invisible aerial. - -For the moment he put all thoughts of what had happened away from him, -and gave himself up to the enchantment of understanding and being -understood so easily, so lightly. He put up his feet and coasted down -the long hill of a newly discovered intimacy. - -Presently there was a further meeting and amalgamation of the group as -they reached a famous view, and the party was reshuffled. This time -Anikin was left to Kathleen. Was it actually disappointment he was -feeling? Surely not; and yet he could not reach her. She was further off -than ever and in their talk there were long silences, during which he -began to reflect and to analyse with the fatal facility of his race for -what is their national moral sport. - -He reflected that except during those brief moments on the hill he had -never seen Kathleen alive. He had known her well before, and their -friendship had always had an element of easy sympathy about it, but -she had never given him a glimpse of what was happening behind her -beautiful mask, and no unspoken messages had passed between them. But -just now during that last walk with Mrs. Roseleigh, he recognized only -too clearly that notes of a different and a far deeper intimacy had -every now and then been struck accidently and without his being aware -of it at first, and then later consciously, and the response had been -instantaneous and unerring. - -And something began to whisper inside him: "What if she is not the -Fairy Princess after all, not your Fairy Princess?" And then there came -another more insidious whisper which said: "Your Fairy Princess would -have been quite different, she would have been like Mrs. Roseleigh, and -now that can never be." - -The expedition, after some coffee at a wayside hotel, came to an end -and they drove home in two motor cars. - -Once more he was thrown together with Mrs. Roseleigh, and once more -the soul of each of them seemed to be fitted with an invisible aerial -between which soundless messages, which needed neither visible channel -nor hidden wire, passed uninterruptedly. - -Anikin came back from that expedition a different man. All that night -he did not sleep. He kept on repeating to himself: "It was a mistake. -I do not love her. I can never love her. It was an illusion: the spell -and intoxication of a moment." And then before his eyes the picture of -Mrs. Roseleigh stood out in startling detail, her melancholy, laughing, -mocking eyes, her quick nervous laugh, her swift flashes of intuition. -How she understood the shade of the shadow of what he meant! - -And that mocking face seemed to say to him: "You have made a mistake -and you know it. You were spellbound for a moment by a face. It is a -ravishing face, but the soul behind it is not your soul. You do not -understand one another. You never will understand one another. There is -an unpassable gulf between you. Do not make the mistake of sacrificing -your happiness and hers as well to any silly and hollow phrases of -honour. Do not follow the code of convention, follow the voice of your -heart, your instincts that cannot go wrong. Tell her before it is too -late. And she, she does not love you. She never will love you. She was -spellbound, too, for the moment. But you have only to look at her now -to see that the spell is broken and it will never come back, at least -you will never bring it back. She is English, English to the core, -although she looks like the illustration to some strange fairy-tale, and -you are a Slav. You cannot do without Russian comfort, the comfort of -the mind, and she cannot do without English solidity. She will marry a -squire or, perhaps, who knows, a man of business; but someone solid and -rooted to the English soil and nested in the English conventions. What -can you give her? Not even talent. Not even the disorder and excitement -of a Bohemian life; only a restless voyage on the surface of life, -and a thousand social and intellectual problems, only the capacity of -understanding all that does not interest her." - -That is what the conjured-up face of Mrs. Roseleigh seemed to say to him. - -It was not, he said to himself, that he was in love or that he ever -would be in love with Mrs. Roseleigh. It was only that she had, by her -quick sympathy, revealed his own feelings to himself. She had by her -presence and her conversation given him the true perspective of things -and let him see them in their true light, and in that perspective and in -that light he saw clearly that he had made a mistake. He had mistaken -a moment of intoxication for the authentic voice of passion. He had -pursued a shadow. He had tried to bring to life a statue, and he had -failed. - -Then he thought that he was perhaps after all mistaken, that the next -morning he would find that everything was as it had been before; but -he did not sleep, and in the clear light of morning he realized quite -clearly that he did not love Kathleen. - -What was he to do? He was engaged to be married. Break it off? Tell her -at once? It sounded so easy. It was in reality--it would be to him at -any rate--so intensely difficult. He hated sharp situations. - -He felt that his action had been irrevocable: that there was no way out -of it. The chain around him was as thin as a spider's web. But would -he have the necessary determination to make the effort of will to snap -it? Nothing would be easier. She would probably understand. She would -perhaps help him, and yet he felt he would never be able to make the -slight gesture which would be enough to free him for ever from that -delicate web of gossamer. - - - -5 - - -When Anikin got up after his restless and sleepless night he walked out -into the park. The visitors were drinking the waters in the Pavilion -and taking monotonous walks between each glass. Asham was sitting in -a chair under the trees. His servant was reading out the _Times_ to -him. Anikin smiled rather bitterly to himself as he reflected how many -little dramas, comedies and tragedies might be played in the immediate -neighbourhood of that man without his being aware even of the smallest -hint or suggestion of them. He sat down beside him. The servant left -off reading and withdrew. - -"Don't let me interrupt you," said Anikin, but after a few moments -he left Asham. He found he was unable to talk and went back to the -hotel, where he drank his coffee and for a time he sat looking at the -newspapers in the reading room of the Casino. Then he went back to the -park. One thought possessed him, and one only. How was he to do it? -Should he say it, or write? And what should he say or write? He caught -sight of Arkright who was in the park by himself. He strolled up to him -and they talked of yesterday's expedition. Arkright said there were -some lakes further off than those they had visited, which were still -more worth seeing. They were thinking of going there next week--perhaps -Anikin would come too. - -"I'm afraid not," said Anikin. "My plans are changed. I may have to go -away." - -"To Russia?" asked Arkright. - -"No, to Africa, perhaps," said Anikin. - -"It must be delightful," said Arkright, "to be like that, to be able to -come and go when one wants to, just as one feels inclined, to start at -a moment's notice for Rome or Moscow and to leave the day after one has -arrived if one wishes to--to have no obligations, no ties, and to be at -home everywhere all over Europe." - -Arkright thought of his rather bare flat in Artillery Mansions, the -years of toil before a newspaper, let alone a publisher, would look at -any of his manuscripts, and then the painful, slow journey up the stairs -of recognition and the meagre substantial rewards that his so-called -reputation, his "place" in contemporary literature, had brought him; he -thought of all the places he had not seen and which he would give worlds -to see--Rome, Venice, Russia, the East, Spain, Seville; he thought of -what all that would mean to him, of the unbounded wealth which was there -waiting for him like ore in quarries in which he would never be allowed -to dig; he reflected that he had worked for ten years before ever being -able to go abroad at all, and that his furthest and fullest adventure -had been a fortnight spent one Easter at a fireless Pension in Florence. -Whereas here was this rich and idle Russian who, if he pleased, could -roam throughout Europe from one end to the other, who could take an -apartment in Rome or a palace in Venice, for whom all the immense spaces -of Russia were too small, and who could talk of suddenly going to -Africa, as he, Arkright, could scarcely talk of going to Brighton. - -"Life is very complicated sometimes," said Anikin. "Just when one -thinks things are settled and simple and easy, and that one has turned -over a new leaf of life, like a new clean sheet of blotting-paper, one -suddenly sees it is not a clean sheet; blots from the old pages come -oozing through--one can't get rid of the old sheets and the old blots. -All one's life is written in indelible ink--that strong violet ink which -nothing rubs out and which runs in the wet but never fades. The past is -like a creditor who is always turning up with some old bill that one -has forgotten. Perhaps the bill was paid, or one thought it was paid, -but it wasn't paid--wasn't fully paid, and there the interest has gone -on accumulating for years. And so, just as one thinks one is free, one -finds oneself more caught than ever and obliged to cancel all one's new -speculations because of the old debts, the old ties. That is what you -call the wages of sin, I think. It isn't always necessarily what you -would call a sin, but is the wages of the past and that is just as bad, -just as strong at any rate. They have to be paid in full, those wages, -one day or other, sooner or later." - -Arkright had not been an observer of human nature and a careful student -of minute psychological shades and impressions for twenty years for -nothing. He had had his eyes wide open during the last weeks, and Mrs. -Knolles had furnished him with the preliminary and fundamental data of -her niece's case. He felt quite certain that something had taken place -between Anikin and Kathleen. He felt the peculiar, the unmistakeable -relation. And now that the Russian had served him up this neat discourse -on the past he knew full well that he was not being told the truth. -Anikin was suddenly going away. A week ago he had been perfectly happy -and obviously in an intimate relation to Miss Farrel. Now he was -suddenly leaving, possibly to Africa. What had happened? What was the -cause of this sudden change of plan? He wanted to get out of whatever -situation he found himself bound by. But he also wanted to find for -others, at any rate, and possibly for himself as well, some excuse -for getting out of it. And here the fundamental cunning and ingenious -subtlety of his race was helping him. He was concocting a romance which -might have been true, but which was, as a matter of fact, untrue. He was -adding "the little more." He was inventing a former entanglement as an -obstacle to his present engagements which he wanted to cancel. - -Arkright knew that there had been a former entanglement in Anikin's -life, but what Anikin did not know was that Arkright also knew that this -entanglement was over. - -"It is very awkward," said Arkright, "when the past and the present -conflict." - -"Yes," said Anikin, "and very awkward when one is between two duties." - -I think I have got him there, thought Arkright. "A French writer," -he said aloud, "has said, '_de deux devoirs, il faut choisir le plus -desagreable_; that in chosing the disagreeable course you were likely to -be right." - -Anikin remained pensive. - -"What I find still more complicated," he said, "is when there is a -right reason for doing a thing, but one can't use it because the right -reason is not the real reason; there is another one as well." - -"For doing a duty," said Arkright. "Is that what you mean?" - -"There are circumstances," said Anikin, "in which one could point to -duty as a motive, but in which the duty happens to be the same as one's -inclinations, and if one took a certain course it would not be because -of the duty but because of the inclinations. So one can't any more talk -or think of duty." - -"Then," said Arkright, a little impatiently, "we can cancel the word -duty altogether. It is simply a case of choosing between duty and -inclination." - -"No," said Anikin, "it is sometimes a case of choosing between a -pleasure which is not contrary to duty (_et qui pourrait meme avoir -l'excuse du devoir_)" he lapsed into French, which was his habit when -he found it difficult to express himself in English, "and an obligation -which is contrary both to duty and inclination." - -"What is the difference between an obligation and a duty?" asked -Arkright. He wished to pin the elusive Slav down to something definite. - -"Isn't there in life often a conflict between them?" asked Anikin. "In -practical life, I mean. You know Tennyson's lines: - - "His honour rooted in dishonour stood - And faith unfaithful made him falsely true." - -"Now I understand," thought Arkright, "he is going to pretend that he is -in the position of Lancelot to Elaine, and plead a prior loyalty to a -Guinevere that no longer counts." - -"I think," he said, "in that case one cannot help remaining 'falsely -true.'" That is, he thought, what he wants me to say. - -"One cannot, that is to say, disregard the past," said Anikin. - -"No, one can't," said Arkright, as if he had entirely accepted the -Russian's complicated fiction. - -He wanted, at the same time, to give him a hint that he was not quite so -easily deceived as all that. - -"Isn't it a curious thought," he said, "how often people invoke the -engagements of a past which they have comfortably disregarded up to -that moment when they no longer wish to face an obligation in the -present, like a man who in order to avoid meeting a new debt suddenly -points to an old debt as something sacred, which up till that moment he -had completely disregarded, and indeed, forgotten?" - -Anikin laughed. - -"Why are you laughing?" asked Arkright. - -"I am laughing at your intuition," said Anikin. "You novelists are -terrible people." - -"He knows I have seen through him," thought Arkright, "and he doesn't -mind. He wanted me to see through him the whole time. He wants me to -know that he knows I know, and he doesn't mind. I think that all this -elaborate romance was perhaps only meant for me. He will choose some -simpler means of breaking off his engagement with Miss Farrel than by -pleading a past obligation. He is far subtler and deeper than I thought, -subtler and deeper in his simplicity. I should not be surprised if he -were to give her no explanation whatsoever." - -Arkright was in a sense right. What Anikin had said to Arkright was -meant for him and not for Miss Farrel. It was not a rehearsal of a -possible explanation for her, but it was the testing of a possible -justification of himself to himself. He had not thought out what he was -going to say before he began to talk to Arkright. He had begun with -fact and had involuntarily embroidered the fact with fiction. It was -_Wahrheit und Dichtung_ and the _Dichtung_ had got the better of the -_Wahrheit_. His passion for make-belief and self-analysis had carried -him away, and he had said things which might easily have been true and -had hinted at difficulties which might have been his, but which, in -reality, were purely imaginary. When he saw that Arkright had divined -the truth, he laughed at the novelist's acuteness, and had let him see -frankly that he realized he had been found out and that he did not mind. - -It was cynical, if you called that cynicism. Anikin would not have -called it something else: the absence of cement, which a Russian writer -had said was the cardinal feature of the Russian character. He did -not mean to say or do anything to Kathleen that could possibly seem -slighting. He was far too gentle and far too easy-going, far too weak, -if you will, to dream of doing anything of the kind. With her, infinite -delicacy would be needed. He did not know whether he could break off -his engagement at all, so great was his horror of ruptures, of cutting -Gordian-knots. This knot, in any case, could not be cut. It must be -patiently unravelled if it was to be untied at all. - -"I think," said Arkright, "that all these cases are simple to reason -about, but difficult to act on." Anikin was once more amazed at the -novelist's perception. He laughed again, the same puzzling, quizzical -_Slav_ laugh. - -"You Russians," said Arkright, "find all these complicated questions of -conflicting duties, divided conscience and clashing obligations, much -easier than we do." - -"Why?" asked Anikin. - -"Because you have a simple directness in dealing with subtle questions -of this kind which is so complete and so transparent that it strikes us -Westerners as being sometimes almost cynical." - -"Cynical?" said Anikin. "I assure you I was not being cynical." - -He said this smiling so naturally and frankly that for a moment Arkright -was puzzled. And Anikin had been quite honest in saying this. He could -not have felt less cynical about the whole matter; at the same time -he had not been able to help taking momentary enjoyment in Arkright's -acute diagnosis of the case when it was put to him, and at his swift -deciphering of the hieroglyphics and his skilful diagnosis, and he had -not been able to help conveying the impression that he was taking a -light-hearted view of the matter, when, in reality, he was perplexed -and distressed beyond measure; for he still had no idea of what he was -to do, and the threads of gossamer seemed to bind him more tightly than -ever. - - - -6 - - -Anikin strolled away from Arkright, and as he walked towards the -Pavilion he met Mrs. Roseleigh. She saw at a glance that he had a -confidence to unload, and she determined to take the situation in hand, -to say what she wanted to say to him before he would have time to say -anything to her. After he had heard what she had to say he would no -longer want to make any more confidences, and if he did, she would know -how to deal with them. They strolled along the _Galeries_ till they -reached a shady seat where they sat down. - -"You are out early," he said, "I particularly wanted----" - -"I particularly wanted to see you this morning," she said. "I wanted to -talk to you about Lancelot Stukely. You know his story?" - -"Some of it," said Anikin. - -"He is going away." - -"Because of Donna Laura?" - -"Oh, it's not that." - -"I thought he was devoted to her." - -"He likes her. He thinks she's a very good sort. So she is, but she's a -lot of other things too." - -"He doesn't know that?" - -"No, he doesn't know that." - -"You know how he wanted to marry Kathleen Farrel?" she said, after a -moment's pause. - -"Yes," said Anikin, "I heard a little about it." - -"It was impossible before." - -"Because of money?" - -"Yes, but now it is possible. He's been left money," she explained. -"He's quite well off, he could marry at once." - -"But if he doesn't want to?" - -"He does want to, that is just it." - -"Then why not? Because Miss Farrel does not like him?" - -"Kathleen _does_ like him _really_; at least she would like him -really--only--" - -"There has been a misunderstanding," said Mrs. Roseleigh. She put an -anxious note into her voice, slightly lowering it, and pressing down as -it were the soft pedal of sympathy and confidential intimacy. - -"They have both misunderstood, you see; and one misunderstanding has -reacted on the other. Perhaps you don't know the whole story?" - -"Do tell it me," he said. Once more he had the sensation of coasting or -free-wheeling down a pleasant hill of perfect companionship. - -"Many years ago," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "she was engaged to Lancelot -Stukely. She wouldn't marry him because she thought she couldn't leave -her father. She couldn't have left him then. He depended on her for -everything. But he died, and Lancelot, who was away, didn't come back -and didn't write. He didn't dare, poor man! It was very silly of him. -He thought he was too poor to offer her to share his poverty, but she -wouldn't have minded. Anyhow he waited and time passed, and then the -other day his uncle died and left him money, and he came back at once, -and came here at once, to see her, not to see Donna Laura. That was just -an accident, Donna Laura being here, but when he came here he thought -Kathleen no longer cared, so he decided to go away without saying -anything. - -"Kathleen had been longing for him to come back, had been expecting him -to come back for years. She had been waiting for years. She was not -normal from excitement, and then she had a shock and disappointment. She -was not, you see, herself. She was susceptible to all influences. She -was magnetic for the moment, ready for an electric disturbance; she was -like a watch that is taken near a dynamo on board ship, it makes it go -wrong. And now she realizes that she is going wrong and that she won't -go right till she is demagnetized." - -"Ah!" said Anikin, "she realizes." - -"You see," said Mrs. Roseleigh gently, "it wasn't anyone's fault. It -just happened." - -"And how will she be demagnetized?" asked Anikin. - -"Ah, that is just it," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "We must all try and help -her. We must all try to show her that we want to help. To show her that -we understand." - -Anikin wondered whether Mrs. Roseleigh was speaking on a full knowledge -of the case, or whether she knew something and had guessed the rest. - -"I suppose," he said, "you have always known what has happened to Miss -Farrel?" - -"I know everything that has happened to Kathleen," she said. "You see, I -have known her for years. She's my best friend. And now I can judge just -as well from what she doesn't say, as from what she says. She always -tells me enough for it not to be necessary to tell me any more. If it -was necessary, if I had any doubt, I could, and should always ask." - -"Then you think," said Anikin, "that she will marry Stukely?" - -"In time, yes; but not at once." - -Anikin remembered Stukely's conduct and was puzzled. - -"I am sure," he said, "that since he has been here he has made no -effort." - -"Of course he didn't," she said, "He saw that it was useless. He knew at -once." - -"Is he that kind of man, that knows at once?" - -"Yes, he's that kind of man. He saw directly; directly he saw her, and -he didn't say a word. He just settled to go." - -Anikin felt this was difficult to believe; all the more difficult -because he wanted to believe it. Was Mrs. Roseleigh making it easy, too -easy? - -"But he's going back to Africa," he said. - -"How do you know?" she asked. - -"He told Mr. Asham, and he told me." - -"He will go to London first. Kathleen will not stay here much longer -either. I am going soon to London, too, and I shall see Lancelot Stukely -there before he goes away, and do my best. And if you see him----" - -"Before he goes?" - -"Before he goes," she went on, "if you see him, perhaps you could help -too, not by saying anything, of course, but sometimes one can help----" - -"I have a dread," said Anikin, "of some explanations." - -"That is just what she doesn't want--explanations, neither he nor -she," said Mrs. Roseleigh. "Kathleen wants us to understand without -explanations. She is praying we may understand without her having to -explain to us, or without our having to explain to her. She wants to be -spared all that. She has already been through such a lot. She is ashamed -at appearing so contradictory. She knows I understand, but she doubts -whether any one else ever could, and she does not know where to turn, -nor what to do." - -"And when you go to London," he asked, "will you make it all right?" - -"Oh yes," she said. - -"Are you quite sure you can make it all right? I mean with Stukely, of -course," he said. - -"Of course," said Mrs. Roseleigh, but she knew perfectly well that he -really meant all right with Kathleen. - -"And you think he will marry her, and that she will marry him?" he -asked one last time. - -"I am quite sure of it," she said, "not at once, of course, but in time. -We must give them time." - -"Very well," he said. He did not feel quite sure that it was all right. - -Mrs. Roseleigh divined his uncertainty and his doubts. - -"You see," she said, "what happened was very complicated. She knows that -ever since Lancelot arrived, she was never really herself----" - -"She knows?" he asked. - -"She only wants to get back to her normal self." - -"Well," he said, "I believe you know best. I will do what you tell me. -I was thinking of going to London myself," he added. "Do you think that -would be a good plan? I might see Stukely. I might even travel with him." - -"That," said Mrs. Roseleigh, "would be an excellent plan." - -Mrs. Roseleigh's explanation, the explanation she had just served out -to Anikin, was, as far as she was concerned, a curious blend of fact -and fiction; of honesty and disingenuousness. She was convinced that -both Kathleen and Anikin had made a mistake, and that the sooner the -mistake was rectified the better for both of them. She thought if it -was rectified, there was every chance of Stukely marrying Kathleen, but -she had no reason to suppose that her explanation of his conduct was -the true one. She thought Stukely had forgotten all about Kathleen, but -there was no reason that he should not be brought back into the old -groove. A little management would do it. He would have to marry now. He -would want to marry; and it would be the natural, normal thing for him -to marry Kathleen, if he could be persuaded that she had never cared -for anyone else; and Mrs. Roseleigh felt quite ready to undertake the -explanation. She was quite disinterested with regard to Kathleen and -quite disinterested towards Stukely. Was she quite disinterested towards -Anikin? - -She would not have admitted to her dearest friend, not even to herself, -that she was not; but as a matter of fact she had consciously or -unconsciously annexed Anikin. He was made to be charmed by her. She was -not in the least in love with him, and she did not think he was in -love with her; she was not a dynamo deranging a watch; she was a magnet -attracting a piece of steel; but she had not done it on purpose. She had -done it because she couldn't help it. Her conscience was quite clear, -because she was convinced she was helping Kathleen, Stukely and Anikin -out of a difficult and an impossible situation; but at the same time -(and this is what she would not have admitted) she was pleasing herself. - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival first of Kathleen -herself, then of Arkright. - -Kathleen had in her hands the copy of a weekly review. - -After mutual salutations had passed, Kathleen and Arkright sat down near -Mrs. Roseleigh and Anikin. - -"Aunt Elsie," said Kathleen to Arkright, "asked me to give you back -this. She is not coming down yet, she is very busy." She handed Arkright -the review. - -"Ah!" said Arkright. "Did the article on Nietzsche interest her?" - -"Very much, I think," said Kathleen, "but I liked the story best. The -story about the brass ring." - -"A sentimental story, wasn't it?" said Arkright. - -"What was it about?" asked Anikin. - -"Mr. Arkright will tell it you better than I can," said Kathleen. - -"I am afraid I don't remember it well enough," said Arkright. - -He remembered the story sufficiently well, although being of no literary -importance, it had small interest for him; but he saw that Miss Farrel -had some reason for wanting it told, and for telling it herself, so he -pressed her to indicate the subject. - -"Well," she said, "it's about a man who had been all sorts of things: a -soldier, a king, and a _savant_, and who wants to go into a monastery, -and says he had done with all that the world can give, and as he says -this to the abbot, a brass ring, which he wears round his neck, falls on -to the floor of the cell. The ring had been given him by a queen whom -he had loved, a long time ago, at a distance and without telling her or -anyone, and who had been dead for years. The abbot tells him to throw it -away and he can't. He gives up the idea of entering the monastery and -goes away to wander through the world. I think he was right not to throw -away the ring, don't you?" she said. - -"Do you think one ought never to throw away the brass ring?" said -Anikin, with the incomparable Slav facility for "catching on," who -instantly adopted the phrase as a symbol of the past. - -"Never," said Kathleen. - -"Whatever it entails?" Anikin asked. - -"Whatever it entails," she answered. - -"Have you never thrown away your brass ring?" asked Anikin, smiling. - -"I haven't got one to throw away," she said. - -"Then I will send you one from London, I am going there in a day or -two," he said. - -"Mrs. Roseleigh was right," he said to himself, "no explanations are -necessary." - -Mrs. Roseleigh looked at him with approval. Kathleen Farrel seemed -relieved too, as though a weight too heavy for her to bear had been -lifted from her, as though after having forced herself to keep awake in -an alien world and an unfamiliar sunlight, she was now allowed to go -back once more to the region of dreamless limbo. - -"Yes,", she said, "please send me one from London," as if there were -nothing surprising or unexpected about his departure. - -In truth she was relieved. The episode at _Bellevue_ was as far away -from her now as the dreams and adventure of her childhood. She felt no -regret. She asked for no explanation. Anikin's words gave her no pang; -nothing but a joyless relief; but it was with the slightest tinge of -melancholy that she realized that she must be different from other -people, and she would not have had things otherwise. - -As Arkright looked at her dark hair, her haunting eyes and her listless -face, he thought of the Sleeping Beauty in the wood; and wondered -whether a Fairy Prince would one day awaken her to life. He did not know -her full story; he did not know that she was a mortal who had trespassed -in Fairyland and was now paying the penalty. - -The enchanted thickets were closing round her, and the forest was taking -its revenge on the intruder who had once rashly dared to violate its -secrecy. - -He did not know that Kathleen Farrel had in more senses than one been -overlooked. - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--Part II - - - -II - - -Dr. Sabran read the papers I sent him the very same night he received -them, and the following evening he asked me to dinner, and after dinner -we sat on the verandah of his terrace and discussed the story. - -"I recognized Hareville," said Dr. Sabran, "of course, although -his Saint-Yves-les-Bains might just as well have been any other -watering-place in the world. I do not know his heroine, nor her aunt, -even by sight, because I only arrived at Hareville two years ago after -they had left, and last year I was absent. Princess Kouragine I have met -in Paris. She and yourself therefore are the only two characters in the -book whom I know." - -"He bored Princess Kouragine," I said. - -"Yes," said Sabran, "that is why he has to invent a Slav microbe to -explain her indifference. But Mrs. Lennox flattered him?" - -"Very thoroughly," I said. - -"Well, the first thing I want to know is," said Sabran, "what happened? -What happened then? but first of all, what happened afterwards?" - -I said I knew little. All I knew was that Miss Brandon was still -unmarried; that Canning went back to Africa, stayed out his time, and -had then come back to England last year; and that I had heard from -Kranitski once or twice from Africa, but for the last ten months I had -heard nothing, either from or of him. - -"But," I said, "before I say anything, I want you to tell me what you -think happened and why it happened." - -"Well," said the doctor, "to begin with, I understand, both from your -story as well as from his, that Kranitski and Miss Brandon were engaged -to be married and that the engagement was broken off. But I also -understood from your MS. that the man Canning was for nothing in the -rupture of the engagement. It happened before he arrived. It was due, -in my opinion, to something which happened to Kranitski. - -"Now, what do we know about Kranitski as related by you? First of all, -that he was for a long time attached to a Russian lady who was married, -and who would not divorce because of her children. - -"Then, from what he told you, we know that although a believing Catholic -he said he had been outside the Church for seven years. That meant, -obviously, that he had not been _pratiquant_. That is exactly what would -have happened if he had been living with a married woman and meant to -go on doing so. Then when he arrives at Hareville, he tells you that -the obstacle to his practising his religion no longer exists. Kranitski -makes the acquaintance of Miss Brandon, or rather renews his old -acquaintance with her, and becomes intimate with her. Princess Kouragine -finds she is becoming a different being. You go away for a month, and -when you come back she almost tells you she is engaged--it is the same -as if she told you. The very next day Kranitski meets you, about to -spend a day at the lakes with Miss Brandon and evidently not sad--on -the contrary. He received a letter in your presence. You are aware -after he has read this letter of a sudden change in him. - -"Then a few days later he comes to see you and announces a change of -plans, and says he is going to Africa. He also gives you to understand -that the obstacle has not come back into his life. What obstacle? It can -only be one thing, the obstacle he told you of, which was preventing him -from practising his religion. - -"Now, what do we learn from the novel? - -"We learn from the novel that the day after that expedition to the -lakes, Rudd describes the Russian having a conversation with the -novelist (himself) in which he tells the novelist, firstly, that he is -going away, probably to Africa. So far we know that he was telling the -truth. Then he says that just as he found himself, as he thought, free, -an old debt or tie or obligation rises up from the past which has to -be paid or regarded or met. Rudd, in the person of Arkright, thinks he -is inventing. They talk of conflicts and divided duties and the choice -between two duties. The Russian is made to say that the most difficult -complication is when duty and pleasure are both on one side and an -obligation is on the other side, and one has to choose between them. -The novelist gives no explanation of this, he treats it merely as a -gratuitous piece of embroidery--a fantasy. - -"Now, I believe the Russian said what Rudd makes him say, because if he -didn't it doesn't seem to me like the kind of fantasy the novelist would -have invented had he been inventing. If he had been inventing, I think -he would have found something else." - -"All the same," I interrupted, "we don't know whether he said that." - -"We don't know whether he said anything at all," said Sabran. - -"I know they had a conversation," I said, "because I was in the park all -that morning and someone told me they were talking to each other. On the -other hand, he may have invented the whole thing, as Rudd says that the -novelist in his story knew about the Russian's former entanglement, and -lays stress on the fact that the Russian did not know that he knew. So -it may have been on that little basis of fact that all this fancy-work -was built." - -"I think," said Sabran, "that the conversation did take place. And I -think that it happened so. I think he spoke about the past and said that -thing about the blotting paper. There is a poem of Pushkin's about the -impossibility of wiping out the past." - -"And I think," I said, "that the Russian laughed, and said, 'You -novelists are terrible people.' Only he was laughing at the novelist's -density and not applauding his intuition." - -"Well, then," said Sabran, "let us postulate that the Russian did say -what he was reported to have said to the novelist, and let us conclude -that what he said was true." - -"In that case, the Russian said he was in the position of choosing -between a pleasure, that is to say, something he wanted to do which was -not contrary to his duty----" - -"For which duty might even be pleaded as an excuse," said Sabran, -quoting the very words said to have been used by the Russian. - -"And an obligation which was contrary both to duty and to inclination. -That is to say, there is something he wants to do. He could say it was -his duty to do it. And there is something he doesn't want to do, and he -can say it is contrary to his duty. And yet he feels he has got to do -it. It is an obligation, something which binds him." - -"It is the old liaison," said Sabran. - -"In that case," I said, "why did he go to Africa?" - -"Yes, why did he go to Africa? And stay there at any rate such a long -time. Did he talk of coming back?" - -"No, he said nothing about coming back. He said he liked the country and -the life, but he said little about either. He wrote chiefly about books -and abstract ideas." - -"Perhaps," said Sabran, "there is something else in his life which we -know nothing about. There is another reason why I do not think that -the old liaison is the obligation. He took the trouble to come and see -you before he went away and to tell you that the obstacle which had -prevented his practising his religion had not reappeared in his life. It -is probable that he was speaking the truth. And he knew he was going to -Africa. So it must be something else." - -"Perhaps," I said, "it was something to do with Canning. What are your -theories about Canning, the other man?" - -"What are yours?" he said. "I heard nothing about him." - -I said I thought that all Mrs. Summer had told me about Canning was -true. Rudd, I explained to Sabran, disliked Mrs. Summer, and had drawn -a portrait of her as a swooping gentle harpy, which I knew to be quite -false. "Although," I said, "I think the things he makes her say about -Canning are quite true. I think he reports her thoughts correctly but -attributes to her the wrong motives for saying them. I don't believe she -ever talked to him about Canning; but he knew her ideas on the subject, -through Mrs. Lennox. I believe that Canning arrived at Hareville on -purpose to see Miss Brandon. I know that the Italian lady had played -no part in his life and that it was just a chance that they met at -Hareville. I believe he arrived full of hope, and that when he saw Miss -Brandon he realized the situation as soon as he had spoken to her. This -is what Rudd makes Mrs. Summer say, and I believe that is what happened. -In Rudd's version of Mrs. Summer she is lying. Rudd had already a -preconceived notion that Miss Brandon's first love was to forget her. -He had made up his mind about that long before the young man came upon -the scene, before he knew he was coming on the scene, and when he did, -he distorted the facts to suit his fiction." - -"Then," said Sabran, "his ideas about Miss Brandon. All that idea -of her being the 'Princess without dreams,' without passion, being -muffled and half-awake--'overlooked,' as he says, which I suppose means -_ensorcelee._" - -I told him I thought that was not only fiction but perfectly baseless -fiction. I reminded him of what Princess Kouragine had said about Miss -Brandon. - -"I must think it over," said Sabran. "For the present I do not see any -completely satisfactory solution. I am convinced of one thing only, and -that is that the novelist drew false deductions from facts which were -perhaps sometimes correctly observed." - -I said I agreed with him. Rudd's deductions were wrong; his facts were -probably right in some cases; Sabran's deductions were right, I thought, -as far as they went; but we either had not enough facts or not enough -intuition to arrive at a solution of the problem. - -As I was saying this, Sabran interrupted me and said: - -"If we only knew what was in the letter that the Russian received when -he was with you we should have the key of the enigma. It was from the -moment that he received that letter that he was different, wasn't it?" - -I said this was so, and what happened afterwards proved that it was not -my imagination. - -"What in the world can have been in that letter?" said Sabran. - -I said I did not think we should ever know that. - -"Probably not," he said, musingly. "And that incident about the story of -the Brass Ring. Do you think that happened? Did they say all that?" - -I was able to tell him exactly what had happened with regard to that -incident. - -"I was sitting in the garden. It was, I think, the morning after they -had all been to the lakes, and about the middle of the day, after the -band had stopped playing, shortly before _dejeuner_, that Rudd, Miss -Brandon, Kranitski and Mrs. Summer all came and talked to me before I -went into the hotel. - -"Miss Brandon gave the copy of the _Saturday Review_, or whatever the -newspaper was, back to Rudd, and mentioned the story of the 'Brass -Ring,' and they discussed it, and I asked what it was about. Rudd was -asked to read it aloud to us, and he did. Miss Brandon and Kranitski -made no comments; and Rudd asked Kranitski if he thought the man had -done right to throw away his ring, and Kranitski said: 'A chain is no -stronger than its weakest link.' - -"Rudd said: 'Perhaps the brass ring was the strongest link.' - -"Kranitski and Miss Brandon said nothing, and Mrs. Summer said she was -glad the man had not thrown the ring away. Then Rudd asked Miss Brandon -whether she had ever thrown away her brass ring. - -"Miss Brandon said she hadn't got one, and changed the subject. Then -they all left me. That was all that happened." - -"I understand," said Sabran; "that is interesting, and it helps us to -understand the methods of the novelist. But we are still no nearer -a solution. I must think it over. _Que diable y avait-il dans cette -lettre?_" - - - - -THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY--PART II - - - -III - - -The more I thought over the whole story the more puzzling it seemed to -me. The puzzle was increased rather than simplified by a letter which I -received from Kranitski from Africa, in which he expressed no intention -of coming back, but said he was living by himself, quite contented in -his solitude. - -I told Sabran of this letter and the Doctor said we were without one -important _donnee,_ some probably quite simple fact which would be the -clue of the whole situation: the contents of the letter Kranitski had -received when he was with me-- - -"What we want," he said, "is a moral Sherlock Holmes, to deduce what was -in that letter----" - -It was after I had been at Hareville about ten days, that Sabran asked -me whether I would like to make the acquaintance of a Countess Yaskov. -She was staying at Hareville and was taking the waters. He had only -lately made her acquaintance himself, but she was dining with him and -he wanted to ask a few people to meet her. I asked him what she was -like. He said she was not exactly pretty, but gentle and attractive. He -said: "_Elle n'est pas vraiment jolie, mais elle a une jolie taille, de -beaux yeux, et des perles._" - -She had been divorced from her husband for years and lived generally at -Rome, so he had been told. - -I went to Sabran's dinner. There were several people there. I had -never met Countess Yaskov before. She seemed to be a very pleasant and -agreeable lady. I sat next to her. She was an accomplished musician, and -she played the pianoforte after dinner with a ravishing touch. She was -certainly gentle, intelligent, and natural. We were talking of Italy, -when she astonished me by saying she had not been there for some time. -Later on she astonished me still more by talking of her husband in the -most natural way in the world. But I had heard cases of Russians being -divorced and yet continuing to be good friends. I longed to ask her if -she knew Kranitski, but I could not bring his name across my lips. I -asked her if she knew Princess Kouragine. She said, "Which one?" And -when I explained or tried to describe the one I knew, there turned out -to be about a dozen Princess Kouragines scattered all over Europe; some -of them Russian and some of them not, so we did not get any further, and -Countess Yaskov was vagueness itself. - -We talked of every conceivable subject. As she was going away she asked -Sabran if he could lend her a book. He lent her Rudd's _Unfinished -Dramas_, and asked me if he might lend her _Overlooked_. I said -certainly, but I explained that it was more or less a private book about -real people. - -Two or three days later I met her in the park. She asked me if I had -read Rudd's story. I told her it had been read to me. - -"But it is meant to happen here, isn't it?" she said. "And aren't you -one of the characters?" - -I said this was, I believed, the case. - -"Then you were here when all that happened?" she said. "Did it happen -like that, or was it all an invention?" - -I said I thought there was some basis of fact in the story, and a great -deal of fancy, but I really didn't know. I did not wish to let her know -at once how much I knew. - -"Novelists," I said, "invent a great deal on a very slender basis, -especially James Rudd." - -"You know him?" she said. "He was here with you, of course?" - -I told her I had made his acquaintance here, but that I had never seen -him before or since. - -"What sort of man is he?" she asked. - -I gave her a colourless, but favourable portrait of Rudd. - -"And the young lady?" she said, "Miss--I've forgotten her name." - -"The heroine?" I asked. - -"Yes, the heroine who is 'overlooked.' Do you think she was -'overlooked'?" - -"In what sense?" - -"In the fairy-tale sense." - -I said I thought that was all fancy-work. - -"I wonder," she said, "if she married the young man." - -"Which one?" - -"The Englishman." - -I said I had not heard of her being married. - -"And was there a Russian here, too?" she asked. - -"Yes," I said, "his name was Kranitski." - -"That sounds like a Polish name." - -I said he was a Russian. - -"You knew him, too?" - -"Just a little." - -"It is an interesting story," she said, "but I think Rudd makes all the -characters more complicated than they probably were. Does Mr. Rudd know -Russia?" - -I said I believed not at all. - -"I thought not," she said. - -I said that Kranitski seemed to me a far simpler character than Rudd's -Anikin. - -"Did Dr. Sabran know all those people?" she asked. - -I said Dr. Sabran had not been here while it was going on. - -"It would be very annoying for that poor girl to find herself in a -book," she said, "if he published it." - -I said that Rudd would probably never publish it--although he would -probably deny that he had made portraits, and to some extent with -reason, as his Kathleen Farrel was quite unlike Miss Brandon. - -"Oh, her name was Miss Brandon," Countess Yaskov said, pensively. "If -she comes here this year you must introduce me to her. I think I should -like her." - -"Everyone said she was beautiful," I said. - -"One sees that from the novel. I suppose James Rudd invented a character -which he thought suited her face." - -I said that that was exactly what had happened. Rudd had started with -a theory about Miss Brandon, that she was such and such person, and he -distorted the facts till they fitted with his theory. At least, that was -what I imagined to have been the case. - -I asked Countess Yaskov what she thought of the psychology of Rudd's -Russian. I said she ought to be a good judge. She laughed and said: - -"Yes, I ought to be a good judge. I think he is rather severe on the -Slavs, don't you? He makes that poor Anikin so very complicated, and so -very sly and fickle as well." - -I said I thought the excuses which Rudd credited the Russian with making -to himself for breaking off the engagement with the heroine of the book, -were absurd. - -"Do you think the Russian said those things or that the novelist -invented them?" she asked. - -I said I thought he had said what he was reported to have said. - -"If he said that, he was not lying," she said. - -I agreed, and I also thought he _had_ said all that; but that Rudd's -explanation of his words was wrong. If that was true he must have broken -off his engagement. - -"There is nothing very improbable in that, is there?" she asked. - -"Nothing," I said. And yet I thought that Kranitski had finished with -whatever there was in the past that might have been an obstacle to his -present. - -"Did he tell you that?" she asked. - -As she said that, although the tone of her voice was quite natural, -almost too natural, there was a peculiar intonation in the way she -said the word "he," in that word and that word only, which gave me the -curious sensation of a veil being lifted. I felt I was looking through -a hole in the clouds. I felt certain that Countess Yaskov had known -Kranitski. - -"He never told me one word that had anything to do with what Rudd tells -in his novel," I said. - -I felt that my voice was no longer natural as I said this. There was a -strain in it. There was a pause. I do not know why I now felt certain -that Countess Yaskov possessed the key of the mystery. I suddenly -felt she was the woman whom Kranitski had known and loved for seven -years, so much so, that I could say nothing further. I also felt that -she knew that I knew. We talked of other things. In the course of the -conversation I asked her if she thought of staying a long time at -Hareville. - -"It depends on my husband," she said. "I don't know yet whether he is -coming here to fetch me, or whether he wants me to meet him. At any rate -I shall go back to Russia for my boys' holidays. I have two sons at -school." - -The next time I saw Sabran I asked him what he had meant by telling me -that Countess Yaskov was divorced from her husband. I told him what she -had said to me about her husband and her sons. He did not seem greatly -surprised; but he stuck to his point that she was divorced. - -The next time I saw Countess Yaskov, she told me she had told a friend -of hers about Rudd's story. Her friend had instantly recognized the -character of Anikin. - -"My friend tells me," she said, "that the novelist is quite false as -far as that character is concerned, false and not fair. She said what -happened was this: The man whom Rudd describes as Anikin had been in -love for many years with a married woman. She was in love with him, -too, but she did not want to divorce her husband, for various reasons. -So they separated. They separated after having known each other a long -time. Then the woman changed her mind and she settled she would divorce, -and she let Anikin know. She wrote to him and said she was willing, at -last, to divorce. My friend says it was complicated by other things as -well. She did not tell me the whole story, but the man went to Africa -and the woman did not divorce. What Anikin was supposed to have said to -the novelist was true. He told the truth, and the novelist thought he -was saying false things. That is what you thought, too. But all has been -for the best in the end, because do you know what there is in to-day's -_Daily Mail_?" she asked. - -I said no one had read me the newspaper as yet. - -"The marriage is announced," she said, "of Miss Brandon to a man called -Sir Somebody Canning." - -"That," said I, "is the Englishman in the book." - -"So Mr. Rudd was wrong altogether," she said, and she laughed. - -That is all that passed between us on this occasion, and I think this -is a literal and complete transcription of our conversation. Countess -Yaskov told me her story, the narrative of her friend, with perfect -naturalness and with a quiet ease. She talked as if she were relating -_facts_ that had no particular personal interest for her. There was not -a tremor in her voice, not an intonation, either of satisfaction or -pain, nothing but the quiet impersonal interest one feels for people in -a book. She might have been discussing Anna Karenina, or a character of -Stendhal. She was neutral and impartial, an interested but completely -disinterested spectator. - -The tone of her voice was subtly different from what it had been -the other day towards the end of our conversation. For during that -conversation, admirably natural as she had been, and although her voice -only betrayed her in the intonation of one syllable. I feel now, -looking back on it, that she was not sure of herself, that she knew she -was walking the whole time on the edge of a precipice. - -This time I felt she was quite sure of herself; sure of her part. She -was word-perfect and serenely confident. - -Of course, what she said startled me. First of all, the _soi-disant_ -explanation of her friend. Had she told a friend about the story? I -thought not. Indeed, I feel now quite certain that the friend was an -invention, quite certain that she knew I had recognized her as the -missing factor in the drama, and that she had wished me not to have a -false impression of Kranitski. But at the time, while she was talking -she seemed so natural that for the moment I believed, or almost -believed, in the friend. But when she told me of Miss Brandon's marriage -she furnished me with the explanation of her perfect acting, if it was -acting. I thought it was the possession of this piece of news which -enabled her to tell me that story so calmly and so dispassionately. - -Of course I may still be quite wrong. I may be seeing too much. Perhaps -she had nothing to do with Kranitski, and perhaps she did tell a -friend. She has friends here. - -Nevertheless I felt certain during our first conversation, at the moment -I felt I was looking through the clouds, that she had been aware of -it; aware that I had not been able to go on talking of the story as -naturally as I had done before. Her explanation, what her friend was -supposed to have said, fitted in exactly with my suppositions, and -with what I already knew. Sabran had been right. The clue to the whole -thing was the letter. The letter that Kranitski had received when he -was talking to me and which had made so sudden a change in him was the -letter from her, from Countess Yaskov, saying she was ready to divorce -and to marry him. He received this letter just after he was engaged to -be married to Miss Brandon. It put him in a terrible situation. This -situation fitted exactly with what Rudd made him say to the novelist in -the story: his obligation to the past conflicted with his inclination, -namely, his desire to marry Miss Brandon. - -Of course I might be quite wrong. It might all be my imagination. The -next day I got a belated letter, from Miss Brandon, forwarded from -Cadenabbia, telling me of her engagement. She said they were to be -married at once, quite quietly. She knew it was no use asking me, but if -I had been in London, etc. She made no other comments. - -That evening I dined with Sabran. I told him the news about Miss -Brandon, and I told him what Countess Yaskov had told me her friend had -told her about the story. - -"Half the problem is solved," he said. "The story of Countess -Yaskov's friend explains the words which Rudd lends to the Russian. -His inclination, which was to marry Miss Brandon, coincides with the -religious duty of a _croyant_, which is not to marry a _divorcee_, and -not to put himself once more outside the pale of the Church, but it -clashes with his obligation, which is to be faithful to his friend of -seven years. His inclination coincides with his duty, but his duty is -in conflict with his obligation. What does he do? He goes away. Does he -explain? Who knows? He was, indeed, in a _fichu_ situation. And now Miss -Brandon marries the young man. Either she had loved him all the time, or -else, feeling her romance was over, she was marrying to be married. In -any case, her novel, so far from being ended, is only just beginning. -And the Russian? Was it a real _amour_ or a _coup-de-tete_? Time will -show. For himself he thought it was only a _coup-de-tete_: he will go -back to his first love, but she will never divorce." - -I asked him again whether he was sure that Countess Yaskov was divorced -from her husband. He was quite positive. He knew it _de source -certaine_. She had been divorced years ago, and she lived at Rome. I was -puzzled. In that case, why did she try and deceive me, and at the same -time if she wanted to deceive me why did she tell me so much? Why did -she give me the key of the problem? I said nothing of that to Sabran. I -saw it was no use. - -A few days later, Countess Yaskov left Hareville. She told me she was -going to join her husband. I did not remain long at Hareville after -that. A few days before I left, Princess Kouragine arrived. I told her -about Miss Brandon's marriage. She said she was not surprised. Canning -deserved to marry her for having waited so long. "But," she said, "he -will never light that lamp." - -I asked her if she was sorry for Kranitski. She said: - -"_Very_, but it could not be otherwise." - -That is all she said. When I told her that I had made the acquaintance -of Countess Yaskov, she said: - -"Which one?" - -I said it was the one who lived in Rome and who was separated from her -husband. - -The next day she said to me: "You were mistaken about Countess Yaskov. -The Countess Yaskov who was here is Countess _Irina_ Yaskov. She is not -divorced, and she lives in Russia now. The one you mean is Countess -Helene Yaskov. She lives at Rome. They are not relations even. You -confused the two, because they both at different times lived at Rome." I -now saw why I had been put off the scent for a moment by Sabran. I asked -her if she knew my Countess Yaskov. She said she had met her, but did -not know her well. - -"She is a quiet woman," she said. "_On dit qu'elle est charmante_." - -Just about this time I received a long letter from Rudd. He said he -must publish _Overlooked._ He had been told he ought to publish it by -everybody. He might, he said, just as well publish it, since printing -five hundred copies and circulating them privately was in reality -courting the maximum of publicity: the maximum in quality if not in -quantity. By doing this, one made sure that the only people it might -matter reading the book, read it. He did not care who saw it, in the -provinces, in Australia, or in America. The people who mattered, and the -only people who mattered, were friends, acquaintances and the London -literary world, and now they had all seen it. Besides which, his series -of unfinished dramas would be incomplete without it; and he did not -think it was _fair_ on his publisher to leave out _Overlooked_. "Besides -which," he said, "it is not as if the characters in the books were -portraits. You know better than anyone that this is not so." He ended -up, after making it excruciatingly clear that he had irrevocably and -finally made up his mind to publish, by asking my advice; that is to -say, he wanted me to say that I agreed with him. I wrote to him and said -that I quite understood why he had settled to publish the story, and I -referred to Miss Brandon's marriage at the end of my letter. Before I -heard from him again, I was called away from Hareville, and I had to -leave in a hurry. It was lucky I did so, because I got away only just in -time, either to avoid being compelled to remain at Hareville for a far -longer time than I should have wished to do, or from having to take part -in a desperate struggle for escape. The date of my departure was July -27th, 1914. - -The morning I left I said good-bye to Princess Kouragine, and I reminded -her that when I had said good-bye to her two years ago she had said to -me, talking of Miss Brandon: "The _man_ behaved well." I asked her which -man she had meant. She said: - -"I meant the other one." - -"Which do you call the other one?" I asked. - -She said she meant by the other one: - -"_Le grand amoureux_." - -I said I didn't know which of the two was the "_grand amoureux_." - -"Oh, if you don't know that you know nothing," she said. - -At that moment I had to go. The motor-bus was starting. - -I feel that Princess Kouragine was right and that, after all, perhaps I -know nothing. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Overlooked, by Maurice Baring - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERLOOKED *** - -***** This file should be named 42703.txt or 42703.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/0/42703/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive -- Toronto University, Robarts - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/42703.zip b/old/42703.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 494e293..0000000 --- a/old/42703.zip +++ /dev/null |